Ayung swung his axe methodically, the sturdy trunk of the tree yielding to his strength. His skin glistened with sweat, evidence of a long day's labor. The tranquility of the forest was disrupted by the arrival of two strangers, Miguel and Diego, their boots crunching on the fallen leaves. "Look at this place—so full of trees! We should ask what this land is called," Miguel remarked, gesturing to the expanse around them.

Diego nodded, stepping closer to Ayung, who paused his work to regard them with a mix of caution and hospitality. "¿Cómo se llama este lugar?" Miguel asked, speaking slowly. Ayung, misunderstanding the question, pointed to himself. "Ayung," he replied, his voice steady. The explorers exchanged glances, unsure if they had received the intended information.

"Did he say the name of the place? Or his name?" Diego whispered, his brow furrowed. Miguel shrugged, determined to try again. "¿Cómo se llama este lugar?" he repeated, a little louder. Ayung, thinking they inquired about the tree he was felling, pointed to it with a grin. "Dungon," he said, the pride in his voice evident.

The explorers nodded in satisfaction, believing they had deciphered the name. "Ayung-Dungon! That must be the name of this place!" Miguel declared with a smile. "A fine name indeed!" Diego laughed, the sound echoing among the trees. Together, they walked away, leaving Ayung to resume his work, unaware of the legacy he had just unwittingly created.

The narrator's voice fills the air, carrying the weight of history and tradition. "And so, through a simple misunderstanding, the name ‘Ayung-Dungon’ was born. Over time, it became Ayungon—the name we know today. A Dungon tree still stands in the town’s park, a reminder of the story that shaped its name." The camera pans over the park, capturing children playing and families gathered under the shade of the great tree, their laughter a harmonious melody with the rustling leaves.