Chapter 5: The Halad
Isle of Immortals Book One · Filipino Mythology Romantasy
by Ayin Quijano
Torches. Salt air. Hundreds of voices cursing a dragon’s name into the dark.
This was the Halad—part thanksgiving, part war cry, part lie no one had ever thought to question. Until now.
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There was only one occasion when the Daughters of the Moon descended from their mountain and mingled with other tribes.
The Halad.
On every third full moon, the warriors of Tribu Mayari—revered and whispered about like myths around fires—walked down forest paths to the sea, their torches marking their passage like falling stars.
Tonight, the shore was alive with firelight and voices, the air thick with smoke from roasting pits and the sharp tang of salt. Hundreds had gathered from villages across the coast—fishermen, farmers, warriors, families—all drawn by tradition, fear, and hope.
Liya stood at the edge of the gathering, watching the crowd swell as the moon climbed higher. Her fingers moved unconsciously to the anting-anting at her throat, warm against her skin. In her other hand, wrapped carefully in cloth, rested the dragon scale.
The heart scale—though she didn’t know it yet.
“Ready?” Amaya appeared beside her, retying the sash of her ritual robe.
“No,” Liya said honestly.
“Good. Neither am I.” Amaya’s smile was strained. “But Inang Tala is waiting.”
The seven Daughters moved as one through the parting crowd, hooded and silent in ritual cloaks, their weapons strapped across their backs. People bowed as they passed, murmuring prayers and blessings. Children reached out to touch the hems of their robes, seeking protection.
At the center of the gathering, beneath a massive balete tree heavy with offerings, stood Inang Tala.
An ageless beauty.
A presence that rivaled a goddess—a promise of salvation.
She wore the ceremonial garb of a babaylan: a flowing patadyong dyed deep indigo and embroidered with silver thread and ancient symbols; layers of shells and moonstone beads adorned her neck and wrists; her long black hair fell loose down her back, threaded with white feathers and sampaguita blooms.
In one hand she held a branch of bayabas leaves bound with white thread. In the other, a shallow bowl of water, ash, and crushed moonflowers. When she lifted her chin, the clearing fell silent.
“The moon watches,” Inang Tala said, her voice carrying without effort. “The moon remembers.”
Before her, the Daughters sank to one knee.
She glided forward, her movements precise and practiced, and began the tarok—quick, marching steps that wove a protective circle around the gathering. Her bare feet struck the sand in rhythm as she chanted, low and hypnotic, calling to Mayari for protection, strength, and the power to endure another moon cycle.
Inang Tala raised the bayabas branch. “Repeat after me.”
Inang Tala:
Kami ang mga Anak ng Buwan,
The Daughters:
We are the Daughters of the Moon.
Inang Tala:
Sa liwanag ng buwan, kami’y isinilang.
The Daughters:
By moonlight, we were born.
Inang Tala:
Sa anino ng gabi, kami’y hinubog.
The Daughters:
By the shadow of night, we were shaped.
Inang Tala:
Dugo’t luha ang aming alay.
The Daughters:
Blood and tears are our offering.
Inang Tala:
Buhay ang aming sandata.
The Daughters:
Our lives are our blades.
They raised their heads to the moon, voices steady and unyielding.
The Daughters:
Kami ang mga Anak ng Buwan.
We are the Daughters of the Moon.
Kami ang mga tagapuksa.
We are the appointed destroyers.
Hanggang ang Bakunawa’y bumagsak,
Until the Bakunawa falls.
Hanggang ang buwan ay ligtas,
Until the moon is made safe.
Hindi kami titigil.
We shall not cease.
Inang Tala circled them, flicking water from the bowl onto blades, spears, and bows. Anting-anting warmed against skin. The chant rose, layered and hypnotic.
Inang Tala:
Isumpa ang Laho.
The Daughters:
Cursed be Laho.
Inang Tala:
Isumpa ang supling ni Laho.
The Daughters:
Cursed be the Spawn of Laho.
Inang Tala:
Isumpa ang kumakain ng liwanag.
The Daughters:
Cursed be the devourer of light.
Inang Tala:
Isumpa ang mamamatay sa aming kamay.
The Daughters:
Cursed be the one who will die by our hands.
Inang Tala flicked the bayabas branch toward the gathered tribes, water scattering like falling stars. Acolytes and helpers rose alongside the Daughters, forming two long rows facing the sea. They followed Inang Tala’s steps, stamping the earth in patterns older than memory.
All Together:
Kami ang mga Anak ng Buwan,
We are the Children of the Moon.
Tanglaw sa gitna ng takot.
Light amid fear.
Ang aming dugo ay para sa sangkatauhan,
Our blood is for humanity.
Ang aming espada ay para sa hustisya.
Our swords are for justice.
Ang aming buhay ay para sa buwan.
Our lives are for the moon.
Hanggang sa huling paghinga,
Until the final breath.
Hanggang sa huling kalaban,
Until the last enemy.
Tayo ay mananatiling bantay.
We remain on watch.
The words tasted like ash in Liya’s mouth. How many times had she spoken them? How many times had she believed them?
Inang Tala moved among the crowd, blessing weapons, amulets, food, and offerings laid upon the sand. When she returned to the altar, she set down her instruments and turned her gaze to Liya.
“First Daughter,” she called, her voice carrying. The crowd hushed. “Step forward.”
Liya obeyed, heart hammering.
“You were tasked with a sacred mission. To retrieve what we needed to forge Puksa—the weapon that will end the Bakunawa’s terror forever.” Her smile was cold and beautiful. “Have you succeeded?”
Liya unwrapped the scale slowly. Even in the firelight, it gleamed—black shot through with veins of gold. As her hands cradled it, the scale glowed, white-gold light pulsing through her fingers.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Inang Tala’s eyes gleamed with something like hunger. “The dragon’s scale,” she breathed. “Willingly offered, as the ritual demands.”
She turned fully to Liya, voice lowering. “Do you, Liya, First Daughter of the Moon, willingly offer this scale to complete Puksa? To further our cause? To protect humanity from the monster that would devour our light?”
Something in Liya resisted. A sharp tug in her chest. A voice whispered—
Yours.
Mine, her heart answered.
“Liya.”
The weight of years—training, duty, belonging—pressed down on her.
“I do,” Liya said.
The light in the scale flickered. Then died.
Inang Tala took it reverently. “Well done, anak.”
She lifted the scale high. “Rejoice! The First Daughter has brought us one step closer to victory. With Puksa, the Bakunawa will fall. The Last Moon will remain. And as long as the Daughters stand, no dark immortal shall prey upon our people beneath her light.”
The crowd cheered.
Drums thundered. Gongs clashed. Pots, agaraba, balalongs—every instrument struck with wild abandon. A deafening clamor meant to drive away darkness, to keep the Bakunawa at bay.
“Moon-eater!”
“Spawn of Laho!”
“Cursed beast—go back to the depths!”
More fires were lit. Women formed choirs along the shore, singing of Mayari’s beauty and grace, while children played recklessly by the sea.
The Halad was thanksgiving and defiance entwined.
Food followed—roasted wild boar dripping with fat, fish grilled over open flames, mountains of rice, and fruit carved into flowers. Coconut shells brimmed with tuba, burning throats and loosening tongues.
Liya ate little. Her gaze kept drifting skyward.
Inang Tala settled beside her on a fallen log. She accepted a coconut shell of tuba, sipping it slowly.
“Tell me again,” Inang Tala said quietly, “where exactly did you find the scale?”
“In the dragon’s cave. Cliffside, by the sea. Like the bruha said.”
“And it glowed for you immediately?”
Liya hesitated. “Yes.”
“Interesting.” Inang Tala’s fingers drummed against the cup. “Did you feel anything when you touched it?” She paused. “Any… connection?”
“I—” Liya’s throat tightened. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Never mind.” Inang Tala’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Tell me, Liya. Are you ready? When the time comes—when you face the Bakunawa—will you kill it?”
“Of course.”
“Without hesitation?”
“That’s what I’ve trained for my entire life.”
“Yes. Yes, you have.” Inang Tala studied her, and Liya fought the urge to squirm under that gaze. “You’ve endured so much to become what you are. The best hunter. The strongest warrior. My greatest achievement.”
The words should have filled her with pride. Instead, they felt like chains.
“I’ll be gone for three full moons,” Inang Tala said abruptly. “Until the next Halad. I have work to do with the scale—preparations that cannot be rushed. You will lead the tribe in my absence.”
Liya’s head snapped up. “Three moons?”
“You’re ready. More than ready.” Inang Tala rose, placing a hand on Liya’s shoulder. Her touch was cold. “Make me proud, daughter. And remember—when I return, everything will change.”
She swept away, leaving Liya staring after her, unease coiling in her gut.
Nearby, Amaya was also uneasy. The night crawled beneath her skin. She leaned toward her sisters.
“Do you feel that?”
Amaya’s voice was tight, strained. She’d been restless all evening, her gaze constantly scanning the crowd, the treeline, and the sky.
“Feel what?” Yumi asked.
“Like someone’s watching,” Amaya said with a shiver. “Dark. Ominous. I can feel it. Like eyes on my skin.”
Luningning and Hana exchanged meaningful glances.
“What is it?” Liya asked as she approached.
The sisters drew closer.
“Have you heard about the new immortal?” Hana whispered. “He moves in the shadows. Drinks blood.”
Luningning nodded. “The fishermen say he comes from the west. They call him a vampire.”
“A what?” Yumi frowned.
“Vampire,” Hana repeated darkly.
Elena shuddered and added, “Bodies were found. Just outside the Kagubatan. Bite marks on the neck. Drained completely.”
“Just one immortal? Or a race?” Liya asked sharply.
“We don’t know. No one’s seen them clearly—just shadows, glimpses. They move faster than tikbalang.”
“Faster than—” Sora’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible.”
“And yet.” Amaya wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ve felt it before. A presence. Following me.”
“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Yumi teased, but her smile was uneasy.
“If I do, I’d prefer that he not drink my blood.”
Laughter rippled through them, brittle and forced.
“Enough of this vampire talk.” Amaya shrugged her shoulders, trying to shake off the dark feeling. “We still have the Courting of Mayari before the night ends. It’s time.”
A chorus of groans rolled from the sisters, but they followed her.
Young men lined up, sampaguita strings in hand, hope and swagger in equal measure. Ever the romantic, Amaya collected the flowers on behalf of her sisters, her earlier unease turned to excitement.
Maybe tonight a warrior would win her hand. Love would follow, and with it, the family she’d always dreamed of, the children she desperately wanted. The Courting of Mayari was a step toward that dream.
“If they’re going to parade in front of us wearing nothing but a loincloth,” she whispered to Liya, eyeing the male candidates in their bahag, “they might as well be handsome.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m practical.”
The Courting of Mayari was an old tradition—older even than the Daughters themselves. On the night of the full moon, when Mayari was said to listen most closely, men and women could choose love openly.
A sampaguita offered was a question.
A challenge accepted was an answer.
Victory was consent.
“I don’t have time for this,” Liya muttered as her first suitor stepped forward—a cocky warrior from Tribu Kalunasan named Andre.
“Choice of weapon?” she asked.
“No weapons.” His grin was insufferable. “Hand to hand. The closer I get to you, my love.”
Liya almost rolled her eyes.
It took exactly two moves.
She feinted left, he lunged, and she swept his legs, following him down with an arm across his throat. She might have pressed a little too tightly because she didn’t like being called “my love” when it was unearned.
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you yield?”
His head bobbed frantically.
She released him and offered a hand up. “Better luck next time.”
To defeat a Daughter of the Moon was to earn the right to court her. To lose was to walk away with honor—and intact bones, if one was lucky.
She looked over to her sisters and saw all of them being challenged as well. Only Amaya seemed happy about it. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.
Five more followed. Five more fell.
Liya dispatched them with bored efficiency, her mind already elsewhere. The Bakunawa had been sighted more frequently lately. She could feel it—tonight, it would come.
She was midway through disarming her sixth opponent when her anting-anting flared hot against her skin.
Her head whipped skyward.
There.
Silhouetted against the full moon—wings spread wide, scales gleaming black and gold—flew the dragon.
The Bakunawa.
The Daughters moved as one, weapons drawn, arrows nocked, forming a defensive circle with Liya at the center.
Liya raised her bow, sighted along the arrow.
The dragon’s movements were erratic and unpredictable. She tracked it, waiting for the perfect shot.
She loosed her first arrow. Missed.
She grabbed arrows blessed at the altar, their tips dark with moon-forged poison. Then she ran for the cliffs to gain height, her sisters close behind her.
Her blood pounded harder than usual. A strange sensation ran through her—like new magic awakening. She didn’t have time to ponder it.
On top of the cliff, she released her second arrow. Missed again.
The Bakunawa turned.
Looked directly at her.
And she could have sworn—impossible as it seemed—that it was laughing.
Fury—or was it power?—ignited in her chest.
She nocked a third arrow and shot.
The dragon jerked, and she saw it—her arrow buried in the soft scales beneath its jaw, the vulnerable spot the elders spoke of.
The beast roared and dropped from the sky.
Fast and brilliant.
Like a falling star.
AUTHOR’S NOTE🌙
Hello, I’m Ayin — your storyteller.
That was quite the cliffhanger, wasn’t it?
Liya just handed over the scale — the one that glowed only for her — and we know something she doesn’t. What happens after to Lakan? Will he fight back? Will Liya finally come face to face with the Bakunawa she’s been hunting her entire life?
Makes you antsy, right? Me too.
So I won’t make you wait. If you want to find out right now, head over to my Ko-fi page and read Chapter 6: When the Star Fell.
But if you want to catch your breath first — let’s talk about what just happened at the Halad.
That tarok dance. I love writing that scene because I can picture it so vividly — the babaylan moving with absolute authority, her bare feet striking the earth in that sharp, deliberate rhythm, the whole gathering holding its breath. It felt sacred to write. And it is, because it’s rooted in something very Filipino.
Ritual dance has been part of Filipino spiritual life since long before colonization. There’s the Pagdiwata of Palawan — a thanksgiving dance performed under the full moon after the rice harvest. The Dugso of Bukidnon in Mindanao, performed to honor ancestral spirits. The Idaw from the Cordillera region, which mimics the movements of warriors seeking the sacred Idaw bird, believed to carry the promise of victory in battle.
What strikes me every time I research these is that some of them are still alive. Still danced. Still carried forward by communities who refused to let them disappear.
And you know where you can see many of them gathered in one place? You guessed right: The Sinulog — known as the Grandest Festival in the Philippines.
Every third Sunday of January, tribes from across the regions come to Cebu City in vibrant traditional costumes to fill the streets with music and movement.
The Sinulog itself is a dance: two steps forward, one step back, mirroring the current of the river. Originally a pre-colonial ritual for rain and healing, it later became a celebration of the Santo Niño. Old roots, new form. The tradition survived by adapting — which, honestly, feels very Filipino to me.
If you haven’t been to the Sinulog, it belongs on your list. As someone who grew up in Cebu, I can tell you — it will move you in ways you don’t expect.
Now. Let’s talk about Inang Tala.
She performed that ritual with such grace, such authority. She looked like devotion itself standing at that altar. But did you catch the way she questioned Liya? The way her eyes lingered on the scale a beat too long? The cold precision behind every warm word?
Something is off about her. And I want you to know it before everyone else does.
Get your free download of a character deep-dive on Inang Tala — who she really is, what she wants, and why she matters so much to Lakan and Liya’s story. Message me here. Consider it your head start. ⚠️ Spoiler Alert though— this character deep-dive reveals things about Inang Tala that unfold later in the story. Only download if you’re okay knowing more than Liya does right now, alright?
UP NEXT — Chapter 6: When the Star Fell
Liya shot the Bakunawa out of the sky.
She was certain she’d won.
So why can’t she find a body?
As mentioned, if you don’t want to wait, Chapter 6 is already up at https://ko-fi.com/ayinisms/posts. Read ahead.
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.
Till the next story. 🌙
❤️Ayin
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⚠️ Spoiler Alert — this character deep-dive reveals things about Inang Tala that unfold later in the story. Only download if you’re okay knowing more than Liya does right now.
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💬 Join the Conversation
🤔 Something is off about Inang Tala. What’s your read on her?
😇 She’s devoted — a true servant of the moon
🕷️ She’s manipulative — everything is calculated
🤔 She means well but she’s hiding something
☠️ Full villain. I don’t trust a single word she says
Let me know below.
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🌙 Thank you for reading. The moon is watching.
© Ayin Quijano. All rights reserved.
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