Rain drummed against the sleek glass roof of the Command Dome, casting ripples of stormlight through the high-tech war room. Above the center table, a massive display pulsed with red dots—Shadowborn movement reports from across the archipelago.
The nation was panicking. And President Severino Malvaron stood calm at the eye of the storm.
"Begin transmission," he said.
Across every screen in the Philippines—from town plazas to floating market barges, from sky-trains to school auditoriums—the broadcast came alive.
The president's image flickered into view.
"My fellow Filipinos," he began, voice steady as iron wrapped in velvet. "We face an enemy that defies reason. Beings of shadow have appeared. Cities have fallen silent. The air crackles with a force beyond science... or sanity."
He let that sink in.
"But we are not alone in this fight."
The image shifted—holograms of six young warriors flickered into view behind him. Footage captured from various uprisings: a storm slicing through a Shadowborn platoon, flames bursting from the palms of a laughing fighter, ancestral weapons glowing against machines of death.
There are individuals among us... emerging with abilities beyond explanation. Their identities remain classified, but they represent hope in these dark times."
"We do not yet understand the source of their strength... but we will protect them, and work with them—to secure our nation's future."He leaned forward.
"And I will stand with them."
"I am hereby activating Operation Bantay Kalinangan—a special task force tasked with identifying and securing these gifted individuals. Any interference with their mission will be considered a threat to national security. We will ensure their protection... while carefully monitoring their potential."
"Together, we will guide them—toward a future this country can trust."
The people erupted. Hope returned like a storm.
As his final words faded, the nation held its breath—and the Legacy heard the call."
Neo-Tondo Rooftops – Andro Bonifacio
Andro leaned against the rusted railing of a skybridge, breathing heavily after another skirmish with the Shadowborn. His jacket was torn, smoke trailing from his sleeves. Neon signs flickered behind him, painting the rain-slick metal in shifting hues of violet and blue.
But it wasn't the neon that made him pause.
Every screen—every glowing panel across Neo-Tondo—suddenly shimmered, then shifted.
President Malvaron's face appeared, calm and resolute, backlit by stormlight.
Andro stiffened.
Then the hologram glitched—deliberately—and new images appeared.
A boy wield a trident, laughing while fighting the Wraithborn
A girl holding a lance, swinging the lance as she struck down a mech mid-flight.
A warrior with a glowing staff, standing firm as the earth rippled with ancestral power.
A young archer, loosing bolts of lightning from a bow of storm.
A girl silent fighter, vanishing into illusions that unraveled a Shadowborn ambush.
And then—him.
Andro, mid-leap across a crumbling rooftop, the shimmer of his Legacy Shard blazing through the rain.
"...We will protect them," the president said, "...and work with them—to secure our nation's future."
For the first time since awakening his powers, Andro exhaled. Shoulders eased. The weight didn't leave him—but something else settled in its place.
Not just pressure. Not just fear.
Connection.
His hand drifted to his chest, fingers brushing against the shard beneath his shirt.
I'm not alone.
Somewhere behind him, the faint echo of sirens cut through the wind—distant, but closing in. But he didn't run.
He stood still, gazing across the sprawl of Neo-Tondo—metal, rain, and fractured light.
There were others.
And they were fighting too.
The tide wasn't just shifting.
It was rising.
Manila Digital Archives – Ika Rizal
A burst of static cracked through the archives as the rain lashed against reinforced windows high above Neo-Maynila. Inside the data tower's core, holograms spun around Ika Rizal like ghostly dancers—fragments of history, blueprints of the forgotten, and spectral maps of Shadowborn activity.
She froze the presidential stream mid-sentence, the hologram flickering in place. President Malvaron's face lingered in the air, his words echoing:
"...we will protect them, and work with them—to secure our nation's future."
Her eyes narrowed.
Reflected in her glasses was a split-second frame of herself—veiled in light, her illusions dismantling a
Shadowborn ambush in the neon-lit alleys of Intramuros. Behind her in the footage, other clips bled into the stream—one after another.
A young man hurling thunder from a living bow.
A boy sprinting across waves on a sea beast's back.
A girl wrapped in cyclone winds, battling midair.
A staff-wielding figure rooted in stone and memory.
And Andro Bonifacio, charging headfirst into the dark, shard blazing like a torch in the rain.
Her breath hitched. Fingers hovered in mid-air.
There are others.
For so long, she thought her awakening was a fluke—an echo of forgotten bloodlines speaking only to her. But now, it was undeniable. The Legacy Shards were calling out—not to one, but to many. They were converging.
Hope surged in her chest... followed by urgency.
But hope alone wasn't enough.
Alarms pulsed in the Archive's lower sectors—Shadowborn signatures breaching the city's memory vaults. Ika's fingers flew across the console, encoding emergency research, countermeasures, and encrypted visual logs. Data surged into protected networks bound for Operation Bantay Kalinangan.
"If they're building a force to protect us," she muttered, voice sharpening with resolve, "then I'll be its compass. We're more than descendants now—we're the new story."
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Outside, lightning split the sky.
And below, the Archive's defense grid roared to life with ancestral fury.
Sky District 9 – Kai Aguinaldo
The wind howled across the glider tower, pulling at Kai's jacket and whipping strands of her hair into the air. Rain hadn't reached this altitude yet, but stormclouds loomed just beyond the spires—restless, like her thoughts.
Around her, cadets from Sky Vanguard Academy huddled in silence, eyes fixed on the holoscreen floating above the tower's platform. President Malvaron's voice carried through the gusts, steady and unyielding.
"...We will protect them, and work with them—to secure our nation's future."
Kai's breath caught when the footage changed—there she was, surrounded by chaos, Skyblade Lance drawn, a cyclone erupting behind her as she shielded trapped civilians from a Shadowborn twisted by Envy. The memory had been a blur of instinct and wind. Seeing it now... it looked like a moment from legend.
Then the feed continued—blazing one clip after another.
A figure conjuring fire in his gauntlet with a wild grin.
A young man striking from the sky with thunder.
A warrior running across waves with a trident raised.
A girl wreathed in illusions.
A staff-wielding figure rooted in stone and memory.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
It's not just me.
For months she'd trained in secret, convinced the storm chose her alone. That her burden—to understand this power, to carry its weight—was solitary.
But they were out there. Others like her. Carving light into the dark.
The cadets around her erupted in cheers, but Kai stayed still—eyes locked on the sky. Not because of the fame. Not because of the validation.
But because, for the first time since awakening the shard, the world wasn't running from them. It was reaching out.
Her voice was quiet, but it carried above the wind.
"They see us now... not as threats, but as something more."
She stepped forward, boots echoing on the steel as she faced the storm.
"And we're not alone anymore."
Her glider rig responded to her voice command. The wings hissed open with compressed air, pulsing with legacy power. Lightning flickered in the clouds ahead like a call waiting to be answered.
Kai smiled, eyes fierce.
"Let's show them how high we can go."
With a leap, she dove into the winds—riding them not as a lone storm, but as part of something greater.
Visayan Coast – Basti Lapu-Lapu
Basti sat cross-legged on the weathered prow of a bangka, the saltwind tousling his sun-bleached hair. Around him, the floating market bustled—fishermen yelling prices, kids jumping between boats, grills sizzling with freshly caught squid. Above them, a massive LED sail screen—stitched together from salvaged panels and powered by a car battery—flickered to life.
President Malvaron's image appeared, grainy but powerful. Every boat went still. Even the waves seemed to quiet.
When the footage shifted, a collective gasp rose from the crowd.
There he was—Basti, standing atop a tidal wave, the Bagani Trident spinning as he dove straight into the mouth of a sea-born Shadowborn. The storm cracked behind him like a war drum.
"Hoy, hero ng dagat!" someone shouted, waving a stick of barbecued bangus in tribute.
The crowd erupted. Firecrackers went off from somewhere. Someone strummed a ukulele off-key.
Basti grinned, mouth stuffed with grilled pusit. "'Di ako prepared for this fame, ah. Should've worn a shirt."
A lolang vendor smacked his arm. "Shirt or no shirt, ikaw ang champion namin, iho."
He chuckled, wiping his hands on his shorts, then looked up at the screen again—just in time to hear:
"...We will protect them, and work with them—to secure our nation's future."
Basti's smile faded just slightly. Not out of fear—but something deeper.
Hope.
For years, the stories of his bloodline were dismissed as myths. Now the country was watching... and believing.
But then—more footage rolled.
A girl cloaked in illusions, eyes glowing behind data glasses.
A windrider descending from the clouds with a lance
A lightning archer drawing energy from the heavens.
A staff-wielding figure rooted in stone and memory
A figure conjuring fire in his gauntlet with a wild grin.
Others—new faces, new flames.
Basti's eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, nearly tipping the bangka.
"Wait, wait—may iba pa?! As in legit?!"
He spun in a circle, pointing excitedly at the screen.
"I'm not the only one with legacy powers? May tropa na pala ako out there?!"
The crowd watched him with amusement as he posed dramatically with his trident, eyes sparkling with wonder.
"Guys! This is better than sinulog! We're like... some kind of team! A barkada ng bayani!"
A nearby kid shouted, "Barkada ng mga mytho!"
Basti laughed so hard he nearly fell into the water. He caught himself, held up a finger, and shouted to the open sea:
"Sa mga kapwa ko descendant—kung naririnig niyo 'to, hintayin niyo 'ko! Papunta na ang alon ko!"
Then, with a wink at the crowd, he stood up dramatically on the prow and raised his trident to the sky.
"Mga kababayan! Kung may kalaban kayong halimaw—una, magdasal. Pangalawa... text niyo lang ako."
The market exploded again in cheers and laughter.
And somewhere deep beneath them, the ocean stirred—no longer in warning, but in celebration.
Sierra Grid Ruins – Sani Dulag
The remnants of the old hydro-field crackled around him—twisted towers, broken turbines, and rusted power lines tangled like the skeletons of gods. Thunderclouds rolled overhead as if remembering what this place once was: the heart of Luzon's lost lightning grid.
Sani stood atop a fallen spire, bow in hand, lightning flickering at his fingertips.
The broadcast echoed from a cracked satellite dish he'd rewired himself, balanced on the back of a modified delivery drone. The signal cut in and out, but the voice was clear enough.
"...We will protect them, and work with them—to secure our nation's future."
He didn't move at first. Just watched as the image warped, then sharpened—revealing a familiar figure mid-flight, bolts trailing from his heels as he ziplined down a collapsing monorail, releasing a thunderstrike on a hulking Shadowborn.
Him.
"Wha—wait, what?" Sani blinked. "They recorded that? I was so sweaty!"
He glanced down at his charred hoodie and laughed, half in disbelief, half in pride.
Then... more footage followed.
A girl cloaked in illusions, eyes glowing behind data glasses.
A windrider descending from the clouds with a lance
A warrior running across waves with a trident raised.
A staff-wielding figure rooted in stone and memory
A figure conjuring fire in his gauntlet with a wild grin.
Sani's grin slowly widened, his chest rising.
"They're real... The others are real."
For months, he thought he was a glitch in the system. A freak storm with no map and no guide. But this—this was proof.
He was part of something bigger. A current in a rising storm.
The wind shifted, and the scent of ozone thickened around him. Lightning danced from his bow, leaping up the tower's skeleton like it was coming alive.
Sani raised his fist, his shout echoing across the steel wreckage.
"Legacy fam! If y'all can hear me—I'm with you!"
Thunder answered.
Then, without warning, a spark pulsed through his shard—like a signal.
Somewhere, the others were moving. Fighting. Rising.
And for the first time, Sani wasn't running toward chaos.
He was running home.
Mt.Banahaw Highlands – Ilan Lakandula
The mountains whispered in tongues older than history.
Ilan stood alone at the edge of a windswept cliff, the thick jungle behind him alive with the sounds of nightfall. Lightning from the distant coast lit the horizon, faintly echoing the flicker of President Malvaron's broadcast that played across a hovering projector orb beside him.
He had seen it all. The broadcast. The world awakening. The descendants—his kin in spirit, if not yet in person—standing tall against the Shadowborn. Andro. Kai. Basti. Ika. Sani.
He smiled faintly. Pride filled his chest like smoke from a sacred fire.
But he didn't step forward. Didn't descend from the mountain.
Instead, he turned away from the screen.
A gentle rumble answered from beneath the earth—a tremor not of tectonics, but of something bound. S omething ancient. Something still sleeping.
Ilan knelt and pressed his hand to the moss-covered stone at the forest's edge. His staff, carved from storm-felled roots that once brushed the Legacy Jewel, hummed softly in response.
"I'm glad they've awakened," he said quietly. "But I can't join them yet."
Behind him, deeper into the forest, hidden by thick foliage and enchantments known only to the old tribes, an altar pulsed with sealed energy—a relic not of light, but of warning.
A forgotten shard of the Legacy Jewel, blackened by time and chained in ancestral runes, sat atop the altar like a heartbeat stopped mid-pulse.
"I carry the silence," Ilan whispered to the wind. "Because if I fail... they will carry the storm."
He stood, letting the wind tug at his cloak, the clouds above swirling like a prophecy.
"When the time comes, they'll know where to find me."
And with that, Ilan Lakandula vanished into the jungle—keeper of the truth, guardian of the broken shard... and the key to a final reckoning none of them were yet ready to face.
Author's Note – THE LEGENDS HAVE SPOKEN???
The Legacy Descendants are no longer scattered echoes of the past—they're rising. One by one, they're answering the call, and a new force is forming to challenge the darkness sweeping Neo-Katulungan. This isn't just a reunion. It's the beginning of a legend. ????
Ilan Lakandula watches from the shadows of the mountains, holding a secret too ancient to name. Why hasn't he joined the others? What is he protecting—or hiding?