Becoming a Shaman in the 16th Century

It all started with a dare: Tie a ribbon with my name on it to a balete tree in the dead of night. Easy, right? Except, if you’re Filipino like me, you know the deal: balete trees are bad news. They’re rumored to be the home to all sorts of supernatural creatures and the gateway to their world. Stories of people disappearing or getting strangled by their roots? Yeah, I grew up with that.

But this was my chance to be finally part of something, my first shot at making friends. So I took the dare, ignoring every gut instinct telling me to run. I just had to tie that stupid ribbon and prove I wasn\'t a total coward. But as soon as I reached out to touch one of the hanging roots—BAM—everything went black as it strangled me, just like in the stories.

Next thing I know, I wake up... somewhere else. No cell signal, no familiar faces, and definitely no city lights. It looked like the Philippines, but not the one I knew. The year? 16th century. The people? Not wearing bahag, thank goodness, but instead straw hats and shirts. Damn, they’ve got a good fashion sense. And the creatures? Forget the manananggal and duwende—there are actual goblins and faes roaming around. Oh, and the bakunawa? That sea serpent is real. It causes a lot of trouble.

But here’s the thing. For some reason, they all think I’m a shaman of some sort.

Now then, what do I do?