Chapter 2: The Beginning

The universe knew that another war was about to arise that night. Surely they knew for the weather depicted brutality through its howling wind and its bristling raindrops.

They knew. The whole world did. 

The absence of the scattered twinkling dots on the vast horizon of the dark sky told the people of Danaw that there was something amiss. Though familiar with the scenario that took place as soon as the last glimpses of the sun rays piercing through the gray clouds, the Sultanate of Danaw was nowhere near being prepared for the war.

Another war. Hundreds of innocent lives have perished in the name of the Sultanate.

Bathala knew. The other gods and goddesses and even the beasts knew.

Peace was not able to last after five years. The greed made its way to the powerful clans and wreaked havoc while the world was about to retire for the day.

The smoke that erupted from Kuta Wato, the stone fort of the throne of Sultan Da'ud, created a massive haze in the air as the fire continued to eat the remnants of the houses and trees nearby. The wails of the children and women while they hugged their fallen loved ones made harmony with the chirping of birds as they too have lost their homes.

It was a macabre sight to witness. The anguished cries and the hair-raising sounds of the men as they took their last breaths continued to haunt the place.

A hiss came out of Mirayah's lips as she ran through the woods. The side of her burnt face tingled against the cold of the night. Her arm suffered from the fire as well. Yet none of the physical pain she felt was enough to extinguish the void in her heart.

A series of tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued braving the path toward her escape route. Using her bristled left hand, she pulled down her hood to cover her face further.

Her right arm was tucked in a bundle of clothes that secured a newborn that had coincidentally, or mayhaps it was intentional after all, come out to the world only for her mother's life to come to an end.

A sob boiled up in Mirayah's throat as the lifeless face of her sister came into her mind again.

Rabiyah, her sister, passed away just a few hours after her babe was conceived.

As though hearing Mirayah's thoughts, the newborn baby stirred from her deep sleep and made an inaudible noise. Her eyes though were still fluttered shut, not giving in to the temptation of looking around the chaos.

Mirayah let out a bittersweet smile. "Hang in there, child. We'll go home after this," she whispered, her voice shaking in the end.

Home. Ah, it was an enticing word even in the ears of those who marched toward Kuta Wato and started the war against the Sultan.

The staunch smell of blood was too much that even the knights who made their victorious roars in the night had silently pleaded for the end of their task and enjoy the warmth of their awaiting chambers in the palace of the fallen Sultan.

Mirayah never once shot a glance back at those she left behind. Her blurry vision was the only remnant of her pain as she refused to think of how her sister's dead body would be treated. She knew the answer to that. She very well knew how the fallen ones will have their bodies perish from the face of the world. She knew that her sister will not be buried properly.

She knew that... especially since her sister is an Agod. Her sister came from the bloodline of the banished tribe.

The tribe of the white witches, as what Sultan Da'ud branded them to be.

A chortle ran up to Mirayah's throat, the sound painful even in her ears. 

Arimaonga, that beast. If not because of his affiliation with the Sultan, their tribe would have not been ordered persecution. They would have not been forced to stay hidden and away from Danaw where they had been residing for decades already. 

How ironic, Mirayah could not help but muse while thinking of the fallen Sultan and her sister.

Her steps slowed down when the silhouette of the mountains across the ocean have become clear in her vision.

She hastened her steps again and did not bother the twigs of trees that cut through the skin of her legs. Each whimper she wanted to let out was buried and turned into a silent prayer instead.

Have mercy, Hela. 

Indeed, the goddess of the moon, though it shied away from the eyes of the world tonight, Hela must have been watching from above and felt sympathy for the lost lives. 

Mirayah did not stop running even for a second until she reached the shore. Relief washed over her. The small boat was being watched over by a fisherman. He immediately took notice of her and the baby in her arms, but he did not say anything.

"May Bathala be with you two," the fisherman mumbled as he helped Mirayah get on the boat.

She gave him a faint smile. "I will never forget your kindness, sir. Rest assured of my return here in the coming days to help your wife safely deliver."

The man nodded. "Please be careful on your journey," he said and gently pushed the boat.

As the boat started to drift off, the man remained watching them. He then took off his worn-out hat and slightly dipped his head.

Mirayah's eyes stayed on the fisherman until his figure got smaller as the boat anchored farther. She spared a glance at the sleeping babe in her arms.

Her limbs were sore and were full of cuts from the running she did earlier. However, now that she stares at her niece, she could not help but feel the warmth of hugging the child of her deceased sister.

"Rabiyah," she whispered in the dark. "Your child is safe now."

As though the baby understood her aunt's words, her eyes slowly opened and she let out a smile. Her plump, rosy cheeks were too adorable to be missed that Mirayah could not help pinching them gently.

The giggles of the newborn erupted amidst the roars of the knights who have successfully driven Sultan Da'ud out of the throne.

"Why did you save her?"

Mirayah almost jumped out of her wits when her mother threw the ale across the room. She immediately hugged the baby in fear of getting hurt from the obvious anger of her mother.

The eldest of their tribe and her mother, Jamila, glared at her before glancing at the little one in her arms. Mirayah felt the need to hide her niece but before she could even do that, Jamila spoke again.

"I will not let that child live here," she muttered with conviction.

Mirayah's heart twisted painfully at the immense wrath that her mother was emanating through her pitch-black irises. With the absence of the moon tonight, the eyes of Agods mirror the darkness of the sky. Not even a glint of light is visible.

"Mother, she is your grandchild," Mirayah pleaded.

"She is but the child of the man who persecuted our kind!" Jamila said, standing up and marching toward her.

Mirayah took a step back in defense. "Mother!"

Jamila heaved a sigh and paused. She stood there looking at the baby as though it could disappear if she continued her scowl.

"Her bloodline came from the ally of that monster," Jamila said, making clear her stance again. 

Mirayah worried her teeth along her lower lip. She breathed heavily, her shoulders dropping as melancholy filled the air.

She knew her mother was right, but logic could not get a pass at the emotions that she was wearing in her heart. 

Jamila glanced at her daughter's gloomy face. "Return that child to Danaw. She must not stay here."

She turned and started walking away. Mirayah could not help the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Mayhaps it was because of her mother's strong rejection of the child that she did not notice how Jamila's shoulders shook as she sobbed silently.

For the death of her child and the grandchild she outrightly refused. 

"Why must you take the difficult path, my Rabiyah," Jamila whispered under her breath, her tears rolling down the sides of her eyes as she lay on her bed.

The night ended with the cries of Jamila and Mirayah.

When the sun showed up for the next day, the house was eerily quiet that even if the other Agods wanted to visit them and take a look at the baby to feed their curiosity, they could not because they were scared that Jamila will punish them. Thus, the Agods continued with their day while sparing glances at the house every time they pass by.

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Meanwhile, back in Danaw, the new Sultan was already cleaning up the mess he and his knights created last night. 

Sultan Abbas sat on the throne, his eyes scanning the faces of the officials he had brought along to take over the Sultanate of Danaw.

His lips curved a smirk as he thought of the face of the dead Sultan.

"His pledged alliance with Arimaonga did not even save him," he thought.

What a shame.

The knights whom Sultan Da'ud thought were loyal to him had turned their backs on him and joined Sultan Abbas.

"Your Majesty," one of the advisers started. "The knights have betrayed Da'ud. It will be dangerous to let them stay here for they could do the same with Your Majesty."

Sultan Abbas hummed and rhythmically tapped his forefinger on the arm of the throne. 

"You are right," he agreed. "However, we could not discount the fact that they are blessed by Arimaonga."

The lined-up men before him glanced at each other. One of them was about to speak up when Sultan Abbas waved his hand dismissively. 

"They are valuable in keeping the nation safe and orderly," he said and chuckled. "And they are valuable in locking this throne in my hands."

"But... But Your Majesty," one of the men butted in. "They could turn their backs on you—"

"They can," Sultan Abbas instantly agreed. "But they will not do that if we give them what they want." 

The silence after his words was deafening. The men before him were too stunned to even utter a word. The realization was quick to dawn on each of them.

They immediately figured out what the Sultan was saying.

Sultan Abbas sat upright, his eyes spoke of a dangerous glint as he delivered his first order to his men.

"Banish all the Agods from Danaw. Even a shadow shall not enter the country," he dictated. "Kill them if you must."

He knew that the knights who carried the blessings of Arimaonga would be satisfied with his order.

And he knew that even without the alliance with Arimaonga, the beast will not do anything now to throw him out of the throne. For Arimaonga, the only important thing to him was to get back at Hela.

And Agods are the perfect victims of his wrath to Hela... for they bear the blessings of the moon goddess.

Despite the adamant rejection of Mirayah's mother, the baby remained under the roof of the elderly Agod. Mirayah had to return to Danaw to keep her promise to the fisherman. She stayed there until his wife was safe from any infection she might get from giving birth to their child.

Three days later, she journeyed back to the island. The burns on her face and arm were no longer existing as they were healed by the other Agods after that night. The sun was starting to retire when the boat reached the shore of the island.

She waved at the other Agods who were busy with their chores and continued walking toward their house. In a matter of minutes, the sky turned dark and the bright, full moon shed her light on the world.

A faint smile curved on her lips, her eyes twinkling, mirroring the liveliness of the moon.

When she arrived at their house, she pushed the wooden door open only to have her jaw drop at the sight.

Jamila was humming a familiar tune of lullaby as she swayed the baby in her arms. 

Mirayah blinked. She could not understand what was happening, but her heart was filled with warmth. A smile broke out on her lips and she called her mother. 

Jamila paused and turned to look at her daughter. The lines on the sides of her eyes indicating her old age had smoothened slightly.

Mirayah could not believe it. She stepped closer to her mother and heard the giggles of the baby.

Jamila held the baby out to her. She thought that her mother wanted her to carry the baby, but when she took a glimpse of the baby's eyes, she felt herself freeze.

The baby's eyes sparkled and gave a glint of light similar to the moon's. Mirayah gasped at the dawning realization. She looked at her mother, looking for a confirmation of her speculation. 

Jamila nodded. "This child carries the progeny of our ancestors," she said.

Mirayah could hear the wheels in her head. "A pureblood..." she mumbled, her eyes widening as she caught another sparkle of the baby's eyes.

The glimmer was fast but it did not escape the scrutiny of Mirayah and Jamila. It was almost silver. It had the same light that the moon has. 

"Inara..." Jamila whispered as she caressed the cheek of the baby.

Mirayah blinked. "Inara?"

Jamila nodded solemnly. "From now on, she will be called Inara."

The baby who has just received her official name gave a laugh and clapped her little hands as though celebrating. Mirayah could not help but grin and so did Jamila.

"Inara..." Jamila whispered her name and the baby smiled at her again.

Mirayah was about to leave the two alone when Jamila called her. She turned around to see that her mother laid Inara's right shoulder bare. 

A mark. A golden mark was present on the baby's shoulder.

Mirayah stared hard at the symbol of the Sultanate of Danaw. "Sultan Da'ud must have imprinted that mark of royalty on her," she said.

Jamila nodded. "He did," she muttered. "Inara is the rightful heiress to the Wawa-Ojot. It is the only land that the new Sultan could not get a hold of."

The rich lowland neighboring Kuta Wato and Banga, Mirayah thought to herself.

"But mother..." she tried to talk but could not find the right words.

Jamila who had been staring at Inara lifted her gaze to her daughter and understood immediately the awaiting hardships.

"We must not let any of the men of Arimaonga lay their hands on her," Jamila said. "A pureblooded Arimaongan will be the death of a pureblooded Agod."

"And a pureblooded Agod will be the death of a pureblooded Arimaongan," Mirayah said.

Jamila glanced at the window and stared hard at the bright moon.

"Hela, my goddess... What are you planning to do?" she thought, feeling helpless for her grandchild.

At that same moment, somewhere in the southern part of Danaw, a holler of pride was heard all over the place. The knights and maids knelt on the floor as they gave praises to Arimaonga.

Datu Ismail was holding his child whose eyes were as red as blood.

His lips formed a smirk as he gazed at his firstborn. "Indeed, a pureblooded Arimaongan," he said. 

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