GenShn impact x Ph

Mang Tonyo, his face weathered by a thousand sunrises and a thousand harvests in the fields of Santa Fe, adjusted the buntal hat on his head. The air, usually thick with the scent of ripening rice, now crackled with an unfamiliar energy. His grandson, young Lito, had been glued to a strange device for weeks, muttering about "Visions" and "Archons" and "Primogems." Then, Lito vanished. Tonyo found the device, still humming, on Lito's mat. A swirling, shimmering portal glowed from its screen. No anino – no shadow – could resist the call of his apo, his grandson. With a grunt that belied his age, Tonyo hoisted his most trusted companion: a well-worn 12-gauge shotgun, a relic from a time when bandits, not digital phantoms, preyed on the innocent. He'd kept it clean, oiled, and ready, a testament to a farmer's eternal vigilance. He stepped through the swirling light, his worn tsinelas feeling alien on what appeared to be impossibly green grass. The air here was sweet, filled with the scent of unfamiliar flowers, and the sky was a vibrant, impossible blue. Towering, fantastical structures rose in the distance, unlike any he'd ever seen in the Cagayan Valley. Suddenly, a blur of green and white zipped past him. A small, floating creature with wings, like a giant firefly, hovered in front of him. "Paimon is not emergency food!" it squeaked. Tonyo raised his shotgun slightly, his eyes narrowed. He’d seen enough strange things in his life to know that even pretty things could bite. "Nasaan ang apo ko?" Tonyo's voice, raspy from years of calling to carabao, boomed through the ethereal landscape. "Where is my grandson?"