Hera was full. Hera was loud. But for the boy sitting in the dirt, Hera was a world seen through frosted glass.
Sugat huddled beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient tree at the edge of the plaza, tugging at the frayed hem of his worn robe. His sandals, held together by sheer luck and old twine, felt heavy with the dust of a city that didn't want him. He watched a group of dancers twirl in the distance; their laughter drifted toward him, but by the time it reached his ears, it felt hollow—like a memory of a song he never learned to sing. As his fingers dug into the cold earth, his chest tightened with a familiar, bitter realization. The same lights. The same joy. But he remained a ghost in their sun.
“Hey, mister…”
The small voice made Sugat stiffen. He didn't move. He didn't even dare to breathe.
A young child stood a few feet away, clutching a wooden toy. The boy’s head was tilted, his brow furrowed as his gaze dropped to the ground beneath Sugat’s feet. He pointed a small, trembling finger. “How do you do that?” the child whispered. “Where did your shadow go?”
Sugat’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. All around them, the festive lanterns bathed the street in a brilliant, amber glow. Shadows of the trees stretched long and elegant; shadows of the revelers merged into a dark, shifting tapestry on the cobblestones. But beneath Sugat, there was only empty, illuminated dirt. No outline. No silhouette. Nothing to prove he was actually standing there.
“There you are!” A woman’s voice, sharp and frantic, cut through the music. She lunged forward, her face draining of color the moment her eyes landed on Sugat. She didn't just grab her son; she yanked him back so hard he nearly tripped. Her gaze remained fixed on the empty space at Sugat’s feet, her pupils dilating in primal terror.
“Don’t look at him!” she hissed, her voice trembling as she crossed herself instinctively. She stepped back as if Sugat were an open plague-pit. “He’s hollow. The curse—it’ll crawl onto you if you stay!”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“But Mom…” the boy whimpered, reaching into his small satchel. “I just wanted to give him—” He held out a small, warm piece of bread.
The woman snatched it from his hand before it could get close. With a look of utter disgust, she flung the bread into the dirt near Sugat’s cracked sandals. “Eat that, you starving mutt,” she spat. “And may Bathala have mercy on us for even breathing the same air as you.”
Sugat watched them disappear into the sea of glowing lanterns. He stared at the bread, now coated in the filth of the plaza. Shaking, he picked it up and took a bite. It tasted like ash and salt, seasoned with the sting of a memory from six years ago—a sun-drenched schoolyard, a rattan ball hitting the dirt, and the sudden, freezing silence of other children realizing that the boy in front of them didn't cast a shadow.
“The shadowless freak,” they had whispered then. “Don’t touch the ball, I don’t want his luck on my feet.”
The memory dissolved as a cold wind whipped through the trees. The festival was far behind him now, swallowed by the forest. Dark, heavy clouds began to mask the moon, and the first drops of rain stung his skin. Sugat huddled beneath a dripping canopy, tracing aimless shapes in the mud. “I didn’t choose this,” he whispered to the rain, a single tear disappearing into the wet earth. “I didn’t ask to be empty.”
When the rain turned into a downpour, he finally retreated to the cave—a jagged hole in the cliff that smelled of damp stone and loneliness. Home. But as he stepped inside, his blood ran cold.
A tall shadow blocked the entrance. A Sentinel stood there in white armor, his eyes glinting with a cruel, polished light. In his hand, a long, braided whip coiled like a sleeping snake.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from the city?” the Sentinel growled.
The air in the cave vanished. CRACK. The whip tore through Sugat’s robe, biting into his skin with a searing heat that exploded across his shoulders. Sugat collapsed, his fingers clawing at the dirt.
“The Chief had to hear complaints because of you!” the man shouted, the whip striking again. “Do you know how much paperwork you cost me?”
“Please—stop!” Sugat’s voice was a ragged sob, but the Sentinel only smiled. He grabbed Sugat by the hair, yanking his head up until their eyes locked.
“If I weren't afraid of catching whatever rot you have, I would have ended you years ago,” the man sneered. “You’re not a boy. You’re an itch the world can’t scratch.” He tossed a piece of stale, hard bread onto the floor. “Eat. I wouldn't want people saying I'm heartless. Stay in your hole, mutt. Don’t let the sun see you again.”
The Sentinel disappeared into the storm, leaving Sugat to crawl into the deepest corners of the cave. He curled into a ball on his thin, damp blanket, trembling as the cold pressed against him like a blade. Outside, the wind howled like a thousand ghosts. Inside, in the absolute darkness where the faint light of his dying lantern struggled to reach, there was still no shadow.
Thank you for reading the first chapter of Lanterns of Deceit!
Sugat, the boy who carries a heavy burden in the shadows of the magnificent city of Hera. Why do you think he is called "The Shadowless," and what kind of past is he hiding from the Sentinels?
-
Bathala – The supreme deity and creator god in ancient Philippine mythology. Calling upon Bathala signifies a deep connection to fate and the heavens.
-
Kampilan – A heavy, single-edged sword with a distinct bifurcated (forked) hilt. Historically used by warriors and chieftains in the Philippines, it is a symbol of power and lethal skill.
-
Sepak Takraw – A traditional sport in Southeast Asia (similar to volleyball) where players use their feet, knees, chest, and head to kick a ball made of woven rattan or light wood.
- Filipino-Inspired Fantasy