Lawa ng Kaliwang Kulo (ˈla.wa naŋ ka.liˈwaŋ kuˈlo)

"And the water is still warm."

— final words in the tale of Lawa ng Kaliwang Kulo

In the heart of Humalik, there is a place where water gathers between the hills and trees to form a lake. It is a peaceful place, and the waters of the lake are so still as to form a mirror.

Once, this was not a tranquil place. The name translates as Leftwise Boiling Lake. At some point in the distant past, creatures emerged from beneath the surface of the world - creatures who glowed like stars and crushed the land beneath them. The ground collapsed at their feet and became a pit filled with churning water and steam. These were the Kaliwánin, or the Leftwise Men.

The Aten do not care to speak of the Kaliwánin, lest they draw them back into the world. But questions about the Leftwise Men cannot go unanswered - they drag the answers out unwillingly. The Kaliwánin bore the shapes of humans or Kikipua, but so crudely formed that one could not say which resemblance was closer. They glowed brightly and never moved their limbs, instead reshaping themselves into new positions at will. A hot wind always blew toward them, and those who got too close were tugged into the glow, never to be seen again.

After they emerged, they began to circle the island, ignoring land and sea as they processed to the left - always to the left. Where hills blocked them, they passed through. Where the ocean barred the way, they walked upon its surface, leaving steam and scorched fish behind. As they walked, the island was changed: the mountains sank and became hills, and the whole of Humalik shrank. In those days, there were many more of the Aten in the world, but many vanished in the smoke and steam that covered the island.

When their circle was complete, the Kaliwánin stopped. Each marched into the next, merging and diminishing until only one remained - and then it blinked out. They have not returned, and none know the meaning of the visit.

And where they once emerged, there was a lake. It was hotter than water should be, and it boiled with the fury of the sun, yet never grew dry. The steam rose in a column strong enough to bear the weight of the sky, and the trees all around were cooked through by it. Slowly, it grew cooler. Slowly, the steam diminished. Slowly, the lake grew still and became a mirror of the sky. The trees grew up around it again, and fish appeared in its waters, though none could say from where. Finally, peace descended on the low place where the lake rested. It was still and quiet.

And the water is still warm.