The Padilla household hadn't seen so much laughter in years.
Emma's father had come for the weekend, arriving on the late Friday bus from Manila. By now he was used to his daughter living far from the city, but the visit felt different. She greeted him with a brightness he hadn't seen since she was a girl.
"Dad," Emma said proudly that night as they set the table. "I want you to meet Adrian. We've been dating for a year."
Her father studied the man standing beside her—tall, composed, polite enough to shake his hand without hesitation. Adrian's eyes were steady, though something in them flickered, like someone carrying too many secrets.
"Well," her father said at last, patting Emma's shoulder. "You're thirty-five. You know your own heart. That's all I need to hear."
Relief lit Emma's face. She moved about with easy cheer, carrying plates of pancit and grilled liempo out to the yard where string lights glowed.
The evening was warm, filled with laughter. Adrian's colleagues from the research center had joined them, and even Ronald stopped by to say hello. The group ate barbeque and rice off paper plates, drank Coke from sweating bottles. When Emma's father asked if the young men wanted beer, they all shook their heads.
"We don't drink," Bayani said simply.
Her father raised a brow but let it pass. He watched quietly as Emma moved through the crowd, smiling more freely than he'd seen in years.
Later, when everyone drifted away, Adrian lingered. He helped Emma wash the last of the dishes, their shoulders brushing, voices low as they whispered sweet nothings. Her father, sitting in the shadows of the porch, saw them laugh softly together, saw the tenderness that wrapped around them like invisible arms.
Emma went to bed glowing.
But her father did not sleep.
At four in the morning, he left the house and followed the trail. His steps were quiet, steady—like someone returning to a place he knew well.
The memory came back as he walked: his daughter, fourteen years old, lost in this very forest for two days. The search parties, the prayers, the moment she was found—safe, unharmed, insisting that a tikbalang had kept her safe. That night, he had seen a shadow among the trees. A boy's face, half-hidden, watching her from afar.
Now he knew that face again. Adrian.
The hut stood at the clearing, lamplight spilling faintly from its cracks. Beyond it, in the open ground, Adrian stood—not as a man, but in his Kabalan form. Tall, fierce, powerful, with Bayani, Luntian, and Pilat kneeling at his side.
They all turned when he stepped into the clearing.
Adrian's mane shifted in the faint wind. His eyes narrowed, then softened. "You knew."
Emma's father nodded. "I knew. The night my daughter was found, I saw you. Just a boy then. Now a man—or something more." He paused, voice heavy. "You've been watching her all this time."
"Protecting her," Adrian said quietly.
"Protecting, yes. But also hiding." Her father's eyes were sharp, steady. "You cannot pretend forever. If you truly love my daughter, you must come clean. Tell her who you are. What you are."
Adrian's fists clenched. "She will fear me."
"She already fears losing you," her father answered gently. "But love without truth is not love. It's shadow. And my daughter deserves more than shadow."
The Kabalan court shifted uneasily, glancing at their Lakan.
Her father stepped closer. "It's not fair to her if you keep this secret. If she truly loves you—and I believe she does—she will accept you as you are. Kabalan or man. But let her decide."
Adrian lowered his head, mane falling forward, shoulders taut. "You ask for the hardest thing."
"I ask for the right thing," her father said softly.
The clearing held its breath. Finally, Adrian exhaled, a sound between a sigh and a growl. "Then so be it. She will know."