Warm steam drifted lazily above the marble jacuzzi.
Mr. Hanz leaned back against the smooth edge, a crystal glass of deep red wine resting in his hand. Beyond the towering glass walls of his penthouse, the city lights shimmered like a sea of gold.
Across from him, a large monitor displayed a breaking news broadcast.
"—according to local sources, Filipino archaeologist Dr. Jeanne Ramirez is currently believed to be under the custody of militia forces operating in Zarakhanda."
Images flashed across the screen: armed men in dusty pickup trucks, smoke rising from ruined buildings, and a blurred photograph of Jeanne.
Hanz watched quietly.
He had hired her personally.
When satellite surveys hinted at an ancient structure hidden within the mountains of Zarakhanda, it was his foundation that secretly funded the expedition. Jeanne was supposed to decode whatever relics they found.
And she had succeeded.
Too well.
The ancient inscriptions discovered inside the cave were now likely in the hands of militia fighters who had no idea what they were holding.
The news anchor continued.
"Malacañang Palace released a statement earlier today. According to the presidential spokesperson, the government currently has no finalized plan but is seeking communication with militia groups in the region."
Hanz's expression darkened.
"Idiots."
He switched off the screen.
Silence returned to the penthouse.
He stepped out of the jacuzzi and wrapped himself in a white robe. Water trailed across the marble floor as he walked toward the living room.
He took a cigar from a silver case, lit it, and walked toward the massive glass window overlooking the city.
The faint glow of the flame revealed the gold necklace resting on his neck.
Behind him, the door opened quietly.
"Sir."
His assistant stepped inside, composed as always.
"Your advisor is on the line."
Hanz extended his hand without turning.
The phone was placed in it.
"Talk."
His advisor spoke calmly from the other end.
"Mr. Hanz. We've assessed the situation."
"And?" Hanz said, staring at the skyline.
"I recommend activating the diplomatic group from your company."
Hanz took a slow drag from the cigar.
"You mean the private envoys."
"Yes. The Strategic Affairs Division. Attorneys, negotiators, and political intermediaries. They've handled conflicts like this before."
Hanz nodded slightly.
His company maintained an unusual department—professionals trained not just in law, but in back-channel diplomacy, conflict mediation, and discreet negotiations in unstable regions.
Governments often failed in places where private negotiators succeeded.
"They will establish contact with Moto wa Mapinduzi," the advisor continued. "From there, we attempt communication with Sefu."
"How much leverage do we have?" Hanz asked.
"Money. Technology. Political favors."
"Then send the message," Hanz said.
Three days later.
The reply arrived.
Hanz sat inside his office when his advisor called again.
"Our envoys reached one of Sefu's right-hand men."
"And?"
"They refused."
Hanz frowned.
"No counteroffer?"
"None."
A short silence followed.
Then the advisor added quietly,
"Our intelligence suggests Sefu is already receiving significant funding from Western interests."
"Of course He is" Hanz said
" There may be… another option."
Hanz already knew what he meant.
"Say it."
"One of our consultants—the former US Navy officer—advised that if diplomacy fails, you may need to consider hiring a covert recovery team."
"A mercenary group," Hanz said flatly.
"Yes. But not from known Western contractors like Blackwater. Too many ties to Washington."
Hanz tapped ash from the cigar.
"What does he suggest?"
"He knows an underground platform operating through Asia. Non-existent teams. No official records. Independent contractors."
"Ghosts," Hanz said.
"Exactly."
Hanz stood and walked slowly toward the window again.
City lights reflected in the glass.
"If we go that route," the advisor continued, "Dr. Jeanne would be extracted by force."
Hanz was silent for a long moment.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Let diplomacy fail first."
He crushed the cigar into the ashtray.
"But start looking for these ghosts."
Outside the glass walls, the city continued its peaceful rhythm.
But his mind couldn't settle down, wondering what the militias were doing with the information Jeanne was holding.
-The Warlord's Decision-
The dry hills of Zarakhanda baked under the harsh afternoon sun.
A hot wind swept across the militia compound built from rusted containers, sandbags, and broken concrete. Dust drifted through the air as armed fighters patrolled the perimeter, rifles slung across their shoulders.
The sun hung high but already beginning its slow descent.
It was around three in the afternoon.
At the center of the compound stood a large command tent.
Inside, Sefu sat behind a heavy wooden table.
Maps of Zarakhanda were spread across its surface—oil fields, mountain routes, military checkpoints. Pins and red lines marked territories now under militia control.
He studied them quietly.
Sefu was not a large man, but there was something about him that made people uneasy. His calmness carried the weight of someone who had seen too much war to fear it anymore.
A radio crackled on the table.
One of his commanders entered the cabin container .
"Commander."
Sefu did not look up.
"What is it?"
The man placed a satellite phone on the table.
"A message came through our contact in Moto wa Maoinduzi."
Sefu slowly leaned back.
"From who?"
"A foreign businessman."
Sefu smirked faintly.
"They always come."
The commander hesitated before continuing.
"They are asking about the Filipino woman."
Sefu's eyes finally moved.
"Dr. Jeanne."
He already knew her name.
The archaeologist captured at the checkpoint.
The woman who had been studying the ancient carvings inside the mountain.
"What do they want?" Sefu asked.
"They want her released."
"And the laptop she was carrying."
Sefu let out a quiet breath.
"Of course they do."
The commander continued.
"They are offering money. A large amount."
Sefu finally picked up the satellite phone and glanced at the encrypted message on the screen.
Millions.
Maybe more.
For a moment, the only sound inside the room was the flapping of canvas in the dry afternoon wind.
He chuckled.
Then pushed the phone away.
"Tell them no."
The commander blinked.
"Just like that?"
Sefu stood up slowly.
He walked toward the window while wind carried dust through window angle.
Outside, dozens of militia fighters trained in the open yard under the blazing afternoon sun.
Pickup trucks mounted with machine guns lined the compound.
Sefu spoke quietly.
"Money is useful."
He turned back toward the commander.
"But power is better."
The commander lowered his voice.
"The Western advisors contacted us again today."
Now Sefu's expression changed slightly.
"Did they?"
"Yes."
"They confirmed the next shipment."
Weapons.
Fuel.
Funding.
Everything needed to keep the war going.
But the real reward was something bigger.
The commander hesitated before saying it.
"They said the same thing again."
Sefu already knew the words before hearing them.
"When the current government falls… they will support you."
Silence filled the room.
Outside, the distant sound of gunfire from a training range echoed across the hills.
Sefu looked again at the map on the table.
Half the country was already burning.
The other half soon would be.
He tapped a finger on the capital city marked on the map.
"One more year," he murmured.
The commander glanced at the satellite phone again.
"And the foreign businessman?"
Sefu smiled faintly.
"Tell them something."
"What?"
"That Dr. Jeanne is safe."
He paused.
"For now."
"And the ancient writings she discovered?"
Sefu's smile slowly faded.
"That…"
He turned toward the distant mountains shimmering under the heat of the afternoon sun.
"…is the reason she is still alive."
The commander nodded.
"And the offer?"
Sefu walked back to the table and crushed the satellite phone beneath his boot.
Plastic cracked loudly against the concrete floor.
"Tell them I am not for sale."
Outside, the wind carried dust across the hills of Zarakhanda.
And somewhere inside those mountains—
The secret Jeanne had uncovered waited in silence.
-The Prisoner of the wilderness-
The room smelled of dust, diesel, and rusting metal.
A single bulb hung from the ceiling of the small concrete building inside the militia compound. Its weak light flickered occasionally as the generator outside struggled to keep the power running.
Dr. Jeanne Ramirez sat on a wooden chair.
Her hands were tied loosely in front of her—not painfully tight, but enough to make escape impossible.
She was still wearing the same field gear from the expedition, now stained with dirt and dried blood from the chaos that followed their capture.
Across from her sat two militia fighters.
One leaned against the wall with an assault rifle resting on his shoulder.
The other stared at the laptop placed on the table between them—Jeanne's laptop.
Its screen displayed scanned images of the ancient carvings from the cave.
Strange symbols filled the screen—curved lines, unfamiliar characters, and geometric patterns that looked older than any language known in the region.
The militia fighter tapped the screen.
"You wrote this."
Jeanne shook her head.
"No."
The man frowned.
"You studied it."
"Yes."
"What does it say?"
Jeanne remained silent for a moment. Her mind raced. Every word she said could change everything.
"I don't know yet," she answered carefully.
"If Commander Sefu finds out you're lying, he'll just throw you into the desert without a tongue," the man added threateningly.
"I'm not lying."
She leaned forward slightly.
"This is not a normal language. It's a proto-script. Something much older."
The second fighter stepped closer.
"Explain."
Jeanne glanced at the laptop screen again.
The truth was complicated. She had been studying the inscriptions for months before the expedition. When they discovered the cave, everything changed. The patterns matched fragments from several ancient civilizations that had never been connected before. Which made no sense. None at all.
"I've only decoded about forty percent," she said.
The two men exchanged glances.
"Forty percent?" the first fighter repeated.
"Yes."
"What does that forty percent say?"
Jeanne hesitated. That was the dangerous part. Because what she had translated so far… sounded less like history and more like a warning.
"It's fragmented," she said. "Broken sentences. Old references."
"About what?"
Jeanne swallowed.
"About something that happened here… thousands of years ago."
The second fighter narrowed his eyes.
"What happened?"
Jeanne shook her head slowly.
"I don't know. That part of the text is missing."
The man pointed at the screen.
"And the rest?"
"The rest is still undeciphered."
The fighter grabbed the laptop and turned it toward her.
"Then decode it."
Jeanne almost laughed.
"That's not how linguistics works."
"How long?"
"Months."
The fighter's patience began to wear thin.
"You have only a few days."
Before Jeanne could answer, the metal door opened.
The fighters immediately stepped aside.
A man entered the room. Calm. Silent. Every soldier in the compound knew who he was.
Sefu.
He walked slowly toward the table.
Jeanne looked at him carefully. So this was the man commanding the militia. He didn't look like the brutal warlord she had expected. He looked… controlled. And that was worse.
Sefu glanced at the laptop screen.
"These are the writings from the cave?"
Jeanne nodded cautiously.
"Yes."
"And you can read them."
"Partially."
"How much?"
"About forty percent."
Sefu studied her face carefully, trying to determine if she was lying.
Then he pulled a chair and sat across from her.
"What does it say?" he asked quietly.
Jeanne took a deep breath.
"It describes a kingdom that existed here long ago, before modern Zarakhanda."
Sefu's expression didn't change.
"A lost kingdom?"
"Yes."
"But that's not the strange part."
"What is?"
Jeanne looked at the screen again.
"The text doesn't read like a historical record."
Sefu leaned slightly forward.
"Then what is it?"
Jeanne hesitated. Because saying it out loud made it sound absurd. But the translation was clear.
"It reads like a prophecy."
The room fell silent. Even the fighters near the wall shifted slightly.
"A prophecy about what?" Sefu asked.
Jeanne answered quietly.
"About something that once destroyed the ancient kings who ruled this land."
Sefu's eyes hardened slightly.
"And?"
Jeanne looked directly at him.
"It says that one day… it will return."
The generator outside rattled loudly. For a brief moment, the light flickered.
Sefu stood up slowly. He looked at the laptop screen one more time, then at Jeanne.
"You will continue translating."
His voice was calm.
"But understand this."
He leaned closer.
"If you lie to me…"
The fighters behind him gripped their rifles.
"…you will wish I had killed you when we found you."
Sefu turned and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped.
"One more thing."
Jeanne looked up.
"That prophecy."
His eyes were cold now.
"Does it mention when this thing will return?"
Jeanne shook her head slowly.
"No."
Sefu stared at her for a moment. Then he walked out.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Jeanne exhaled slowly. Her hands trembled slightly.
Because the truth she didn't say out loud was far worse.
The prophecy didn't just say it would return. It also described the exact conditions when it would appear: war, division, the fall of kings.
And there was one thing she did not tell the militia.
The final line was no longer history. It was a warning.
The coming of an unknown force—described only as:
"…the First Devourer shall return to the surface world."