The wind whispered through the gnarled branches of the ancient balete tree, carrying secrets older than the city itself. Moonlight filtered through its tangled roots, casting eerie shadows onto the cracked pavement of Balete Drive. The street was empty, save for the distant hum of a passing jeepney, its headlights flickering as if hesitating to illuminate what lay hidden in the dark.
Celeste Alcaraz tightened her grip on her camera. The stories had always fascinated her—ghosts, spirits, creatures of the night that haunted Manila's forgotten corners.
Skeptics called them myths, but she had spent years chasing the truth, searching for proof that the supernatural was real. Tonight, standing before the infamous tree, she felt a chill creep down her spine.
A rustle. A whisper.
Then, the temperature plummeted.
Celeste exhaled, and her breath fogged in the humid air. A shadow moved beyond the roots, shifting unnaturally, as if the darkness itself had come alive.
The stories spoke of a woman in white—a lost soul doomed to wander Balete Drive, luring unsuspecting travelers to their doom. But as Celeste raised her camera, the figure emerging from the tree was no ghost.
Golden eyes glowed in the darkness.
Not human. Not of this world.
The last thing Celeste heard before everything went black was the rustling of leaves and a voice—deep, commanding, and edged with something ancient.
"She's awakened."