The days in Biringan passed with an unrelenting weight pressing down on Nik Owl. The title of "Person in Prophecy" hung over her like an oppressive cloud, and every interaction reminded her of the expectations she was supposed to fulfill. The inner turmoil gnawed at her, a constant reminder of her own reservations and doubts. She wasn't a saint, she thought bitterly. She hadn't come here to save everyone. She came to uncover the mystery of her father's disappearance, not to be the savior of an entire city embroiled in a deadly war.
The stories she had heard about the ongoing conflict were harrowing. Countless creatures had perished, and the violence seemed never-ending. How could she, a mere tattooist from another world, hope to protect Biringan or even herself in such a monstrous, dangerous place? The idea of being everyone's savior felt absurd, yet the fear of refusing the role was equally terrifying. If she denied their belief in her, she might very well be signing her own death warrant. There were undoubtedly those in Biringan who would want her head for defying their hopes.
As she grappled with these thoughts, preparations for the third and final trial loomed large on her horizon. Ten days remained before she would face it, and she knew she had to be ready. But as she busied herself with her training, she couldn't ignore the buzz of activity in the city. The people of Biringan were preparing for an event, one that Arion soon explained to her.
"It's the sacrificial day for our Bathala," Arion told her as they walked towards the central hall. "Every year, on this same day, the people of Biringan come together to pray and offer sacrifices to our Bathala. The head of the Babaylan and her apprentices conduct a ritual to communicate with our deity."
As they approached the central hall, the sight that greeted them was both grand and unsettling. Tens of thousands of people had gathered, each bearing offerings of food and valuables. It should have been a joyous event, a celebration of faith, but the faces in the crowd told a different story. Anxiety etched into their expressions, as if they feared what the day might bring.
Nik Owl couldn't help but talk to herself, "Shouldn't this be a happy event? Why does everyone look so anxious?"
The crowd grew silent as a group of individuals made their way to the magnificent altar. Their bearing was regal, their outfits resplendent, and an almost god-like aura surrounded them. These were the Babaylan, the spiritual leaders of Biringan. Arion leaned in to explain.
"Those are the Babaylan," he said. "The one at the front, with the stoic face, is Babaylan Whang-Od, our head Babaylan. To her right is her first disciple, Babaylan Therese. Rumor has it she will be the next head Babaylan. And to her left is Babaylan Miraflor, Therese's rival for the position. The others behind them are their apprentices, each as beautiful as flowers in a prairie. The Babaylan are revered in Biringan not only for their spiritual roles but also for their beauty."
Nik Owl watched as the ritual began. The Babaylan chanted incantations, their voices weaving a mystical tapestry in the air. Babaylan Whang-Od spoke in an ancient language, her tone reverent and pleading as she sought to communicate with their Bathala. The people of Biringan knelt, their heads bowed in prayer, the atmosphere solemn and heavy with anticipation.
Minutes turned into hours, and as the sky darkened, the anticipation grew unbearable. Still, there was no response from their Bathala. The silence was deafening, and the tension palpable. Then, with a sudden and horrifying thud, the Babaylan collapsed, their bodies convulsing as they spurted mouthfuls of blood. Babaylan Whang-Od was the most affected, her form crumpling under the backlash.
The elders rushed forward, their expressions a mix of despair and resignation. Elder Luthar frowned deeply, his voice commanding as he ordered assistance for the stricken Babaylan. The people of Biringan wept openly, their cries echoing in the night.
Nik Owl watched in shock, her mind racing. Why had their Bathala not answered? She turned to Arion, her voice barely a whisper. "What happened? Why didn't their Bathala respond?"
Arion shook his head, his face grim. "No one knows for sure. Ever since the first cry of Mayari, the Bathala have been silent. It's not just Biringan; it's the entire realm. For centuries, we've tried to reach out, but there's been nothing. No one knows what happened to our deities. We offer our prayers and sacrifices, but it's as if we're speaking into a void."
Or maybe, they aren't real. Nik Owl said to herself.
The weight of Arion's words settled heavily on Nik Owl. The despair in the faces of the people, the futile ritual, the unanswered prayers – it all painted a bleak picture. The silence of their Bathala was not just a local issue but a realm-wide crisis. The very fabric of their faith was fraying, and there were no answers in sight.
As the night wore on, the injured Babaylan were tended to, but the mood in Biringan was somber. The once hopeful gathering had turned into a scene of collective mourning. Nik Owl stood among the people, feeling their sorrow and desperation. She had come seeking answers about her father, but now she was entangled in a web of expectations, prophecy, and a crisis of faith that spanned an entire realm.
She resolved to push forward, not just for her sake but for the people who believed in her. She might not be the savior they had hoped for, but she could not ignore their plight. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but Nik Owl knew she had to navigate it with courage and determination.