It was our second day stranded on this island, yet no rescue had arrived. We hadn’t found any locals either. The sun blazed overhead, likely marking noon. Rico walked ahead, leading us deeper into unfamiliar territory where the foliage thickened and the coconut-like trees towered even higher than those near the beach.

Now that I paid closer attention, the trees were oddly familiar. It was not just the shape but also the texture. The way their leaves curled at the edges tugged at something buried deep in my memory.

“Jelly, check this out!”

Rico’s voice snapped me from my thoughts. He stood at the edge of a clearing just past the foliage. I hurried to his side and froze.

We were standing on a vast cliff—far broader than the one Alyssa had fallen from. The painful memory hit me hard. For a moment, the grief swelled, but I swallowed it back. Not now. I had to stay strong. For myself. For Rico. Survival wouldn’t allow me the luxury of collapsing into sorrow.

Before us stretched a breathtaking sight—a colossal waterfall, cascading into a shimmering basin below. The water caught the sunlight just right, forming a brilliant rainbow arcing above. Birds—at least, I thought they were birds—circled the top. Yet something felt wrong.

There was no sound.

A waterfall this massive should have been deafening. We should have heard its roar echoing long before we reached the cliff. But it was silent as if someone had pressed mute on the entire scene.

The wildlife didn’t seem right either. Sure, there were familiar animals—deer and wild boars—but mixed among them were things far stranger. Giant, mosquito-like creatures with butterfly wings flitted near a patch of enormous, strange-looking flowers at the hillside’s edge. A herd of massive, rhino-shaped beasts grazed lazily nearby, completely indifferent to our presence. Further below, at the grassy foot of the waterfall, I spotted a troop of large-eared monkeys, almost the size of elephants, huddled together in a circle like athletes psyching themselves up before a match.

I hoped we’d never get close enough to find out what they were planning.

Rico gawked in pure wonder, mouth hanging open as he took it all in. If there were ever a way to measure shock, his expression would have shattered every scale.

And yet… I wasn’t reacting the same.

The more I stared, the more a sense of déjà vu twisted in my gut. The strange creatures, the oversized plants, even the fuzzy beings scurrying along the rocky ledges near the waterfall basin—all of them felt disturbingly familiar.

Like I’d seen them before.

The images were blurred as if hidden behind a fog, but I knew these creatures. I couldn’t remember where or when, but I was sure I’d seen them in detail.

Rico grabbed my hand—probably without realizing it in his excitement—and tugged me closer to the cliff’s edge.

Floating on the waterfall’s basin was a two-story building.

A hotel.

A wooden placard hung at the front, reading "Maximus Hotel."

Now, that caught me off guard.

“What… is that?” Rico whispered, staring as if his brain couldn’t keep up.

“Looks like a building,” I replied, though my voice felt hollow.

“What is a hotel doing here? And those… animals? This whole place! None of this makes sense! We got hit by a seaquake, stranded on some weird shore, and now we’re seeing oversized plants, giant animals, and a floating hotel? If this isn’t some fairy tale where we got spirited away to a magical world, then I don’t know what is.”

“Don’t exaggerate. It’s not magical or anything. Let’s get closer to that building. Maybe someone’s staying there.”

“Alright. Wait here. I’ll find a way down.”

Rico darted back into the woods, leaving me alone on the cliff. I instantly regretted not going with him.

The eerie silence pressed in. Compared to the rustling leaves and distant animal calls we passed earlier, the unnatural quiet of the waterfall was far worse. Every sound was muffled as if the entire landscape held its breath.

I spotted a small mound near the cliff’s right edge and perched there, hugging my knees. Humming softly, I tried to distract myself from the creeping unease.

That was when I noticed the monkey beasts.

They were staring at me. Frozen.

A chill crawled down my spine. Slowly, I edged back behind the mound, keeping out of sight. From this height, they couldn’t possibly reach me, right?

They wouldn’t attack. Right?

Heart pounding, I peeked over the edge. They were still there, unmoving, staring at the exact spot where I had just been.

Not me. The spot.

Relief surged through me. I let out a shaky breath and flopped onto my back, watching the clouds drift across the sky.

When would we be rescued?

I wondered if the others were safe back at the beach. The thought of teacher Norkie reaching them—without us—made my stomach twist.

A rustle broke the silence.

I bolted upright.

“Rico? What took you so long? Next time, don’t just leave me like that!” I shouted, half-annoyed but mostly scared. He better had found something edible if he wanted forgiveness.

Silence.

The rustling stopped.

A heavy, unnatural pause filled the air, tightening the knot in my chest. Two possibilities: Either Rico was trying to mess with me, or… Something else was out there.

Swallowing hard, I rose and crept toward the left side of the cliff, moving slowly along the berry shrubs. If it wasn’t Rico, I should keep my distance.

Just as I reached the shrubs, the bushes ahead exploded.

A massive shadow lunged forward.

A hand clamped onto my collar, hoisting me clean off the ground.

“Where is the Gregorio?”

The voice roared in my face, raw and rasping.

I gasped, struggling against the iron grip. From this awkward height, I could make out his face clearly—an old man perched atop one of the rhino beasts.

His hair was snow white, combed back with stiff precision, but his sunken eyes were ringed with dark, heavy bags. His lips quivered as he spoke as if just forming the words drained him. Deep wrinkles lined his face, but beneath them, the broad shoulders and athletic build suggested a man who had once been strong—powerful, even.

Now, he looked spent.

The stubble shadowing his chin made him look even older as if the years had piled on faster than they should have.

And he was furious.

His muscles bulged against the black tuxedo he wore—sleek, spotless, and as impeccably groomed as his hair.

My father once said you could judge a person’s character by how they dressed.

This man looked like a gentleman—but a hostile gentleman who might just eat me alive.

The shock of finding someone else here—another human—was overwhelming. I didn’t remember him from the barge. He must be from here. But the tuxedo, the controlled stance, the way he straddled the rhino beast…

Hope stirred in my chest. Faint, but rising.

The man loosened his black tie with his free hand, still clutching my collar with the other. He jumped down from the beast with practiced ease.

Then, he spat in my face again.

“Is you deaf? Again, where is the Gregorio?”

“I—I’m sorry, but I don’t understand!” I said, grimacing as I wiped my face with difficulty, his grip still tight.

His expression twisted further in anger. “You is playing dumb to me! Me is can tell you is the lying!”

His broken speech stirred painful memories. Ritchelle. Vhina. I felt my icy tears slip down my cheeks as I wiped them away, blending them with the spit he’d just sprayed on me.

“I’m not lying! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He narrowed his eyes, staring hard like he was trying to peer into my soul. Then, his tone shifted—softer, but still suspicious.

“You… is not a Young Blood. Who is the you?”

Should I tell him? He didn’t seem the friendly type, but lying clearly wasn’t working.

“I’m—uh—Je…” I choked. “I mean, I’m Jelly. My friends and I got stranded here. We were searching for locals. I’m lucky to find you, I guess—just… not like this.”

The man didn’t move. He kept his grave stare locked on me, unmoving as he processed my words.

Finally, he dropped me.

I hit the ground hard, landing on my butt. My legs buckled from the sudden release of pressure, but before I could gather myself, his iron grip returned—grasping my arm this time—to help me stand. His strength was unnerving.

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“What is you mean?”

I swallowed hard, still trembling. “We—we were supposed to have a retreat in Bantayan, but there was a seaquake. Our barge sank. We washed up here.”

“You is the telling truth?”

“Yes! Please, we’re desperate! We need help! Please, just—”

My voice cracked as the weight of everything—everything I’d been holding back—finally crashed over me. The fear. The loss. The exhaustion.

I couldn’t hold it together anymore.

Tears spilled freely.

Then, everything faded to black.

*****

I woke up on a soft, comfy bed.

The room was dimly lit, the walls covered in faded flower-patterned wallpaper. A large, vintage ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, and beside the double-framed windows to my left stood a modest wooden closet.

A peaceful silence hung in the air, but my mind was anything but calm.

I climbed out of bed, feet sinking slightly into the thick, worn carpet, and approached the door just across from me. As I reached for the doorknob, someone yanked it from the other side.

It budged but didn’t open.

Maybe it only swung inward.

I opened it myself, half expecting danger—half hoping for an explanation.

It was Rico.

“Jelly! You okay? I apolog—” His eyes widened, and he spun around, shielding his face with his hand. “Uh, what are you wearing? Geez, put some pants on!”

My face flushed with heat. I glanced down—bare legs, oversized shirt, wrinkled and damp with a weird, musky smell. Mortified, I slammed the door shut in his face.

Molly would never let me live this down.

I rummaged through the closet, eventually settling on a pair of loose jeans and a purple shirt with a faded Bulbasaur print. The clothes smelled a bit like mothballs, but they were better than nothing.

Did the manang stay here before? The thought flickered, but I shook it off as I returned to the door.

Rico was still waiting.

“Where are we?” I asked, noting his fresh outfit—a navy-blue shirt and khaki shorts. The fact that he looked unharmed, even relaxed, eased my nerves.

“We’re in Maximus Hotel,” he said, grinning. “Remember that floating building on the waterfall? Well, guess what? It really is floating!”

I blinked. “Wait—I met an old man. Where is he? Did you see him?”

“Oh, you mean the owner? He’s downstairs in the reception. Tending to that… beast thing. Looks like a rhino.”

“How did I get here?”

Rico’s face twisted awkwardly. “You were already here when I came back to the cliff. I searched for you for, like, thirty minutes—"

“Thirty minutes?”

“Yeah… sorry! Anyway, when I finally checked the building, the old man was just there with his rhino. We talked a bit—he's weird, but he seems okay. Said you were resting upstairs.”

I hesitated, a tightness forming in my chest. “Did he say anything else?”

Rico frowned. “Anything else? No. Why?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” I exhaled sharply, shoving the lingering memories back. “Let’s just head down.”

I wasn’t about to tell Rico how I’d completely broken down.

We descended the creaky wooden stairs together. The lobby was dim, illuminated by flickering yellow sconces along the stone walls. Everything had a vintage feel—framed paintings in gilded edges, an ancient reception desk, and a massive chandelier coated in dust. The scent of damp wood and age filled the air.

The old man sat across from the bar, stroking his rhino beast’s leathery head like it was a house cat. His tuxedo was just as immaculate, every crease perfect despite the wild setting.

The rest of the lounge, however, looked far from pristine. Dust coated the shelves, and the only couch, a sagging relic in the center of the room, bore an ominous stain—a deep, rusty blotch.

Blood?

I wasn’t sure.

Rico and I exchanged wary glances. Then, with a hesitant nod, we greeted the old man and sank into the stained couch.

I tried not to think about the stain pressing beneath me.

The building felt too small and cramped to be called a hotel.

The old man broke the silence. “How is you the feeling, small girl?”

I straightened, swallowing my embarrassment. “I’m fine. Thank you for helping me earlier.”

The memory of breaking down in front of him still stung. As teachers, we were used to stress—deadlines, students, endless paperwork—but the chaos of the past few days had unraveled years' worth of emotional walls.

“Me is the sorry for what me is the done early this in the afternoon.”

“It’s okay,” I replied, glancing at the strange rhino creature dozing by his feet. “Who was it you were looking for, anyway?”

His hand paused mid-pet, and he let out a deep sigh. Rising from his seat, he stretched his arms wide, showing off a towering, muscular frame. Seven feet tall. Maybe more. Definitely not typical for a Filipino—Caucasian blood, perhaps?

“It’s me other mate, Gregorio. He is the also same creature like this one with is the me.” He gestured to the sleeping beast. “Its name is the Prell. So, Gregorio is the run away from me and is the lost.”

“Oh. I’m… sorry to hear that.”

His odd way of speaking left me struggling to keep up, which was surprising, given how much experience we’d had working with students who were still learning English.

“You is the say earlier that you is the stranded here. Correct?”

“Yes. And thank you so much for taking us in. We have a lot of people camped on a beach nearby. We need help—please.”

He stared at me, his gaze heavy, searching. But it didn’t feel like doubt. It felt… deeper.

“You say you is the stranded because of the seaquake?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “We were on a barge, taking our students for a retreat, when the quake hit.”

“How many is the you?”

I gave him our number, but his questions continued—about the barge, the passengers, where we’d come from—growing stranger with each one. I couldn’t tell why he cared so much. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully between questions, nodding like he was deciding if my answers were acceptable.

The beast yawned, resting its massive head on the floor. The old man smiled briefly and scratched its chin before his expression darkened again.

Then, as if speaking to himself, he muttered, “But why is the all of you chosen? Is the all of you carrying is the creator?”

I blinked. “Um… sir, I don’t really understand what you’re saying, but please, you need to help us. There’s—”

I couldn’t hold it back. The tears came rushing again, raw and unstoppable.

Rico caught me before I could slip off the edge of the stained couch. “It’s okay, Jelly. Just breathe. I got this.”

He turned to the old man, his voice urgent. “Sir, someone’s killing us.”

The old man stiffened.

Rico continued, his grip steady on my shoulder. “If there’s a police station or anyone who can help—just anything—please tell us. We need help catching the murderer before he kills more of us.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to calm down. But I saw it—the way the old man trembled. Rico’s words had shaken him.

“What is the killer is the like?” the old man asked, voice tight.

Rico didn’t hesitate. “He’s a teacher. Her co-teacher.” He nodded toward me. “He’s already killed two of us, and he’s bound to kill more. I’m worried he’s already back at the beach. I just hope the others can stop him.”

“Did he is the killed them with is the touch only?”

His question hit a nerve. My chest tightened with frustration. I shot back, “We don’t know! Why would we care about how he killed them when our friends were dying right in front of us?”

The old man stroked his stubbled chin, unbothered by my anger. He only nodded, like though my words were irrelevant. Then, he added, “Well, it is the much better if you is the made sure the killer is the touched or not his victims. Since they is the getting killed and no hope to be saved, you is the should have known for me is to help.”

And just like that, I hated him.

I stood, my fists clenching. His cold curiosity about my friends’ deaths left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Why are you asking that? Can’t you help us? Why does it even matter how they were killed? My friends died—people we cared about! Why would you be more interested in the details than actually helping us?” My voice echoed, trembling with suppressed rage.

Rico placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me, but I stood firm. I wouldn’t be silenced. Not this time. I didn’t care if it cost us his trust. I wouldn’t let him disrespect the people we’d lost—people we’d loved.

The old man held my glare. The silence stretched, my face twisting under the strain, muscles tight with grief and defiance. I wanted him to see my pain—to understand it.

Finally, he exhaled and shifted his attention back to the beast, stroking its chin in slow, measured motions.

“You is the not going to believe is the me, but everything that is the happen here is the not something that is the usually happen in the normal world outside,” he said. His voice was lower and heavier.

I shook my head, disbelief simmering beneath my skin. “We know this place isn’t normal. Everything we’ve seen here has been wrong—twisted. But I won’t stand here and let you act like their deaths meant nothing. Have you ever seen a dead body? A headless one? Twisted and distorted? Don’t act like this is nothing—don’t pretend you understand what it’s like to see that!”

His gaze dropped. A shadow passed over his face, and then… a smile. It was faint, hollow—a mask for something deeper.

“Yes. Me is the had,” he said quietly. “Here in the building, actually.”

The room felt colder.

A gust of wind stirred through the open windows, brushing my arms and sending a chill across my skin. Outside, the low hoot of owls echoed, a sound that felt just as wrong as everything else here—too deep, too resonant.

I swallowed hard, my anger fading as I caught the sorrow bleeding from him—raw, quiet, but powerful.

Rico gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze and gestured for me to sit. Reluctantly, I lowered myself back onto the couch.

The stains beneath me stood out again. Old, dark, set deep in the fabric. Blood. I was sure of it now.

If the old man was telling the truth, then whatever happened here hadn’t just left scars on the furniture—it had scarred him, too.

The old man stood, his face grim. "You is not in Bantayan, small girl. Well, not anymore."

There it was. One question answered—though it only raised more.

I shot up from the couch, heart racing with fresh urgency. I wouldn’t let him get away without answering the rest. I rushed to the reception bar, determined. "Sir, please—there’s so much more I need to know. Help us—"

“Jelly, you dropped something,” Rico interrupted.

I turned, blinking as he held up my lucky charm. My stomach flipped.

Without thinking, I lunged back and snatched it from his hand, my face heating up faster than I could control. I spun around and rushed back to the bar, hoping Rico hadn’t noticed how red my face had gotten.

“Sorry, sir. Never mind tha—”

The words died in my throat. The old man’s expression stopped me cold.

He was staring at the charm as if it were a ghost. His eyes had widened beyond their natural limits, his mouth slightly open in stunned disbelief.

"Small girl… Where is the find that one you is the holding?" His voice dropped to a whisper. It was so faint I barely caught it.

I clutched the charm tighter. "Oh, it’s nothing. Just a lucky charm my father gave me when I was a kid. Why?"

His gaze sharpened. "Father? Who is the your fa—no… What is the your family name?"

I frowned. "Diaz. Why does it matter?"

The color drained from his face. For a heartbeat, he looked as if his spirit had left his body. But as quickly as the shock came, he snapped back, his expression shifting into one of steely seriousness.

Without a word, he gestured for us to follow.

Rico and I exchanged confused glances. Still, we obeyed.

As we climbed to the second floor, the old man murmured under his breath, almost too softly to catch: "Me is never have thinked that this day is the finally come."

“What do you mean?” I pressed, my voice sharper. "Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have no idea what you’re talking about."

I shot Rico a questioning glance. He only shrugged, just as lost.

The old man said nothing. He led us deeper down the hallway, his steps heavy. Finally, he stopped before a door, opened it, and gestured for us to enter.

The room looked almost identical to mine—same vintage furniture, same flower-patterned wallpaper. But this time, someone was lying on the bed, breathing softly as if asleep.

Was it really okay to just barge into someone else’s room?

The old man approached the bed, beckoning us closer.

I hesitated, but as we drew near, my focus shifted from the room to the person lying under the blankets. My breath caught.

Even with the dim lighting, the face was unmistakable.

I froze. So did Rico.

We stared at each other, exchanging a silent Do you see what I’m seeing? look.

The old man didn’t seem to notice our confusion. He gently pulled back the blanket—and my stomach turned.

The man’s left arm was gone.

The wound was wrapped, but the injury was unmistakable—the missing limb, the pale skin. It was horrifying enough on its own—but the real shock came with recognition.

I knew this man.

Rico did, too.

The person lying before us, wounded yet somehow alive, was none other than Dr. Shawn—the very person who had once helped me through my struggles, both mental and physical.