Dusk falls upon the canopy. A cacophony of chirps and croaks welcomes, or perhaps warns, asyou comb through the undergrowth. Trampled ferns, flattened mushrooms—a trail! At last, your fingers recoil from smouldering ash.

 

High above, a mossy behemoth reclines across gnarled branches. The kapre inhales deep on a girthy cigar. Appraises you with black, fathomless eyes.

 

A wish? you inquire. It grunts, as you knew it would, that a white stone must be offered. A stone unseen for centuries.

 

From your pocket, an unassuming white stone. Smooth from generations of fretful fiddling. The kapre lurches forward —Thief-spawn!—but you bark reproach. Such ill treatment for righting an ancestor’s wrong?

 

Fathomless black eyes glint in the waning light. My wish, you demand. An indignant puff of smoke chokes your lungs, but you stand firm. At last, it recoils. Waits.

 

A vine of infinite possibilities pulls taut.

 

You cast your wish.

 

​​​

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Anak ko, you will

know when it's time. Anak ko,

you will redeem us.