On the fifth night, Lolo Bencio gathered them around a fire.
"I have something to tell you," he said, his ancient voice crackling like the flames. "A story passed down through generations of kapres. A prophecy."
Glad leaned forward. "About what?"
"About you."
The fire seemed to pulse, responding to his words.
"Long ago, before the Spaniards came, before the Muslims arrived, before anyone remembers—there was a prophecy. It said that one day, a Manananggal would rise. Not to hunt, but to unite. Not to hide, but to lead."
"That's... specific," Ariel said.
"Prophecies often are." Lolo Bencio's eyes gleamed. "This Manananggal would bridge the gap between creatures and humans. Would bring our kind into the light. Would—" He paused, looking directly at Glad. "Would change everything."
Glad's skin prickled. "That could be anyone."
"Could it? How many Manananggals have gone public? How many have built community centers? How many have hosted international summits?"
"I just... reacted. To circumstances."
"Destiny often looks like reaction." Lolo Bencio smiled. "I'm not saying you're the chosen one, child. I'm saying the prophecy fits you remarkably well. Perhaps that means something. Perhaps it means nothing." He shrugged. "But I've lived 800 years. I've learned that coincidences are rarely just coincidences."
That night, Glad couldn't sleep.
She sat by the glowing spring, Anino in her lap, staring at the stars.
"A prophecy, Anino. Apparently, I'm prophesied."
Anino purred.
"You don't seem surprised."
He didn't.
"Anino... what do you know?"
The cat looked at her for a long moment.
Then, very deliberately, he nodded.
"Anino? What aren't you telling me?"
But he just curled up and went to sleep.
Leaving Glad with more questions than answers.