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LEON

W hat a damn night. Max and I walked into Silk to enjoy a nightcap. We didn’t expect to walk out with two whole assignments. Well, the finder job was definitely an assignment. Something about a statuette.

That second thing, though. A communion with Arachne, the spider-woman of ancient Greek mythology? Seemed like less of an assignment and something closer to a nightmare.

But I slept extremely well, thankfully. No nightmares to report. I slipped into my apartment, my mood going as shabby as my surroundings. It was the following morning. I’d come home to pick up a few essentials.

Max had dropped me off before going around town to work on some errands. I spent so much time at his place that it almost felt like giving up my apartment would be more convenient for everybody. I smirked at the emptiness of it, scoffed under my breath.

As if that was such a wonderful idea. We’d barely started dating. Max was a great guy, but I didn’t want to scare him off by showing up at his place with a bunch of cardboard boxes, the rice cooker that was the only appliance I actually owned, and the framed picture of my mother.

I plunked onto the bed, smiling at her as she smiled at me. I kissed the tips of my fingers, pressed them against the glass. “I’m home. Sorry, I know I’m barely around these days.”

Not that she cared or even minded. The dead stayed dead, even in a place as miraculous as the arcane underground. And yet it brought me so much comfort, spreading myself out along my rickety bed, chitchatting as if she could hear my endless rambling.

“A communion, Mom. Like, an actual ritual to contact an entity. A queen of spiders. Wow.”

I stared up at the ceiling, wondering whether that weird, grubby spot had always been there. I mean, didn’t I have enough gods meddling in my affairs? Technically, only Tiamat was an actual god. Bakunawa and Arachne were legendary figures, but not quite deities. That didn’t make them any less powerful, though.

Or any less scary, for that matter. Communing with spirits was nothing new to the Alcantara witches, nor to any witches in any tradition, I imagined. Cast a summoning circle, make the offering, spill some blood, and chant the words to entice them, call their attention.

But speaking as someone who had received ancient sea dragons in his apartment? I generally preferred not to call the attention of fickle, centuries-old creatures equipped with volatile powers and potentially even more volatile tempers.

“And more of those thug attacks, Mom. Roscoe used to be so confident about fending them off, but this felt different. And I felt so helpless. What am I without a dragon to Emanate? I knew you taught me the blasting hex, but it was always so hard to pull off.” I rubbed a tight circle around my wrist, pouting. “And painful, too.”

I was never more honest than when I had these little one-way convos with my mother. I hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a long time, what with Bakunawa still asleep inside my body. I never did perfect the blasting hex, even knowing that it was an effective way to get someone the hell out of my face.

The problem was how it seemed to hurt me almost as much as it hurt someone else. I sighed, pretending I could hear my mother scold me. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Practice makes perfect.”

“Why would you rely on such pitiful spells, little lion, when you have the raw power of draconic might waiting in the wings?”

Tiamat’s voice drifted in from the busted, unfurnished open area I thought of as the living room. Strange. I could smell the seawater in the air, hear the faint rush of waves. Somehow I hadn’t noticed her coming this time. Maybe I was too wrapped up in bitterly complaining to my mother.

“Hi again, Tiamat,” I said, playing it cool and casual as I peeled myself off the bed.

I walked into the living area, carefully avoiding the puddles of saltwater. Honestly, I had to mop the place every time this woman made an appearance. There she stood, her gemstone scales sparkling in the sunlight that trickled in through the ratty curtains.

“What brings you to my peasant hovel on this fine morning? And mind you, an Alcantara blasting hex can really ruin someone’s day. It’s not just a pitiful spell.”

I knew the lady could bathe me in her bluish-green dragonfire with a simple snap of her fingers, but I figured I’d throw that in. I had to stand up for my lineage. Dragon goddess or no, I couldn’t just let her badmouth my many mothers.

“My apologies, Leonardo Alcantara. Of course, of course. Human magic can still be very potent indeed. But why limit yourself to curses and hexes when the window to Emanation remains wide open?”

A shiver ran down my spine. I tried not to give those little moments too much thought, the bursts of exhilaration and sheer power I experienced each time one of the dragons Emanated through my body. But I couldn’t deny how deeply I enjoyed every instance, whether it was channeling Tiamat’s hellish flames or Bakunawa’s raging waters.

She was about to introduce me to another dragon.

“Ah. Then you’ve deduced why I am here. I will not dally. Come forth, brother.”

A hot breeze blew in through the window, stinging and brisk. This wasn’t the same warmth of ocean wind that accompanied Bakunawa’s coming. That had felt like a rush of breath, nearly comforting, a reminder of the many islands where I was born. Memories of beaches, the rush of waves.

This wind was different. Older, something that had been blowing for far longer. But above all else I could not ignore its heat, almost suffocating in its dryness. Even the lightest touch against my skin seemed to sap me of my energy, and I’d only just woken up.

And then there he stood, a figured swathed in robes. White, I imagined, to stave off the desert heat, and loose enough to let the air circulate all over the body. Not that this man needed to worry about such things. I had to remind myself that these were only dragons wearing human skin.

These vestments were only symbolic, a way for them to mark the cultures and civilizations they hailed from — or perhaps, most appropriately, the ones that remembered them. He stared at me with piercing eyes, his beard full and dark, swarthy skin weathered by the sun and wind.

On his head, a white cowl, to protect him from the glare of the sun. The cloth was affixed in place by a golden circlet, almost like a crown. This was someone ancient, important, perhaps even as old as Tiamat herself. It was odd to think of the sea dragons in terms of age, but Bakunawa came from a younger place, a newer nation.

This man filled the room with his presence, clotted the air with the smell of time.

“It is an honor to meet the one they call Witch Boy.”

His voice was kindly and soft, the wind through the palm fronds, a refreshing breeze at an oasis. This was someone who could afford to speak so sweetly, adjusting his tone and volume for fragile human ears, a delicate human mind. If I closed my eyes, I knew I would hear it in the depth of his voice. This dragon was as old as the world itself.

I bowed my head, something I hadn’t intended, and something I didn’t recall happening when I met either Tiamat or Bakunawa.

“The honor is all mine.”

What was I saying? This wasn’t me, and yet something about the man in the white robes commanded authority. I had no idea who he was, or where he came from, but his very existence tugged at that inherent Filipino impulse to respect my elders.

Tiamat smiled as she gestured at the man, arm flourished as if presenting him at a grand event. “This is Bahamut, among the oldest and greatest of our kind.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I am humbled, sister.”

“Oh, humility isn’t called for here, dear brother. I merely speak the truth. How do you refrain from attributing greatness to a serpent who carries the very world upon his back?”

My jaw fell open, but I quickly snapped it shut. It was coming to me now, if only in bits and shreds. There were so many different versions of this same story, of some colossal creature bearing the actual Earth on its back, the only thing preventing our world from plunging into a great ocean of void.

The beast in question changed with each of these creation myths. Sometimes it was a great turtle, a gigantic fish. In this case, Bahamut was a serpent. A sea dragon, just like his kin.

“Or so the story goes in old Arabia,” Tiamat continued.

Bahamut bowed his head, eyes twinkling as he smiled. “Or so the story goes.”

Tiamat took one step back, placing Bahamut squarely between us. “If you will allow it, little lion, my brother would very much appreciate the opportunity to manifest through you. To Emanate.”

“Yes, little one. It truly has been so very long.” Bahamut sighed as he rolled his shoulder, squeezing it in one hand.

I might have been imagining it, but I thought I felt the ground tremble. Bakunawa had done something similar, demonstrating his power when we first met, when I got too mouthy. But this was different. Bahamut carried the world upon his back. What great miracles and disasters could I conjure by Emanating his power?

“Before anything — with all due respect — I do have two questions. Tiamat? I haven’t heard from Bakunawa since the, ah, incident. He had to absorb a huge amount of water to save my life, and he said he needed to sleep it off.” I gestured at myself. “Well? Is he still in there?”

She smiled, sharp teeth glinting. “I am pleased to report that my brother has vacated the premises. It would be quite unwieldy for you to carry two great dragons within your body, would it not?”

I looked down at my stomach. “And he never even said goodbye? Dang. As for my second question — Bahamut, no offense, but I’m curious about what your true form would look like.”

When the man in the robes chuckled, I thought I heard a distant rumble. Great boulders tumbling from a mountain, rocks scraping and stirring to life. And yet it could have just been the deepness of his voice.

“No offense taken, little one, and take no offense from my words when I say this in turn. If you were to gaze upon my true form, it would drive you mad. If I raise my head to the heavens, the stars shall fall. If I shrug, nations shall crumble.”

I raised my own head, looking past his body, trying to conceive of just how enormous Bahamut actually was. Tiamat sniffled as she flipped a lock of her hair.

“Not for nothing, but I, too, maintain a majestic form. Some of us still remember how to manifest in ways that would not shatter the fragile human mind.”

Bahamut held a hand to his chest. “And some of us have forgotten, or have never learned.”

“Indeed.” Tiamat extended a single clawed finger. “And it is through your generosity and talent, little lion, that we are able to experience this reality without breaking it. Step onto its soil without cleaving the planet in twain.”

The promise of power. This time, a dragon so colossal it would fracture my mind if I attempted to fathom his greatness. Would I earn the gift to make the earth shake with fury? To call on stone to erupt and break the bones of my enemies?

Would I earn the power to make the Quartz Spider quake in terror, the power to put an end to his sorrow and madness?

I extended my hand to Bahamut. “Allow me to be your gracious host. My name is Leon Alcantara, and I’ll be your guide on this journey.”

Tiamat laughed softly, because no one could resist an Alcantara’s charms. And Bahamut smiled as he reached for my hand.

“How very kind of you. I pray you survive our binding.”

“Survive our what, now?”

His hand closed around mine, the roughness and warmth of strong, weathered fingers brushing against my skin. The breath left my body. I wheezed, gasping for air. Why did I always forget about the pain?

And a different flavor of it, every time. Tiamat’s flames, the stinging salt as Bakunawa’s oceans entered my skin. And now, Bahamut’s sands scouring my body from the inside out, grating and scraping at my flesh as it raged through my veins.

Every time. Every goddamn time.

I fell to my knees and screamed.