The Forest of Amihan

Chapter Two: The Forest of Amihan

Hunger is a door. If you are not careful about who feeds you, you will forget which side of the threshold you belong to.

The world didn't just tear; it unfolded like a bad PDF on a 2G connection.

One moment, I was standing in a bedroom in Pasig, smelling mothballs and my own questionable life choices. The next, reality became a screaming prism. It wasn't a tunnel; it was a violent, soul-crushing compression, like a divine fist was trying to zip-file me through the eye of a cosmic needle. My bones hummed at a pitch so high I was pretty sure my marrow was boiling into RGB lighting.

For a fleeting, terrified second, I thought: Great. I’m being deleted. I didn’t even clear my browser history.

Then, silence.

A deep, heavy quiet rushed in to fill the void. I hit the ground—not with a bone-shattering crack, but with a wet, resonant thud. My body’s immediate reaction to inter-dimensional travel was a full-scale mutiny. I rolled onto my side and threw up onto a bed of glowing moss.

I retched until my stomach was empty, until all that remained was the phantom taste of bile and the echo of Manila smog. The three thousand two hundred pesos in my bank account suddenly felt like the stupidest reason in history to have jumped into a piece of furniture.

"Note to self," I wheezed, wiping my mouth. "Dimensional travel... zero stars. Would not recommend. The lag is literal murder."

"User's vitals are currently: 'Hot Mess,'" a voice chirped in my ear.

I pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked, but the display was glowing with an impossible, 8K clarity. The tampipi icon was pulsing with a rhythm that felt suspiciously like a taunt.

"Oh, you’re still here," I groaned.

"Unfortunately for both of us," BEP replied. Her voice was crisp, dripping with the kind of sass you usually only get from a Tier 3 Senior Lead after a long weekend. "Transit complete. Vitals: Elevated. Cortisol levels: Critical. Nausea: Predictable. Also, you missed a spot on your chin. Gross."

"Thanks for the sympathy, BEP."

"Sympathy is a premium feature, Pepito. You’re currently on the 'Just Don't Die' Free Tier. Welcome to Realm 4-Alpha. Locally known as: The Hinterlands of Amihan. I’m currently parsing 4.7 zettabytes of ambient data. Try not to touch anything. Or breathe too loudly. It’s embarrassing."

I stood up on shaky legs. The "Hinterlands" looked like a forest, but if a forest was designed by a god who had a serious budget for neon lights. The trees were titans of silver bark, their crowns lost in a pearlescent mist. Vines as thick as pythons coiled around the trunks, pulsating with bioluminescent blue light.

"Hinterlands of Amihan," I muttered. "Sounds like a bad expansion pack for a game I can't afford."

A map materialized on my screen. It wasn't Google Maps; it looked like glowing green ink on parchment, shifting and redrawing itself. Most of it was covered in digital fog, but at the center was a single golden dot: YOU.

A small marker blinked nearby: a sketch of a house labeled in Lola’s handwriting—Apo’s First Stop.

"Right," I said, feeling small. "First stop it is."

The forest was eerily quiet. No birds, no crickets. Just the sound of my sneakers on wet moss and a low, rhythmic thrum from the ground. It was humid—a clean, sauna heat that made my skin feel alive instead of sticky.

Then my stomach growled. A hollow, cramping ache reminded me I hadn't eaten since a sad piece of pan de sal six hours ago.

"Great. Starving in Narnia," I grumbled.

As if the forest was eavesdropping, the wind shifted. It hit me all at once: the smell. Not flowers, but roasted chicken. Lechon Manok. Lemongrass, soy sauce, and the specific, greasy aroma of charcoal-roasted skin. Beneath it, frying garlic and caramelized bananas.

It was the smell of Sunday lunch. It was the smell of safety.

"No way," I whispered. My body moved before my brain could protest.

I pushed through a curtain of vines and stumbled into a clearing. At the center, on a mossy stone table, was a feast. Glistening golden chicken, steaming purple rice, and mangoes yellow as the sun.

Scritch. Scritch.

Something dropped from the canopy. It looked like a tarsier, but waist-high and made of shifting fog. Its eyes were vast, liquid gold orbs that reflected my own desperation back at me.

[You are invited, Hungry One,] the voice slid into my brain like oil. [The Forest provides. You are thin. You are empty. Why do you hesitate?]

Its spindly fingers, tipped with obsidian claws, clicked against the stone.

[Eat,] it cooed. [Tell me of the world of iron and smoke. Tell me your name, so I may thank the guest properly.]

My fingers were inches from a drumstick. My mouth flooded with saliva. Just one bite. Just one...

Then, Lola’s voice—sharp as a slipper slap—echoed in my head: "Never give your true name to a stranger in the gubat, Apo. A name given freely is a key."

I froze. My hand hovered over the food. The creature’s pupils contracted into vertical slits.

"I think I'll pass," I managed, my voice shaking. "I'm on a diet. Intermittent fasting. Very popular in the iron world. Very... high-tech."

"Oh, look at you," BEP whispered through the phone. "Almost becoming a permanent resident. Do you want me to record a goodbye message for your landlord?"

The creature’s neck cracked as it tilted its head too far. The voice in my head dropped an octave. [The Forest makes an effort. It is unwise to refuse. Who are you? Tell me. Sustenance for identity.]

"Sorry," I said, backing away. "My cholesterol is high. Doctor's orders."

The creature didn't move, but the air turned ice-cold. [Then starve, Traveler.]

It vanished. The feast dissolved into black, sulfurous sludge. The stone table cracked.

"BEP," I whispered. "Status?"

The screen flared red. [WARNING: Local entities are 'Offended.' Translation: You’re about to get jumped by the scenery.]

"Run, User. And for the love of the bloodline, move faster than your career growth."

I ran.

The forest came alive. Roots whipped at my ankles; branches swung at my head like they were aiming for a home run. Behind me, something heavy with too many legs crashed through the brush.

"I'm trying!" I yelled at the phone.

"Less talking, more cardio!" BEP snapped back. "[Distance to Sanctuary: 200 meters. Try not to trip over your own incompetence.]"

Ahead, through the purple shadows, I saw a warm, yellow light. The color of an old incandescent bulb. A small, crooked cottage cradled by three ancient Balete trees appeared.

I crashed through a gate of woven sampaguita vines. The flowers bloomed instantly, releasing a scent that felt like a physical shield.

Anak ng babaylan, keep your name close. Ninang Josie’s voice? Even here?

I stumbled through the door. It slammed shut and a wooden bar dropped into place. Thunk.

The silence was absolute. The smell of rot vanished, replaced by lemongrass and woodsmoke. I slid down the door, gasping for air.

"User is exhibiting a saline-based stress response," BEP chimed. "Translation: You're crying. It’s thermally inefficient, but... I suppose it's statistically probable since you almost became forest fertilizer."

"Shut up, BEP," I laughed-sobbed. "Just... give me a minute."

I looked up. The cottage was pure Lola Ynez. A banig on the bed, a copper kettle on the hearth. On the table sat a note on her old grocery pad.

> Apo ko, if you are reading this, you are safe... P.S. There is food in the pantry. Real food. You are too thin. Eat.

>

I checked the pantry and burst out laughing. It was a portal to a Sari-Sari store. A banga of rice, dried dilis, and a single, battered red can of Ligo Sardines.

"Of course," I said, grabbing the can. "Even across dimensions, Ligo is essential."

As I fried the garlic for sinangag, the smell pushed away the forest's lies. I ate with my hands, sitting on the floor. Best. Meal. Ever.

"Analysis complete," BEP said as I licked my fingers. "The leather bracelet is your Anchor. Don't take it off, or you’ll dissolve into pure energy. And honestly? I don't think the universe wants that much 'Pepito-flavored' energy floating around."

"And the pitaka? The coin purse?" I pulled it out. It felt warm.

"Status: Dormant. It's a 'Transactional Construct.' It needs a deposit. Probably something emotional or symbolic. So, basically, a magical bank account with a zero balance. Very on-brand for you."

I stood at the threshold of the cottage, staring out at the shifting, pearlescent dawn of the Hinterlands. My stomach was full of sardines, but my brain was still trying to process the fact that I’d almost traded my soul for some "glamour" chicken.

"Alright, BEP," I sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "What’s the move? We head for the coast now?"

"Correction: You head for the bed," BEP’s voice crackled from my pocket, sounding more like a tired dispatcher than ever. "I’m currently running low on Mana, and quite frankly, looking at you is taxing my processors. You look like a wet monkey that just lost a fight with a washing machine."

"Hey, I just ran a cross-dimensional marathon," I defended, though I couldn't argue with the 'wet monkey' assessment.

"Take a quick nap and adjust yourself to your new reality, Pepito. You’re no longer in a cubicle; you’re in a spiritual war zone. Act like it." The phone screen flickered once, dimmed to a faint glow, and went silent.

I didn't need to be told twice. My legs felt like they were made of lead, and the adrenaline was finally leaving my system, leaving a hollow ache in its place.

I turned back to the small corner of the room where the bamboo papag stood. It looked humble, but right now, it was more inviting than a five-star hotel. I sat down, and the bamboo gave a loud, rhythmic creak of protest, settling under my weight.

I reached for the hand-woven blanket at the foot of the bed. It smelled faintly of sun-dried starch and Lola. I pulled it up to my chin, the coarse fabric grounding me.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," I muttered to the empty room. "Or the forest entities. Or the sassy AI."

There was no reply.

I closed my eyes, and as the heavy silence of the cottage wrapped around me, everything went dark.

.

Next Up: We head to the coast. Things are going to get wetter, and unfortunately for Pepito, much larger.

If you enjoyed seeing Pepito survive his first night (barely), please leave a Rating or a Review! It helps the algorithm gods find us.

Question for the comments: If you were trapped in a magical forest, what is the ONE canned good you’d hope to find in a safe house? (Team Corned Beef or Team Sardines?)

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