Mirror Neurons

Raina sat still in the dim light of their shanty, listening to the murmurs echoing from the corner of the room. Her mother was dreaming again—or rather, caught in another of her night terrors. She could hear her tossing, whimpering, and muttering fragments of the same cryptic phrases she had been reciting for as long as Raina could remember.

“Malacaz… the river must open… we’re not safe here…”

Raina exhaled slowly. Another nightmare, she thought, brushing the loose strands of hair from her tired face. She was used to it. Since childhood, her nights had often been interrupted by the sound of her mother’s cries, each one slicing through the quiet like a warning siren. Most children had lullabies to fall asleep to. Raina had whispers of lost cities and burning worlds.

Earlier that evening, Raina had quietly turned eighteen—the same night as her senior high school graduation. There was no cake, no gifts, no family celebration. Just the usual tension, the smell of burnt incense Luna swore kept the “spirits of Malacaz” at bay, and the heavy silence that wrapped around their house like a burial shroud.

She had hoped for a peaceful night. A few uninterrupted hours of sleep. But even on her birthday, fear had a seat at their table.

Resigned, Raina stepped outside to get some air. Their house sat at the edge of a riverbank, barely standing on mismatched stilts and rusted sheet metal. The place reeked of damp soil and mildew, but it was home. It had always been home, even if it didn't feel like one. Luna refused to move, no matter how many times Raina brought it up. According to her, the river was sacred. It was the threshold—the gateway to Malacaz.

Raina stared out at the black water of the Veering-Gan River. It was still, too still. Local folklore called it mystical, cursed, or both. Some said it whispered names in the dead of night. Others claimed that if you stared too long, you'd see a city—glittering like Las Vegas but floating just beneath the water’s surface. Only drunks and madmen claimed they’d seen it. Some described spirits in shimmering gowns wading through invisible streets, or voices luring them to “step inside the light.”

Raina had heard all the stories.

She believed none of them.

“There’s no Wakanda Forever bullshit happening here,” she muttered, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Just poverty, trauma, and bad plumbing.”

Her concerns weren’t about the river, or about mystical cities that may or may not be hiding in a watery veil. Her concern was Luna—her mother, known around town as “Luna the Lunatic.” The woman was a legend, though not in the way Raina would’ve liked. Half her face was scarred by an accident no one could explain, one ear missing, and one eye completely blind. Her speech was often garbled—gibberish to most—but Raina had learned to decipher it over the years, like a sacred tongue meant only for her.

“The nightmares are from trauma,” said the psychiatrist she’d befriended at the provincial mental health center where she volunteered part-time. “Your mother’s been through something catastrophic. It’s not madness—it’s memory.”

Raina understood that more than she let on. She had long stopped questioning her mother’s past. It was as if Luna had been fractured, shattered across time. What was left was a woman who clung to a dream, and to a city that might never have existed.

She closed her eyes and exhaled.

And then, she felt it.

That strange, familiar shift in her mouth. The taste again—bittersweet, like burnt sugar and crushed berries. Her saliva thickened.

Raina stiffened.

She didn’t need to turn around. She already knew Luna was standing behind her.

She could feel her mother’s emotions, thick and heady, leaking into her own nervous system. She could taste her love—desperate and all-consuming—but it was layered beneath a conviction so strong it bordered on obsession. She truly believes it, Raina thought. She truly believes that Malacaz is waiting.

Raina turned and forced a smile.

“Are you okay now?” she asked softly.

Luna smiled back, her burned skin cracking slightly with the motion. Her one good eye gleamed under the starlight. She stepped forward, speaking in the strange, staccato syllables that only Raina could understand.

“I will be,” Luna said, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “Once we go home. Once we step into Malacaz—where you belong. I feel it, anak. It’s close now.”

Raina nodded. What else could she do?

Luna stopped her as she turned to lead her back inside. She reached into the folds of her tattered blanket and pulled out a bundle wrapped in fabric.

“Happy birthday, my love,” she said, and handed Raina the gift.

Raina's breath caught when she unwrapped it. It was the same filthy old water vase her mother had been obsessively trying to restore since she was a child. The cracks were more visible now, glued together with layers of hand-molded clay. Its base was charred, the engravings faint.

“You see? It’s nearly complete,” Luna whispered, as if revealing a holy relic. “I only need one more piece. I’ll look tomorrow, at the south side of the river. It’s there—I feel it. And once I find it, the door will open. We’ll go back. You’ll see.”

Tears slipped down her disfigured cheek as she smiled.

A few months earlier, Raina had been lucky—unbelievably lucky—to meet Dra. Ella Amihan, one of the most celebrated psychiatrists in the country and author of the bestselling book “MINDFUCKERS: The Birth of Pinoy Psycho.” Known for solving a string of serial kidnapping cases in Manila, Dra. Amihan had unexpectedly visited their province for a mental health outreach program.

One of the cases the doctor handled involved a woman who had been chained naked near a ravine for over two years. Her partner had abandoned her during pregnancy, and the trauma had cracked her open like an egg. Dra. Amihan took her to Manila. Raina heard the woman was now doing well, even smiling again.

“Your mother is cohesive,” the doctor had told Raina during one of their online sessions. “Apart from the Malacaz delusion, her logic is mostly intact. She’s not dangerous. She’s not self-harming. You’re right not to push meds for now.”

They had met through Raina’s volunteer work at the local clinic. She had chosen that center because it offered free vitamins and checkups for Luna.

“I’ll tell you what,” Dra. Amihan had said, fixing her glasses during a video call. “You’re graduating this year, right? Convince your mom to visit my clinic in Manila. You can work part-time at my research lab. And if you're serious, I’ll help you get a scholarship in Psychology.”

Raina blinked, overwhelmed. “Why me?”

The doctor smiled. “Because of your gift.”

Raina scoffed. “It’s not a gift. It feels like a curse.”

“You’re an empath,” Dra. Amihan had explained. “Your mirror neurons are highly activated. That’s why you taste emotions. It’s rare. And I’d love to see what your brain looks like under neuroimaging. I bet it’s extraordinary.”

Like a scientist prepping to dissect a rat, Raina had thought—but she hadn’t said it. Despite the odd tone, the offer was the first light she’d seen in a long time.

Raina looked back at her mother, still clutching the vase, smiling through her scars.

Maybe Malacaz wasn’t real.

But maybe hope was.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep going.