Chapter 4: Secrets of the moon
Isle of Immortals Book One · Filipino Mythology Romantasy
by Ayin Quijano
Seven moons once lit the sky.
Now only one remains.
And she holds the answers…
to a curse,
a bond,
and a destiny no one can escape.
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His heart scale was stolen.
The thought pounded through Lakan’s mind with every beat of his wings, relentless as the wind that buffeted his scales. Someone had breached his wards. Walked through centuries-old magic as if it were smoke. Taken the one thing that should have been untouchable.
Mate.
The word coiled in his chest, unwelcome and undeniable.
Destiny. Fate. Curse.
His father’s face flashed behind his eyes—Laho, golden and terrible, consumed by love and grief until there was nothing left but fire and ash.
The Fall. Sacrifice. History repeating.
No.
Lakan climbed higher, muscles burning, desperate for answers he knew only one goddess could give. The world below fell away—mountains, forests, the dark sprawl of the ocean. The air grew thinner and colder.
The path to the moon stretched before him like a scar through the heavens.
And he hated it.
Not the moon itself—never the moon. But the space between. The silence. A void where light should have been. A ghost town of gods, abandoned paths where moonlight had once echoed with voices.
Seven moons, once. Seven sisters weaving harmony through the night sky.
Now—
One.
The absence pressed against him like a physical weight, cold and hollow. Each wingbeat through that emptiness was a reminder.
You are the son of the dragon who burned them away.
You carry his blood. His fire. His madness.
The curse settled heavier on his shoulders, and for a moment, Lakan wondered if he should just let himself fall. Would it break the mate bond? Would it save her—his wildfire—from the fate of loving a monster?
Then he broke through.
Light bloomed around him like sunrise.
Warmth wrapped his scales as he crossed the moon’s threshold, the oppressive weight lifting. Magic greeted him like familiar hands, steadying, grounding. His chest loosened for the first time since the ward breach.
It felt like home.
The landscape below wasn’t barren rock and dust like the mortal tales suggested. It was paradise. Waterfalls cascaded down silver cliffs into crystalline pools. Forests of moonflower trees swayed in an unfelt breeze, their blossoms glowing faintly. Rivers wound through valleys that defied gravity, and palm trees clustered along the shores of a sea.
It was the world below, perfected. A dream made manifest.
The moon reflected Mayari’s soul—what she loved, what she fought for, what she hoped the world could become.
Lakan caught a thermal and glided, letting the familiar scents wash over him. He had played in these forests as a youngling before everything broke. Before shame became his constant companion.
Welcome back, little prince.
The mental voice was warm and affectionate. Lakan banked left, spotting Elder Saya tending moonflower vines near the forest edge. The old immortal woman smiled up at him, raising a gnarled hand.
Elder, Lakan replied, dipping his wing in acknowledgment.
Troubled flight?
You could say that.
The goddess will help. She always does.
He hoped so.
More greetings brushed his mind as he flew deeper—fireflies flickering in precise formations, fairies laughing between branches, and humans who had chosen to follow Mayari even into death. The moon’s people did not fear him. They didn’t whisper “Spawn of Laho” or “Moon-eater” when he passed.
Here, he was just Lakan. Guardian. The boy who once raced fireflies and stole moonberries with the younger spirits.
Where’s the goddess? He asked a sentinel firefly hovering near a waterfall.
Hunting. Western ridge.
Lakan adjusted his course, powerful strokes carrying him toward the horizon. Beyond the mountains, suspended in the sky like a broken promise, lay the ruins of the Celestial Sanctuary. Once, it had been magnificent—a place of reformation, of second chances, where immortals who’d upset the balance could serve penance or find redemption.
The Fall had shattered it.
Mayari had rebuilt what she could, but without her sisters’ magic reinforcing the wards, it was fragile. Incomplete.
Movement caught his eye—a flash of silver and white running along the ridge, bow drawn. Mayari in her hunting form, fierce and focused, pursuing something that shrieked and darted between stones.
Lakan didn’t hesitate.
He folded his wings and dove.
The creature was a nuno sa punso, an ancestral spirit wrapped in smoke and indignation, still raging about ancient dishonors after centuries. Lakan opened his jaws, snatched the spirit mid-flight, and landed at Mayari’s feet.
He dropped the nuno like an offering.
The struggling spirit—small, bearded, and furious—beat its fists against his snout. “Unhand me, oversized snake! I was justified!”
Mayari lowered her bow, one eyebrow arching. “Always so dramatic with your entrances, Lakan.”
He shifted into human form in a ripple of light and scales, a few shedding at her feet like scattered coins.
The nuno scrambled upright. “I have done nothing wrong! That family dishonored my shrine! I have every right to—”
“Calm yourself, Nuno,” Mayari said, her hunting leathers shifting seamlessly into white robes. Her voice was gentle but firm.
“I will not calm down! Justice demands—”
“I could dunk him in the river,” Lakan offered dryly. “Cool him down.”
The nuno gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“I absolutely would.”
Mayari’s lips twitched. “Nuno, this is the sixth time. You cannot terrorize your descendants every time they forget an offering.”
“They forgot rice!”
“So you flooded their rice fields.”
“They deserved it!”
“Back to the Sanctuary,” Mayari said, light gathering at her fingertips. “Reflect. Again.”
“No! Not there! The food is bland, and my neighbors complain constantly—especially that duwende who—”
The magic flared. The nuno vanished mid-sentence.
Silence followed, broken only by falling water.
Lakan exhaled slowly. This was familiar. The work he’d been doing for years—keeping balance, containing chaos, protecting the world from immortals who’d forgotten their place.
He pressed a fist to his heart and bowed his head. “Goddess Mayari.”
She touched his brow in blessing, warmth spreading through him. “None of that formality here. You know better.”
As he straightened, she knelt to examine the shed scales, magic pulsing beneath her fingers.
“Let’s see what you’ve brought me,” she murmured. “A tikbalang with a fondness for confusing maidens. Two sirens who terrorized fisherfolk.” She paused, amused. “And five of Ali’s fireflies?”
“They were stalking me.”
“Ali won’t be pleased.”
“Ali’s never pleased.”
Mayari released the fireflies with a flick of her hand. They zipped away immediately, no doubt racing back to report. “He’ll come scold you.”
“Let him try.”
She laughed—wind chimes and starlight—and gestured toward the waterfalls. “Walk with me. You look like you’ve eaten something foul. Killed anyone recently?”
“Not yet.”
As they walked, moonlight caught Mayari’s face.
One eye reflected silver like the pools around them—bright, knowing.
The other was clouded, milky as a pearl, a pale scar cutting through the brow above it.
A reminder of ancient battles. Of the price paid for standing against gods.
She had never hidden it. Never needed to. The wound had become part of her strength—one eye to see the world, the other forever reflecting the moon she had made her sanctuary.
“How are the humans?”
“Busy with the Halad. For you.”
Her expression darkened briefly. “Ah. A false priestess and her hollow rituals.” She waved it away. “But that’s a conversation for another time. The nuno was the third escape this moon cycle.”
Lakan nodded.
“It’s getting worse. The wards weaken without my sisters.” Pain flickered across her face. “The other gods complain. They don’t like the Sanctuary so close to the heavens. There are… disruptions when immortals escape.”
“Where else could it go?”
“I don’t know. But we need sacred ground—strong enough to hold them.” She stared into the falls as if seeking answers in the spray. “We’ll find a way.”
She turned to face him. “I know you don’t enjoy flying here. The path reminds you of the Fall. But until we find a new Sanctuary, I need you to keep bringing me the rogue ones here.”
“I know.”
“There’s something else,” Mayari said slowly. “I’ve been sensing unusual activity among the stars. Dead stars, specifically. They feel… wrong. Unnatural. Like something’s waking them.”
Unease prickled down Lakan’s spine. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet. But it troubles me.” She turned back to the water. “Also, there are new immortals from the western lands. They drink blood. They can turn humans into their kind. One family has arrived.”
“Should I—”
“Not yet. They haven’t upset the balance yet. But watch them. More will come.”
Lakan’s gaze drifted, his mind already spinning back to the stolen scale, to the impossible implications, to—
Mayari studied him, head tilting. “You’re distracted.”
Lakan dragged a hand through his hair. “I—”
“What’s happened?” Her eyes sharpened. “You’re pacing holes into my moon.”
“Wildfire,” he blurted, then stopped, cursing himself.
“Wildfire?”
“A female. A huntress.” His words rushed out. “She stole my heart scale. She walked through my wards like they were nothing. Please tell me it means nothing.”
“You know what it means,” she said softly.
“No.”
“Only a mate can claim a dragon’s heart scale. If she left with it, then it wasn’t taken by force. The scale had called to her.”
“No.” Lakan’s voice rose. “I don’t want a mate. I can’t—she hunts me. She wants me dead. We’re enemies. Tell me how to stop it.”
“You can’t.”
“Then how do I keep it from growing stronger?”
Silence stretched.
“My father had a mate, and look what it did to him,” he said desperately. “My mother, too, was broken when he left her for his mate. I can’t—I won’t—”
“Lakan—” Mayari’s gaze softened with something that looked like pity. And hope. “Breathe.”
“She’s human,” Lakan pressed. “That’s forbidden.”
Mayari’s expression turned thoughtful. “This wildfire of yours. Describe her.”
Lakan hesitated, then spoke haltingly. “She’s… fierce. Taller than most females. Moves like she’s made of fire and fury. The best warrior I’ve ever seen. She’s a Daughter of the Moon. The first one. Their leader.”
Mayari’s breath caught. Her hand went to her chest as if steadying herself.
“She found you,” Mayari murmured, too softly for Lakan to hear. Then louder, “Tell me more about her.”
Lakan closed his eyes, and the image came easily. Too easily. “She’s strong. Determined. Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful—dangerous and inevitable. She fights like the world depends on her winning. And her eyes…” He stopped. “They’re haunted. Like she’s carrying weight no one should have to bear alone.”
When he opened his eyes, Mayari’s hand was pressed to her chest, and her expression had softened into something that looked like wonder and grief combined.
“So it’s time,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“You should give this a chance,” Mayari said, her voice gaining strength. “You’ve asked me for centuries how to break the curse, and I kept telling you the same: sacrifice and love.”
“Love?” Lakan took a step back, even more panicked. “Who said anything about love? Blood sacrifice—”
“Love is a sacrifice,” Mayari interrupted. “The greatest one. You know what happened to your father…”
Lakan’s throat tightened.
“He loved her,” Mayari agreed. “Enough to burn the world. That’s the power you fear. But Lakan—” She stepped closer. “What if love could also save? What if it could redeem? If love can make monsters of the purest beings, it may also be powerful enough to undo the gravest curse.”
“You’re saying she’s the answer.”
“I’m saying the fates rarely make mistakes.”
“The fates put me together with a human who wants to kill me. And I—” Lakan looked away. “It sounds like a mistake to me, that’s all.”
“You are not your father, Lakan,” Mayari said firmly. “He made a choice in grief and madness. You forge your own path.”
“How do you know?” The question came out raw. “How do you know I won’t—”
“Because you’re here,” Mayari said simply. “Because you’ve spent centuries trying to redeem what you think is irredeemable. Because you care so much about not becoming your father that you’ve denied yourself everything—crown, happiness, and now, mate.” She stepped closer. “That’s not madness, Lakan. That’s sacrifice. You’ve already been sacrificing. For so long.”
Lakan’s throat closed. He wanted to argue. Wanted to rage against fate and bonds and the cruelty of hope.
But he was so tired.
“Why her?” he asked hoarsely.
Mayari met his eyes, and in that moment, she looked ancient and ageless all at once. “This female. Your wildfire. She’s my daughter.”
The words struck like lightning.
Lakan forgot to breathe.
“Walk with me,” Mayari said gently, turning toward a path that wound deeper into the moonlight forest. “There are secrets you should know.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE🌙
Hello, I’m Ayin — your storyteller.
When you look at the moon… what do you see?
Some people see a rock. A satellite. A navigation tool. But moon lovers — and I am absolutely one of them — tend to see something else entirely. We see a mirror. A dream. A promise hanging in the sky that refuses to let us go.
That’s actually what inspired Mayari’s Moon World in this story.
I refused to write the moon as just craters and dust. Something that breathtaking, that ancient, that watched over — it deserves to reflect a heart’s deepest longing.
So in Bakunawa’s Curse, the moon is literally a living world shaped by Mayari’s love for the mortal realm. Every flower, every waterfall, every impossible landscape — it’s all an expression of what she wants the world below to become.
And here’s what I find so moving about that idea: the dreamers who came before us dreamed so fiercely about the moon that humans actually stood on it. That still gets me every time. When you dare to dream something big — and then do the work — the impossible has a way of becoming real.
So whatever your dream is right now… keep it close.
The moon is watching.
Now — this chapter introduces one of my favorite Filipino folklore characters: the Nuno sa Punso.
Nuno sa punso — Tagalog for “old man of the mound” — is a tiny, gnome-like spirit with a long white beard, no taller than a small child, who makes his home inside ant hills and termite mounds. Disturb his home, and you’ll have a very cranky immortal on your hands. We’re talking rashes, swelling, mysterious ailments — the works.
I learned about the Nuno sa Punso in elementary school. Our campus had these big old trees and every now and then, someone would spot a mound. Our teachers would warn us in very serious voices: Do not disturb it. Do not even go near it—or the Nuno would come out for vengeance.
Which, as every Filipino kid knows… is basically an invitation.
During recess, the bravest ones in our group would creep over, throw a pebble at the mound, and then — chaos. Everyone screaming and running in different directions, each of us secretly hoping we weren’t the one the Nuno would single out for revenge. Nobody ever got caught, of course. But we definitely looked over our shoulders the whole way home.
Those were the days.
So here’s my question for you: Which kid were you — the one throwing rocks at the mound, or the one desperately trying to stop them? Or maybe you were the one already ten meters away, watching from a safe distance, ready to say I told you so.
Tell me your Nuno sa Punso story in the comments. The scary ones, the funny ones, the ones your lola swore were true. Let’s keep these stories alive together.
UP NEXT — Chapter 5: The Halad
The full moon has arrived. The rituals begin. And Liya steps forward to offer something she doesn’t fully understand yet — something that will set everything in motion.
But there’s something else stirring at the Halad. And Liya’s anting-anting is already burning.
Chapter 5 is where the story stops being a hunt — and starts becoming something far more dangerous.
If you’d like to experience the story in a different way, Bakunawa’s Curse is also streaming at Ayinisms Story Podcast on Spotify, and you can watch it at the Ayinisms Story Channel on YouTube.
If this chapter moved you, made you laugh, or made you want to run screaming from a termite mound — leave a review in the comment section below. Tell a friend who loves mythology and monsters and complicated love stories.
Because it only gets more dangerous from here.
Till the next story!
❤️Ayin
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🤔 If YOU had accidentally disturbed a Nuno’s mound, what would you do?
a. Negotiate. The Nuno is reasonable, right? 🤝
b. Apologize profusely and leave an offering 🌿
c. Run and pretend it never happened 🏃
d. Stand your ground — it’s just a mound 😤
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🌙 Thank you for reading. The moon is watching.
© Ayin Quijano. All rights reserved.
Ayin Quijano 
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