Chapter 3: The Sunken Ledgers

Chapter 3: The Sunken Ledgers

The memory of the dragon's sacrifice became the foundation of Sinag’s golden age. For years, the village thrived. Their storehouses were always bursting with dried fish, their children grew tall and strong, and neighboring tribes spoke of Sinag with a mixture of reverence and intense envy. They called them the Anak ng Bakunawa—the Children of the Dragon.

But human memory is short, and it grows even shorter when the belly begins to wither.

The year the Great Drought arrived, it did not come with the violence of a typhoon. It came like a slow, suffocating hand. The rains simply failed to arrive in the month of the southwest monsoon. Then, the next month passed, and the next. The green, lush hills of Panay turned into a cracked, pale desert of dust. The mountain streams that fed the coastal rivers died first, leaving behind dry rocky paths filled with the skeletons of freshwater fish.

Even Bulan’s power had its limits. He could guide the deep-sea fish to the coast, but he could not cool the shallow waters of the bay. The intense, unyielding heat of the sun turned the shallows into a boiling pot, killing the coral reefs and driving the marine life miles away into the deep oceanic trenches where human boats could never go.

Desperation is a disease that spreads fast in the dark.

By the fifth month of the drought, the inland kingdoms—tribes that relied entirely on agriculture and had watched their rice paddies turn to cracked earth—grew feral. They began to look toward the coast with hungry, desperate eyes.

One evening, a fleet of large war-boats, their prows carved like screaming eagles, pulled up to the shores of Sinag. They were led by Rajah Sulayman, a powerful, ruthless ruler from the river kingdoms, his arms covered in heavy gold bands that jingled like dry bones as he moved. He did not come to trade; he came with three hundred hardened warriors carrying iron-tipped spears.

Makani met them at the shore, flanked by his own men, but the contrast was devastating. Makani’s people were thin, their eyes hollowed out by months of rationing.

"We do not seek war, Makani," Rajah Sulayman said, his voice carrying the smooth, dangerous purr of a hunting leopard as he stepped onto the sand. "But my people are eating dirt in the interior. Your village... you still have water in your deep wells. Your people still find food. But it is not enough to save the rest of us. We need a permanent miracle."

"The sea is dry for everyone, Sulayman," Makani replied, his hand resting tightly on the hilt of his hardwood dagger. "We have nothing to give you."

Sulayman leaned in close, his golden jewelry catching the harsh, dry moonlight. "Do not lie to me, young Datú. The traders talk. The shamans dream. We know about the god you keep in your waters. We know about the Bakunawa."

Makani’s heart went completely still. "He is a spirit of the deep. He does not belong to us."

"He possesses the Mata ng Dagat," Sulayman hissed, his hand gripping Makani’s shoulder with bruising force. "The Great Pearl that rests within his throat. The old stories say it holds the core of his divine power—the ability to pearl, Makani. Help us take it from the beast. Do this, and my kingdoms will share our gold, our weapons, and our remaining mountain stores with Sinag. Refuse... and we will burn your bamboo homes to ash and slaughter every child here before the next sunrise."

Sulayman smiled, a cruel, mocking thing. "Even your dragon cannot protect them if they are already dead on the shore before he can rise."

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