The morning sun cast a warm golden glow over the quiet city of Samar. The faint sound of roosters crowing echoed down the narrow streets, while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees. The distant hum of motorcycles and the occasional barking of stray dogs were the only signs of life stirring in the early hours.
Inside his modest apartment, Jera D'Ros stood by the kitchen counter, methodically preparing for his camping trip. The window was slightly ajar, letting the cool morning air drift in, carrying with it the fresh scent of damp soil from the rain that had fallen overnight.
The apartment was simple—a worn-out sofa near the window, a small TV on a shaky table. His camping gear was spread across the floor: a weathered backpack, a rolled-up sleeping bag, and a portable stove. Jera moved with practiced efficiency, as if this routine had become second nature.
He placed a wooden chopping board on the counter and began slicing onions and tomatoes, the sharp aroma filling the air. Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out the chicken he'd marinated the night before, its rich scent hinting at the flavors he would soon enjoy.
With careful hands, he sautéed the onions and tomatoes in a pot, their sizzling sound breaking the morning's stillness. The fragrance of garlic and ginger wafted through the room. He added the chicken, letting it brown before tossing in green papaya and fresh chili leaves—ingredients for tinola, his favorite comfort food.
As the pot simmered, filling the room with a savory aroma, Jera started the rice in his old rice cooker. The steady hum of the appliance blended with the occasional clatter of his utensils.
Despite the routine task, his mind wandered. The news report from the previous night still lingered—about the massive meteor shower that had captivated the world. While stirring the pot, his brow furrowed slightly.
"It was supposed to be just a meteor shower… but why did it feel so ominous?" he wondered.
Unable to shake off the unease, Jera wiped his hands on a rag and walked over to his small dining table, where his phone was charging. He unlocked it and opened Facebook, scrolling through the endless stream of posts.
His timeline was flooded with videos and photos of the meteor shower from all over the world. While the event had been beautiful, the aftermath was anything but. Posts detailed the disastrous consequences—fires, tsunamis, and strange earthquakes hitting different parts of the globe almost simultaneously.
Jera narrowed his eyes.
"That can't be a coincidence…" he thought, leaning against the table.
One post in particular caught his eye—a blurry video showing what appeared to be a glowing fragment embedded in the ground, pulsating with an eerie light. The caption read:
"Found this after the meteor shower. This is no ordinary rock. It's... alive?"
Jera stared at the screen, feeling a chill run down his spine. He shook his head, dismissing it as just another hoax.
He returned to the stove, stirred the tinola, and let it simmer a little longer. The savory broth filled the apartment with warmth, momentarily distracting him from the unease that lingered.
Once Jera finished packing the essentials for his trip—a tent, a portable hotdog grill, snacks, and a flashlight—he tidied up his apartment. He quickly cleared away the mess, making sure everything was neat and organized before heading out.
Stepping outside, he walked toward the bus stop, just a short distance from his apartment. The streets were unusually quiet, with only the occasional rustle of leaves and the hum of passing cars breaking the stillness. He glanced around, briefly appreciating the peace, but his thoughts drifted back to the post he'd seen earlier.
Reports of bizarre occurrences were spreading rapidly—mysterious lights in the sky, unexplained tremors, and strange weather patterns sweeping across the globe. Jera wondered if these discoveries were real.
"Weird things are happening everywhere... Is this really the end of the world?" he mused, a slight frown crossing his face.
With a sigh, he shook his head, pushing the troubling thoughts aside.
"I might as well enjoy life before it all goes to hell," he muttered with a faint, defiant smirk.
A few minutes later, the bus arrived. Jera boarded without hesitation and settled into a window seat. He leaned against the cool glass, watching the cityscape fade away as he prepared to leave his worries behind—at least for a little while.
As Jera sat by the bus window, he pulled out his phone and opened the map, checking if he was nearing his destination—Huraw Mountain.
The bus crept closer to the area, and Jera's gaze shifted toward the window. He caught sight of the towering mountain, its rugged silhouette cutting through the horizon, and the winding trail leading into the dense forest. He could already tell he was nearing the place he had planned to explore.
"That must be it," he murmured under his breath, a mix of excitement and nervousness creeping into his voice.
"Should I really be camping here alone?" he asked himself, a small grin tugging at his lips despite his uncertainty.
The bus slowed, and the conductor's voice echoed through the quiet cabin.
"We've reached the foot of Huraw Mountain! Anyone getting off?" the conductor called, scanning the passengers.
Jera stood, grabbing his gear with practiced ease. He moved toward the exit, stepping off the bus and into the crisp mountain air. He adjusted the straps of his backpack, taking a deep breath, feeling the cool breeze against his face.
"Here we go," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face, anticipation buzzing in his chest.
The bus pulled away behind him, leaving a thin veil of dust hanging in the air. Jera D'Ros adjusted the weight of his backpack, its old straps digging slightly into his shoulders. It wasn't heavy with gear—just enough for one or two nights: a small tent, a sleeping bag, some food, water bottles, a flashlight, a couple of spare shirts, and an aging portable stove. Still, it felt heavier than it should, perhaps because of the uncertainty gnawing at him.
He gazed up at the winding trail ahead, swallowed by thick trees and shaded in deep green. The base of the mountain stood silent and unwelcoming, like a gatekeeper sizing him up.
"Camping alone, huh…" he murmured, shifting his stance as he eyed the dense treeline. "Is this really worth it?"
No one was around to answer. The woods said nothing back.
He took a deep breath, the crisp mountain air rushing into his lungs, tinged with the scent of moss and bark. His boots crunched against gravel as he started walking, each step firm but cautious. The trees towered over him, their leaves rustling gently with the wind. Birds chirped faintly above, a few insects buzzed nearby, and every now and then a small twig snapped underfoot. It was peaceful—at first.
About an hour passed. The trail had grown narrower, climbing steadily with every turn. Roots tangled underfoot, and the sunlight above had begun to dim as the tree canopy thickened. Jera wiped sweat from his brow, stopping briefly to catch his breath. His muscles weren't used to long hikes, but he pushed forward anyway.
"I should be close to a good spot soon," he muttered, glancing around. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for—just some place that felt right. A clearing maybe, with enough space to set up a tent and sit quietly without the noise of the world.
But then the forest began to shift.
It happened gradually, but unmistakably. The wind died. The sounds of birds and insects faded into silence. The path, once well-worn, started to look wild, as if no one had walked it in years. And then came the fog—rolling in low, almost lazily at first, until it thickened into a curtain of white that clouded everything around him.
Jera slowed his steps. He couldn't see more than a few meters ahead now. The trees were still there—he could just make out their trunks—but their shapes had grown long and warped in the mist, like shadows stretching unnaturally.
A chill passed through him, despite the heat still lingering in his body from the hike. He looked around, disoriented. Every direction looked the same.
He decided to sit down on a large rock just off the path. His legs ached, his breath was shallow, and his eyes strained in the dim light. He unhooked the water bottle from his bag and took a sip, then leaned back slightly, listening. Still no birds. No wind. Not even the sound of leaves brushing.
The silence pressed in around him like a weight.
Jera rubbed his arms, glancing over his shoulder. The fog clung to the trees like a living thing, and the forest no longer felt like the one he had entered just an hour ago.
He didn't speak this time. Didn't whisper another self-reflection. He just sat there, the soft fog curling around his boots, and waited for the tension in his chest to ease.
After resting for a few minutes, Jera forced himself back to his feet. The fog hadn't lifted—it had thickened even more, clinging to the air like a living thing. The silence was unbroken, unnaturally still. He adjusted the straps of his bag and decided to make his way back down the mountain.
At first, the trail seemed normal. Trees blurred by fog, roots poking through the dirt, the occasional rustle of leaves overhead. But the longer he walked, the more he noticed the unsettling repetition. The scenery didn't change. No new bends, no different trees. Just the same path looping again and again like a broken track.
To test his suspicion, he stopped beside a crooked tree with a jagged branch and slipped off his backpack. He placed it neatly on the ground beside the roots, then continued walking—counting every step.
One hundred steps. Two hundred.
Five minutes passed, and the fog remained thick, the path unchanged. Then, ahead of him—through the swirl of mist—he saw it.
His bag.
Sitting right where he left it.
Jera froze. His breath hitched. He looked around, spinning slowly in place. "No way," he muttered. "I've been walking in a straight line." A chill ran down his spine. "Is this... a loop?"
To be sure, he tried something he remembered hearing as a child—an old superstition.
He pulled off his shirt and turned it inside out, then slipped it back on. Supposedly, doing this could break curses or confuse spirits in folklore. But as he resumed walking, he ended up right back at the same spot. The bag was still there. The mist, thicker than before.
It didn't work.
He picked up the bag and backed away slowly, his hands trembling. He was trapped. A creeping fear settled in his chest like ice.
Eventually, he sank down onto a large fallen trunk beside the path, his breathing shallow. The wood was slick and damp beneath him, but he didn't care. He stared down at the dirt, his mind racing. "What the hell is going on...?" he whispered.
No answers came.
Then, a deep rumble shuddered through the earth. Distant, at first—like the growl of something ancient awakening.
Jera looked up.
Through the mist, two towering shapes began to emerge. Trees seemed to part for them. They weren't alive—but they were massive.
Two dragon-like statues, covered in thick moss and vines, stood on either side of a towering, ancient gate. The dragons were coiled, their stone jaws slightly open, as if ready to unleash a roar. Their wings were folded close, and cracks ran across their massive bodies, yet their presence was overwhelming.
Their eyes glowed—deep, crimson red, brightening slowly.
And between them stood the gate.
It was enormous, forged from dark wood and stone, inscribed with faint, pulsing runes that shimmered like distant stars. The air around it thrummed with a strange energy.
Jera stared, wide-eyed, his fear momentarily replaced with awe. "What… is this?"
Then, everything shifted.
Ding.
A soft sound echoed through his ears.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
You have been chosen by the Strongest.
A translucent screen appeared in midair, just a few feet in front of him. Glowing letters floated in place, casting a faint blue light.
Jera blinked. He stepped back, shaking his head. "No way… this can't be real."
The system message remained.
Then a second one appeared.
[QUEST TRIGGERED]
Do you choose to become the Strongest?
[YES] — Enter the Gate
[NO] — Be torn apart
Jera's eyes darted toward the dragon statues. Their red eyes began to burn brighter, glowing like embers in the fog. A faint grinding sound filled the air as the claws of one statue twitched—just barely.
Their wings shifted. Their jaws creaked wider.
The air thickened, pressing on his chest.
He felt it—this wasn't a game. If he refused…
They'd kill him.
His fingers curled tightly around his bag's strap, knuckles pale. His heart pounded in his ears. He was no hero. No fighter. Just an ordinary guy with no idea why this was happening.
But now he had a choice.
And a gate waiting to be opened.
Jera's heart raced as his eyes moved from the System message to the dragon statues with their glowing red eyes. The decision felt huge, but there was no time to think it over. He had to choose.
His throat felt dry as he whispered to himself, trying to gather his thoughts. He was scared, but also curious about what lay ahead.
"I-I… choose to enter," he said with cracked voice, then focused hard and thought the same thing in his mind. "Yes."
He didn't tap the screen. It was just his voice and his mind making the decision. Almost immediately, the words on the System message changed.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
The dragon statues will not move. Please enter the Biringan Gate.
Jera didn't hesitate. Something in him pulled him toward the gate. He took a deep breath and walked toward it, each step heavy with uncertainty.
As soon as he crossed the gate's threshold, the world around him seemed to shake. The air turned thick, and the ground under him felt unstable, as if everything was shifting. A loud sound, like a strange hum, filled the air, and everything around him twisted and blurred.
Then, in an instant, everything went black.