Purveyor of Practical Miracles

Chapter Five: Purveyor of Practical Miracles

In the Iron World, a miracle is an interruption of the laws of physics. Here, a miracle is just a lighter that works on the first try.

Morning broke over Sarimanok like a promise made out loud, though to my burnt-out internal clock, it felt more like a 6:00 AM shift start after a double espresso and zero sleep.
The sky was a chaotic masterpiece of coral, gold, and bruised purple, the sun dragging itself up from the ocean like a coin pulled from a well. The air carried that sweet, sharp collision of the ordinary and the extraordinary—woodsmoke and frying sinangag (garlic rice) from one house mingling with the clean, ozone tang of a neighbor’s minor warding spell resetting for the day.
I kicked the starter of the Honda Wave 125.
Thrum-hiss.
The bike didn't roar; it purred. It was a beautiful, cursed hybrid of Japanese engineering and Lola’s post-mortem sorcery. The engine block, now fused with crystalline mana-conductors, vibrated with a rhythm that felt more like a heartbeat than combustion. As I twisted the throttle, the enchanted cerulean exhaust hummed in a frequency that rattled my teeth and made the pebbles on the road dance.
"Powertrain status: Optimal," BEP’s voice chimed through the bone-conduction of the helmet I definitely wasn't wearing (safety third, apparently). "Mana efficiency at 98%. You are literally driving a vibrator on wheels, User. But a very fast one."
"It’s called eco-friendly, BEP. Learn to love it."
I rolled down the dirt road that curved into the town’s heart. Honestly? It was the best commute I’d ever had. No Grab drivers canceling on me because "traffic is heavy," no smelling a stranger’s damp raincoat on the MRT, no EDSA gridlock. Just me, the wind, and a bike fueled by literal vibes.
I passed my new neighbors, and for the first time, the scene felt less like a fever dream and more like a neighborhood.
On my left, past a fence made of woven bamboo and whale ribs, Tak Labra moved through the morning mist. The man was built like a Narra trunk—all bark and solid muscle. He was moving through slow, meditative sword forms with a kris that trailed faint, silver light. It wasn't just practice; he was tuning the blade, the metal hissing every time it sliced the morning dew.
On my right, a girl with slightly pointed ears and skin that shimmered like mother-of-pearl knelt by her hearth. She was whispering to a marble-sized ball of blue fire—a Santelmo.
"Come on, little spark," she cooed, poking it with a stick. "Burn the wood, not the cat."
The Santelmo giggled—a sound like cracking charcoal—and flared up, igniting her stove.
I gave a casual wave as I zoomed by. "Morning, Tak! Morning, Diwata!"
Tak didn't break form, but he grunted a greeting. The girl waved back, soot on her nose, utterly unfazed by the guy in the gray hoodie on the glowing motorcycle.
This was Sarimanok—where "strange" was just the factory setting and miracles clocked in before breakfast.
I parked near the docks, the cobblestones still cool from the night. The smell of the ocean was stronger here, mixed with the scent of tar and drying spices.
Marikit was already there, barefoot and vibrating with self-importance. She looked like a general waiting for troops, if the general was four feet tall and wearing a dress made of patchwork sailcloth.
"Kuya! Dali!" she whisper-shouted, grabbing my hoodie sleeve and nearly dragging me off the bike. "The Merchant’s Guild opens in five minutes! The Treasurer is in a good mood because it’s ‘Sun-Turn’ day! If we’re late, we’ll get stuck behind the salt-traders, and they talk for hours about humidity!"
"Right, right. The permit." My confidence from the night before evaporated, replaced by the familiar, cold dread of bureaucracy.
My old life had taught me that "paperwork" was a special kind of hell reserved for people who didn't hit their targets. I had spent half my life waiting in lines at City Hall, the LTO, and the DFA. I knew the smell of despair and floor wax intimately.
"Analysis," BEP murmured. "Local guild structure appears to be a meritocratic oligarchy. Lady Silang’s biometric readings from yesterday suggest high cortisol levels and a total lack of patience for 'small talk.' Advise using your 'escalated-call' voice—concise, respectful, and slightly desperate."
"I call that 'Professional Excellence,' BEP. Watch and learn."
The Merchant's Guild
The Guild Hall was a massive, white-stone building near the docks, dominated by a carved wooden sign of a Sarimanok bird holding a set of golden scales.
Inside, it was surprisingly... familiar.
It was a large, echoey hall smelling of old parchment, cheap coffee (or the local equivalent, barako brew), and the faint, metallic scent of coin. Merchants in various states of dress—from salt-stained fishermen to robed gem-traders—shouted at long-suffering clerks behind high wooden counters.
"It’s just an SSS office with better lighting," I muttered, terrified.
"What is SSS?" Marikit asked, squinting at the high ceiling painted with constellations.
"A place where joy goes to be filed under 'Pending.' Where’s this treasurer?"
Marikit pointed to the shortest line, which led to a stern-looking woman in an impeccably embroidered baro. She was counting coins with terrifying speed, her fingers moving like a pianist’s.
That was Lady Silang. The Gatekeeper of Commerce.
When it was my turn, I stepped up. I didn't smile. I didn't try to charm her. I dropped my shoulders and adopted the calm, "I-can-solve-your-problem-if-you-just-listen" tone that had been my only real survival skill for a decade of BPO work.
"Good morning, Ma'am," I said, my voice steady. "I'm Sixto Pepito Espiritu. I'd like to apply for a Class-C provisional merchant's permit for the outer market. Six mats. Standard retail."
The scratching of her quill stopped.
Lady Silang didn't look up immediately. She finished writing a line in her ledger, blew on the ink, and then looked up.
Her eyes were sharp, dark, and intelligent. They took in my strange gray hoodie, my neon-orange sneakers, and my polite-but-firm posture. She glanced at Marikit, who was hiding behind my leg, then back at me.
"Espiritu?" Her voice was like dry leaves crushing together. "Like... Ynez Espiritu?"
"She was my grandmother," I said.
The entire hall, which had been a cacophony of commerce, suddenly went quiet. The ambient noise dropped by fifty decibels. Tak Labra, who had followed us in to pay his dues, actually dropped his coin pouch. Clatter.
Lady Silang put down her pen. She leaned forward, resting her chin on laced fingers.
"Ynez’s kin," she said, her gaze so intense it felt like it was X-raying my soul for any sign of the "void-rot." "She said one would come. We've been waiting a long time for an Espiritu to claim their mat. We thought perhaps the line had ended in the Iron World."
"Ah... nope," I said, blindsided by the weight of the name. "Still kicking. So... is the permit still possible?"
A slow, terrifyingly sharp smile cracked her stern face. It wasn't a friendly smile; it was the smile of a shark recognizing another predator.
"Ynez saved this town. Twice. Her blood is welcome here. But..." She tapped the counter with a long, manicured fingernail. "A permit is still a permit. It's not a gift; it's a contract. You will trade fairly. You will not deal in Void-touched items. You will pay your tithe to the Watchers. And you will contribute to the good of Sarimanok."
She leaned closer. "This is not a charity, Apo. Can you swim in these waters?"
"I can swim," I said, meeting her eyes.
"Good. The fee is five Pilak."
My stomach did a somersault. Five Pilak?
That was five hundred Tanso. Five hundred pesos. It didn't sound like much in Earth money, but here? That was a fisherman’s earnings for two weeks. It was a massive chunk of my starting capital.
I looked at Marikit, who was suddenly very busy examining the wood grain of the counter. I saw the test in Lady Silang’s eyes. This wasn't just a fee; it was a barrier to entry. She wanted to see if I was a tourist or a trader.
I didn't flinch.
I reached into my Pitaka, the abaca pouch warm at my hip. I counted out five heavy silver coins, their oceanic patterns gleaming under the hall’s magical lanterns.
Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.
I placed them on the counter with solid, respectful deliberation. I didn't complain. I didn't haggle.
Lady Silang nodded once—a sharp gesture of approval. She swept the coins into a drawer that vanished with a magical pop.
"You value our laws. Good. Here is your permit and your marker for stall 42. Welcome to the Guild, Merchant Espiritu."
The Supply Run
"Operating license acquired," BEP chimed as we walked out into the bright, blinding sunlight of the plaza. "Initial overhead: significant. Probability of turning a profit in the first quarter... has just increased to 24.7%. You successfully navigated a social-dominance encounter without crying. I’m proud of you, in a very clinical, non-emotional way."
"Thanks, BEP. Your validation feeds my soul."
I turned to Marikit. "Here." I handed her a ten-copper coin. "Buy a turon or something. Stay here and watch the stall marker. Don't let anyone move it. I’m going on a supply run."
Marikit caught the coin, eyes wide. "To the forest, Kuya? To gather herbs?"
"Further," I said, adjusting my satchel. "Much further."
I walked to a quiet, shadowed alley between the Guild and the smelly tannery. I made sure no one was watching.
"BEP, initiate Transit Protocol. Destination: Anchor Point Alpha. Pasig."
"Acknowledged. Hold onto your breakfast."
I focused on the cottage anchor, the Lagusan humming in my mind, and let the world fold.
The shift was violent. It was like being dunked in ice water and then immediately thrown into a sauna.
One heartbeat, I was breathing the crisp, salty air of Sarimanok; the next, the air turned gray and heavy.
I gasped, coughing. The smells hit me first: diesel exhaust, gutter water, the metallic tang of smog, and the unmistakable, mouth-watering scent of a neighbor’s fishball cart. The distant soundtrack of tricycle engines and jeepney horns was a jarring, painful nostalgia.
I was back in the alley behind our old house in Pasig.
"Portal stability holding," BEP’s voice buzzed, sounding staticky here. "You have approximately 3 hours and 20 minutes before the dimensional anchor requires a 'cool down.' Move it, Pepito. This isn't a vacation."
I sprinted out of the alley, my sneakers slapping on the cracked concrete pavement. It was night here. The streetlights flickered orange.
And there it was—the anchor of my childhood: Josie’s Sari-Sari Store.
It was a cage of steel bars and colorful plastic sachets. Ninang Josie was there, sweeping the pavement with the same rhythmic patience she’d had for twenty years. She looked up as I ran over, my face flushed, sweat dripping down my neck.
"Sus, Pepito! Anak!" she clucked, leaning against her broom. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Too much online games again? Your eyes are red. You didn't come by yesterday."
I grinned, the normalcy of her scolding feeling like a lifeline. "Something like that, Ninang. I’m... starting a business. A specialized export business. I need to stock up."
I slapped a five-hundred peso bill (real money, from my hidden stash) onto the counter.
"I'll take... all your lighters. Seriously, all of them. And twenty cans of Ligo sardines. The red one. A case of Pancit Canton, chili-mansi flavor. And all those cheap butterfly knives you use for opening boxes."
Ninang Josie blinked. She adjusted her glasses. She looked from the cash to my intense, slightly wild eyes.
She didn't question it. She simply nodded and began gathering the items, her plastic bangles clicking a soft rhythm.
"This is a lot of... snacks, Apo," she said, her back to me as she reached for the canned goods. "Planning a party?"
"It's for a very hungry village," I said lamely.
I pulled out my phone. "BEP, open the Tampipi."
The phone screen glowed with a grid pattern. As I touched the boxes Ninang Josie piled on the counter, I whispered the command word.
"Store."
Zzzzt.
The items shimmered, turned into pixels, and vanished into the phone. A pack of lighters. Gone. A case of sardines. Gone. The inventory screen filled up: [Ligo Sardines x20], [BIC Lighter x15], [Pancit Canton x40].
Ninang Josie didn't scream. She didn't drop the box of noodles.
She simply paused. She turned around slowly, and began to hum—a low, ancient kundiman tune that made the fluorescent lights of her store flicker.
"So," she said, her voice soft, dropping the 'Tita' affectation entirely. "You found the Lagusan."
My blood ran cold. I froze, phone in hand. "W-what?"
She leaned over the counter. Her eyes, usually warm and crinkly, were deep and held an impossible age. The shadows around her seemed to stretch.
"I was wondering when you’d finally open it," she murmured. "Someone had to make sure no one else did while Ynez was gone. We are... old friends, your Lola and I."
"Alert!" BEP frantically whispered in my ear. "High-level spiritual entity detected! Energy signature is localized in the civilian! Warding patterns are ancient! This is not a normal Tita!"
"Tell your little talking box to relax," Ninang Josie interrupted, flicking her gaze to my pocket with amusement. "I’m not an 'entity,' I’m a Tita. But listen to me, Pepito."
She reached out and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was iron.
"The Lagusan is a scale. Every item you bring across has a weight. Not in kilos, but in consequence. Don’t let greed make your path heavy. Don’t bring weapons of war. Don’t bring sorrow. If your soul becomes too heavy, the path will close. Permanently."
She reached under the counter and pushed a small, blue tin toward me.
Vicks VapoRub.
"For protection," she said, her smile returning to normal. "The scent reminds the shadows of home, and they leave you be. Now go. Your time is slipping."
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. I took the tin.
"Salamat po... Ninang."
The Opening of Stall 42
I made it back to Sarimanok with thirty minutes to spare.
The transition back was easier this time, though I still felt like I’d been spun in a dryer. Sarimanok was bright, the sun high. The market was in full swing.
Marikit was sitting on a wooden crate in front of Stall 42, fiercely fending off a rival merchant—a man selling dried squid—who was trying to inch his mat onto our plot.
"He is coming back!" she yelled, puffing up like a blowfish. "Move your squid, Mang Karding!"
"He’s back!" she squealed when she saw me, relief flooding her face.
I walked into my little six-mat square. I took a deep breath.
"BEP, initialize inventory deployment. Let’s show them what a Sari-Sari store looks like in 2026."
I tapped the phone.
Soft, shimmering light pulsed across the woven mats as the Tampipi released its treasures.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Cans of Ligo sardines gleamed like silver ingots. Fanned-out packets of Pancit Canton provided a splash of aggressive yellow and red color. The BIC lighters were laid out in a rainbow circle like jewels.
I stood up, cleared my throat, and channeled every vendor I had ever heard on the streets of Manila. I used the rhythmic, singing cadence that cuts through noise.
"Pasok, mga suki! Bili na kayo! Bagong dating, galing sa ibang mundo! Murang-mura, sulit na sulit!" (Come in, loyal customers! Buy now! Fresh arrivals from another world! Very cheap, very worth it!)
Heads turned. The alien cadence caught their ear.
Tak Labra approached, his massive shadow falling over the stall. He looked skeptical.
"What is this, Merchant Espiritu?" He picked up a can. "Canned... fish? We have the sea, Pepito. We have fresh fish."
"We do," I agreed, my voice projecting. "But does the sea give you fish that is already cooked, seasoned in a rich tomato sauce, and ready to eat in seconds? Does the sea give you fish that will not spoil for a year? A warrior’s ration, Tak. Perfect for long patrols in the forest."
Tak frowned. "How do you open it? Do I need a sword?"
I held up a can with an easy-open tab.
"Watch."
I pulled the tab. Shh-kssht.
The sound was crisp. The smell of tomato sauce and sardines filled the air—savory, tangy, familiar.
Tak sniffed it. He took a hesitant bite using a wooden spoon I offered. He chewed. His eyes widened.
"It is... rich," he grumbled, but he was already reaching for another bite. "Salty. Sweet. How much?"
"Thirty Tanso."
"Sold." He slapped coins down. "I'll take five. For the patrol."
But the real miracle happened next.
A fisherman with a pipe walked up. He was patting his pockets, looking frustrated. "My flint is damp," he sighed. "Can I borrow a light from your stove?"
"I have something better," I said.
I picked up a bright orange BIC lighter.
"Observe."
With a casual, practiced flick of my thumb—Click.
A steady, unwavering flame bloomed from the top of the plastic stick. No chanting. No rubbing stones. No coaxing a spirit. Just fire. Instant. Obedient.
The fisherman stared. The crowd that had gathered went silent.
"How?" the fisherman breathed. "Where is the fuel spirit?"
"Trapped inside," I said mysteriously. "It obeys only the thumb."
"I'll give you fifty Tanso," someone shouted from the back.
"I'll give you sixty!"
Marikit looked at me, her eyes wide as saucers. "You’re not just selling things, Kuya," she whispered. "You’re selling miracles."
"The affordable kind," I winked. I handed her a piece of Potchi candy—a gummy strawberry treat I'd snagged. She popped it into her mouth, her face lighting up with a childlike delight I'd never seen before.
"Then I’m your first customer!" she mumbled around the candy.
"Deal," I laughed. "You’re also my official market guide and Head of Sales. Salary: unlimited candy and ten percent of the gross."
The crowd surged forward. Coins clinked against the counter. Laughter rose. Curiosity bloomed into commerce.
And just like that, Sixto “Pepito” Espiritu—former call center agent, burnout victim, and reluctant heir—became something new.
I wasn't a stranger anymore. I was the Purveyor of Practical Miracles.
"User. Logging new identity," BEP’s voice was unusually soft in my ear. "Pepito Espiritu—Status: Merchant. Reputation: Rising."
I smiled, eyes sweeping over my little empire of noodles and fire. I looked toward the horizon, where the forest met the sky. Somewhere beyond that, Lola was waiting. But for now, there was this market, these people, and a beginning that finally felt like belonging.
Author’s Note:
And so, the Sari-Sari Store of the Multiverse is open for business!
There is something deeply satisfying about the idea that modern conveniences—lighters, canned food, instant noodles—would be seen as high-level magic in a fantasy world. It’s the "Clarke’s Third Law" in action: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
Lore Dive: Ninang Josie. She’s the MVP. In Filipino culture, the neighborhood Tita knows everything. It makes sense she’d know about the portal too.
Economy Check:
* 1 Pilak (Silver) = 100 Tanso (Copper/Bronze) = ~100 Pesos.
* Lighters for 60 Tanso? That’s a markup of about 500%. Pepito is going to be rich... if the Guild doesn't shut him down.
Next Chapter: We explore the darker side of the forest, and Pepito realizes that "Void-touched" isn't just a scary bedtime story.
Comment Question: If you could bring ONE item from a convenience store to a fantasy world to sell, what would it be? (I’m betting on Instant Coffee).
- Author