While Glad worked in Romania, Ariel faced his own challenge in Dumaguete.
A letter arrived. Handwritten. Ancient.
"Ariel,
I know you think Marikit was your only past. You're wrong.
Come to Bohol. Alone. There's something you need to see.
—Someone who should have told you long ago."
He stared at the letter for an hour.
Marikit had been his most recent ex—80 years together, disastrous ending. But before her? Centuries of life he'd never fully discussed, even with Glad.
"I have to go," he told Kim. "Whatever this is, I need to know."
"And Glad?"
"She's in Romania. I'll be back before she returns."
But Bohol held surprises.
The address led to a small house in the mountains, occupied by an ancient aswang who introduced herself as Lola Basya.
"You don't know me," she said, "but I knew your mother."
Ariel's breath caught. "My mother died when I was young. I never knew her."
"Because I took you from her." Lola Basya's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, child. I'm so sorry."
The story unfolded—a tragic tale of war, separation, and lies. Ariel's mother hadn't died. She'd been captured, hidden, kept from him by creatures who thought they were protecting him.
"She's alive," Lola Basya whispered. "Your mother is alive. And she's been waiting to meet you for 400 years."