Chapter 8: The Sea Remembers
Isle of Immortals Book One · Filipino Mythology Romantasy
by Ayin Quijano
A crown. An ultimatum. A bride already chosen.
And all he could think about was her.
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The descent into the ocean felt like falling through memory.
Lakan’s dragon form cut through the water in smooth, powerful strokes, wings folded tight, tail driving him downward through layers of blue that deepened into indigo, then velvet dark where light fractured and bent.
Eighteen years.
He hadn’t been underwater in eighteen years—not since the first time he’d glimpsed the Daughters of the Moon training on their mountain. Not since he’d decided the answers he sought lay on land, not in the depths.
Yet the path was as familiar as breathing.
Pressure wrapped around his scales like an old friend. Salt and magic soaked into him, sliding between scale and sinew as if the sea remembered him and had been waiting for his return.
The ocean had changed in his absence. Or perhaps he had simply forgotten how alive it was.
Coral cities bloomed along the ocean floor, towering and luminous. Schools of clownfish darted through anemones like sparks. A massive sea turtle drifted past, ancient and unbothered, its shell scarred by centuries of survival. Above him, manta rays swept through the water like living wings, shadows passing over distant coral spires.
Some creatures looked harmless.
Many were not.
Frogfish lay disguised as stone until prey drifted too close. Barracudas hovered in silver ranks, bodies taut as drawn blades, while a pod of dolphins arced overhead—sleek, intelligent, and deadly beneath their playful grace.
The ocean taught its lessons quickly: beauty and danger wore the same face.
As Lakan went deeper, he noted the changes. New coral growth where old reefs had died. A sunken ship he didn’t recognize, already claimed by barnacles and algae. He’d need to revisit his treasure caves soon—see what the currents had delivered in his absence, what relics and wonders waited to be claimed.
He slowed, coiling slightly as he took it all in.
He hadn’t expected to miss this.
But he did.
The sea was where he had grown up. Where the boy had become something else—not quite man, not quite monster. Something in between.
This was where he learned that life could shatter without warning, that the world could fall from the sky in fire and ruin. Where laughter could turn cruel, where weakness invited teeth and claws. He remembered the echo of mockery through narrow trenches and the sting of retreat when he fled instead of fighting.
This was where he learned to fight back. To become sharper. Meaner, when necessary. To wield darkness against darkness and become the thing they feared.
Not his proudest chapter.
But power respected power.
This was also where his family had drawn closer after the Fall—rebuilding what was broken, carving a kingdom from grief, salt, and stubborn survival.
And now…
The sea stirred around him. Currents shifted subtly. Schools parted not in fear but in acknowledgment.
It felt like coming home.
Something inside him loosened—a tightness he hadn’t realized he carried.
Maybe returning hadn’t been such a terrible idea.
Maybe—
Ink exploded around him.
Lakan snarled, twisting instinctively as massive shapes surged from the black cloud—tentacles snapping, hooks gleaming.
Giant squids.
One tentacle latched onto his wing, barbed suckers biting deep. Another whipped toward his eye.
Lakan roared. His tail lashed out, smashing one squid aside hard enough to crack stone. Fire rippled along his scales—not the purple flame of kingship, but red-gold dragon fire that burned even underwater, superheating the sea around him.
The squids released him instantly, jetting away in violent bursts.
Before he could reorient, something else struck from below.
Massive. Fast. Teeth.
A great white surged upward, jaws snapping shut just shy of his belly. Lakan twisted and slammed his tail into its gills. The shark recoiled, circling back, joined by two more.
This wasn’t right.
Great whites didn’t hunt dragons. Nothing this deep hunted dragons.
Then the dolphins came—not curious, not playful. Aggressive. Ramming into him from multiple angles, using speed and coordination to disorient.
Even a whale shark—a gentle giant—swam directly at him, forcing Lakan to veer sharply aside.
He hovered in the water, watching the creatures circle.
They weren’t trying to kill him.
They were testing him.
Annoyance flared—then realization landed.
There was only one creature in these waters arrogant enough, powerful enough, to orchestrate this.
“ALON!”
Lakan’s roar echoed through the deep.
Laughter answered—rich, mocking, infuriating.
The sea parted, and the Dark Prince of the Southeast emerged.
Alon looked exactly as Lakan remembered: lean and bare-chested, dark hair streaming like a banner, his powerful tail scaled in shifting blues and silvers. His face was sharp, handsome and dangerous the way the sea itself was. In his hand he wielded a long spear tipped with glowing coral, runes pulsing in time with the tides.
“Spawn of Laho,” Alon called, his voice carrying effortlessly through the water. “Heard you’d gone soft on land. Thought I’d see for myself.”
“Still ugly, I see,” Lakan shot back, baring his fangs.
Alon’s grin widened. “And you’re slower. Letting squids and sharks push you around? Embarrassing.”
“You want to test my speed?” Lakan growled. “Come closer.”
“With pleasure.”
Alon moved like lightning. His spear flashed toward Lakan’s flank. Lakan twisted, snapping with his jaws, but Alon was already gone, circling behind him.
The siren bent the sea itself to his will—currents twisting into walls, water shaping into blades and barriers. Vortices slammed into Lakan’s side, throwing him off balance.
But Lakan had size. Weight. Raw, ancient power.
And dragon fire that could boil the ocean.
They clashed in a storm of scales, teeth, and magic—Lakan’s tail smashing through Alon’s water columns, Alon’s spear slipping between scales without quite finding purchase. The sea churned violently around them, a maelstrom born of two apex predators who’d been doing this dance for centuries.
Lakan lunged and caught Alon’s torso in his jaws—not biting down, just holding.
Alon’s spear pressed against the softer scales beneath Lakan’s jaw.
They froze, breathing hard—both grinning.
“Yield?” Lakan asked with a mouthful of siren.
“Never,” Alon replied cheerfully, unmoving.
A beat.
Then Lakan released him. Alon withdrew his spear.
“You’ve grown weak,” Alon said. “Too much time with humans.”
“You’ve grown complacent,” Lakan countered. “Too much time lounging in your palace.”
“Complacent?” Alon scoffed. “I led three successful raids last—”
“I don’t care about your raids.”
“Of course you don’t. Too busy playing scholar on land.” Alon’s eyes gleamed. “What are you really doing up there, Bakunawa? The Regent’s been sending messengers for years.”
Lakan’s jaw tightened. “Research.”
“Sure,” Alon said, clearly unconvinced. Then his expression sobered. “But it’s good you finally came back. Things are unsettled.”
“What do you mean?”
“The currents are restless. Creatures are behaving strangely.” Alon’s voice dropped. “Like something big is moving.”
“Tell your warriors to prepare,” Lakan said quietly.
“Tell yours the same,” Alon replied. “Whatever’s coming—it’s coming for all of us.”
They held each other’s gaze, rivals and almost-friends, bound by history and salt.
Alon smirked. “Try not to die before I get the honor.”
“Try not to stab yourself,” Lakan shot back.
Alon laughed and vanished into the depths
The Bakunawa Palace rose from the deep like a mountain of obsidian and pearl.
It hadn’t always looked like this. Before the Fall, their palace had lived in the heavens—light and air and impossible beauty. This was darker. Built from volcanic stone, coral, and bone, reinforced with magic older than memory.
But it was theirs.
Guards nodded as Lakan passed, fists to hearts—respect earned through centuries of standing his ground, protecting borders, and refusing to let shame break him.
He tilted his head in greeting and glided through a wide corridor toward the throne room, where he knew his family—the court—waited.
The same dragons who had killed their king to save the last moon.
Uncle Bakos, scales of deep blue, steady as stone.
Aunt Lidagat, turquoise and calm.
Sarmiento, indigo and wise.
Kidlat, black as night, with eyes that saw too much.
The silver twins, Amihan and Habagat, moving in perfect sync.
All of them watching him with expressions he couldn’t quite read.
Lakan bowed to each elder in turn. Each touched their forehead to his in blessing, a gesture that tightened his chest.
“Nephew,” Bakos said. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
“In six moon cycles,” Bakos said, “you will turn one thousand. If you have not accepted the crown by then—”
“We begin losing our immortality,” Lakan finished. “I know. We’ll have lifespans like common fish. You’ve reminded me every decade for the past five centuries.”
“And yet you still run,” Sarmiento said.
“I’m not running. I’m—”
“Hiding,” Kidlat supplied. “From your duty. From your fate.”
“I will not be king,” Lakan snapped, “until I restore our honor. Until we fly the heavens again.”
“Why?” Lidagat asked softly. “Why does it matter so much?”
“Because they call us monsters,” Lakan bit out. “Moon-eaters. They blame us for every earthquake, every storm. They bang pots and pans as if we’re mindless beasts to be chased away. The insult of it—like we couldn’t kill them all with a single breath of fire.”
“And that bothers you because…?” Habagat prompted.
“Because it’s degrading!” Lakan surged upward, coiling restlessly. “We are—we were—guardians of goddesses. Judges of immortals. And now we’re reduced to… to lesser beings hiding in shame underwater. I will not be king of a fallen race. I would rather cease to exist than be remembered forever as the Spawn of Laho!”
Silence fell.
“Lesser beings,” Bakos echoed. “Do you truly believe we are less than we were?”
“We’re cursed—”
“Are we not still among the strongest creatures above and below?” Amihan interrupted. “Don’t we rule half the seas? Haven’t we protected both worlds for millennia?”
“Our nature hasn’t changed,” Habagat added. “Our purpose hasn’t changed. We’re still guardians. Still worthy.”
“It’s not the same,” Lakan insisted, but his voice had lost some of its fire.
“No,” Bakos agreed. “It’s not. But worthy doesn’t mean glorious, nephew. And fallen doesn’t mean broken.”
Lakan looked away, unable to meet their eyes.
“You know what you’re really afraid of,” Lidagat said quietly.
“I’m not—”
“The purple fire,” she said.
The words landed like a blow.
Lakan’s throat closed.
“That’s why you work with Mayari,” Kidlat said. Not a question. “Searching for a way to break the curse before you have to take the throne.”
“You knew?” Lakan’s head snapped up. “How—”
“Did you really think we’d leave you alone on land for eighteen years without watching?” Bakos’ expression softened. “We’ve known for decades you were working with the moon goddess.”
Something warm bloomed in Lakan’s chest. His family. They’d never truly let him go.
“Mayari has a plan,” Lakan said desperately. “If I can just—”
“Stop trusting the gods,” Sarmiento cut in sharply. “Their feuds are what destroyed your father. We’re pawns in their games, Lakan. Best to remember that.”
“Mayari has been gracious to us,” Amihan countered. “She restored our forms, gave us back our strength even if we cannot fly to the heavens—”
“Which we don’t want anyway,” Habagat added.
Lakan stared. “How can you say that? You remember flying among the stars—”
“And we remember the politics,” Sarmiento said dryly. “The constant maneuvering, the guarding of every word, the weight of celestial duty. Life here is simpler.”
“Simpler?” Lakan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re telling me you prefer being down here?”
“Did you ever consider,” Amihan said gently, “that we might be happy as we are?”
“Impossible.”
“You know why you’re never happy, nephew?” Bakos floated forward. “Because you’re too proud to accept that there’s nothing wrong with being less. There’s beauty here. Freedom. We might be bound by the curse, but what being isn’t bound by something? We can still choose our path. We’ve earned that right. And you—” His voice firmed. “You especially have earned it. Release your guilt. Your shame. And believe: you are worthy of the crown.”
Lakan’s chest felt too tight.
The elders exchanged glances.
“We understand your fears,” Lidagat said carefully. “About becoming like Laho. That’s why… we found you a solution.”
“What kind of solution?”
“A queen,” Bakos said—and Lakan’s blood went cold.
“To balance you. Someone strong enough to anchor you, prevent the madness.”
“What.”
“Esebel, daughter of the Siren King,” Amihan said quickly. “The clans have discussed it. An arranged marriage would unite the seas against whatever threat is coming.”
“Alon’s sister?” Lakan asked with growing horror.
“She’s not a true mate,” Sarmiento added, as if this were a selling point. “So you won’t have to fear what happened to your father. No heart scale bond to drive you mad.”
“She’s beautiful,” Habagat chimed in. “Strong. Powerful magic. Leads her own army. Passionate about protecting the seas—”
“She is perfect for you,” Amihan finished gently.
Lakan couldn’t breathe.
Perfect. They thought this siren princess was perfect.
They didn’t know. They couldn’t know.
Because perfect had dark eyes and a sampaguita scent and moved like a living flame. Perfect had spent five days caring for a stranger. Perfect fought with mercy and killed without cruelty and looked at the moon like it held all her dreams.
Perfect was Liya.
“No,” Lakan said.
“Lakan—”
“Just no.”
“But the alliance—”
“I said NO!”
His roar echoed through the throne room, silencing them all.
His uncle’s expression hardened. “Why? Give us one good reason.”
Lakan met his eyes. Then Lidagat’s. Then each of them in turn.
“Because I found her,” Lakan said.
“Found who?” Kidlat asked.
“Her name is Liya.” He swallowed. “My heart mate.”
Shock rippled through the court.
Lidagat’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know she’s truly your mate? Has she claimed your heart scale?”
“Actually,” Lakan said. “She stole it.”
As soon as he said it, he knew he’d made a mistake.
Amihan’s head snapped toward him. “Stole it? Why?”
No going back now, Lakan thought and sighed.
“Because she’s the first Daughter of the Moon of Tribu Mayari.”
Horror bloomed across Bakos’ face—the same horror Lakan had felt when they’d suggested an arranged marriage. “Are you telling us that you have a mate who wants to kill you and has just stolen your heart scale?”
Lakan nodded once.
And the throne room erupted.
AUTHOR’S NOTE🌙
Hello, I’m Ayin — your storyteller.
Do you believe in mermaids?
I don’t mean the Disney kind — the soft, singing, shimmer-tailed kind that makes you want to live under the sea.
I mean the real ones our fishermen swore they’d seen. The ones our elders warned us about when we stayed in the water too long.
Where I’m from, we call them Sirena. Or Syokoy, their male counterpart.
Growing up, I spent summers by the sea. My grandparents’ home in the province was a short walk from the shore, near a fishing village, and every day, we’d swim until our skin burned and fingertips pruned. At night, the sunburn would hurt, but did that stop us from going again the next day? No. Definitely not.
You know what did make us leave the water when we didn’t want to?
Right, the Syokoy.
Now, forget everything you imagine about handsome mermen. The Syokoy, as the fishermen described him, was the opposite of beautiful. Green or brown scaly skin. Seaweed tangled through coarse hair. Webbed hands with sharp claws. Gills. Fangs. A human torso that gave way to something unsettlingly wrong below the waterline.
And he’s said to be aggressive.
The stories varied depending on who was telling them. Some said the Syokoy would grab swimmers by the legs and drag them into the depths to drown or eat them. Others said he only attacked those who trespassed too far into his territory — that he was territorial, not simply cruel. Either way, the warning was the same: don’t go too deep. Don’t go too far. Or he’ll take you.
We listened. Mostly. Though I’ll admit there were days we waded out just a little past the boundary, half-hoping to see if the syokoy was real or not.
Today, I still wonder.
The Philippines has some of the richest marine life on earth. With more than seven thousand islands and vast stretches of sea that remain largely unexplored, I genuinely believe there are way more things living in the deep than we can ever imagine. The Syokoy might be one of them.
And if he is?
What made him a monster?
Why kidnap humans when there are much more delicious food choices under the sea? Or did he
Could he just be another misunderstood creature like the Bakunawa?
The fishermen in my grandparents’ village were never quite clear about his story.
So I wanted to give him one.
ALON
Which brings me to Alon, our latest character in Bakunawa’s Curse, born out of the mythical monster Syokoy.
But—you might argue, especially if you’ve also been watching the Bakunawa’s Curse story videos on YouTube—Alon is too handsome to be a Syokoy.
You’d be right. I made him so. Deliberately. For now.
Because what if the monster isn’t really a monster? What if he’s just another creature in pain
What does he want, underneath all that rage and scale?
That’s Alon’s story. And it’s coming — he’ll be a full lead in one of the upcoming books in the Isle of Immortals series. I can’t wait for you to meet him properly.
Your Free Character Guide
For now, a reminder: the character list is growing fast. There’s a Free Character Guide linked in the show notes — grab it if you haven’t already, it’ll help you keep everyone straight as the story gets bigger.
UP NEXT: Chapter 9 — The Weight of Wanting
Liya has been watching the tree line. Counting the days since Lakan left. He made her no promises. So why was she still waiting?
Don’t want to wait? You can read advance chapters at my Ko-fi page.
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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💬 Join the Conversation
🤔 After eighteen years away, Lakan finally returns home. How would you describe the reunion?
• Better than expected — they’re glad he’s home.
• Worse than expected — the crown talk started immediately.
• Equal parts heartwarming and terrifying.
• I can’t decide, I was too stressed the whole time.
Let me know below.
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🌙 Thank you for reading. The moon is watching.
© Ayin Quijano. All rights reserved.
Ayin Quijano 
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