The decision was not announced suddenly, but when it came, it felt inevitable.
Alejandro was eleven when Don Emilio finally spoke the words aloud. "You will go to Luzon," he said one evening, voice calm but firm. "You will live with your mother's kin. You will study."
Rosalia did not interrupt. Her eyes remained on Alejandro, searching his face for fear, resistance—anything. She found none.
Alejandro bowed his head slightly. "When do we leave?"
That night, the house felt smaller. Every sound—the crackle of the hearth, the distant call of night birds, the soft movement of water from the lake—etched itself into Alejandro's memory. He understood that leaving Mindanao was not abandonment. It was transition.
In the following weeks, preparation became ritual. Rosalia taught him careful etiquette—how to speak respectfully in Spanish households, when to remain silent, how to observe without revealing too much. She corrected his accent gently, insisting on clarity and restraint.
"You must never appear threatening," she said. "Even when you are capable."
Don Emilio focused on discipline. He drilled Alejandro relentlessly—not harder, but smarter. Long walks carrying weight. Standing still for extended periods. Practicing patience more than speed.
"Power that shows itself too early is destroyed early," Emilio warned.
Alejandro absorbed everything. In his previous life, he remembered young officers who revealed brilliance too soon—only to be sidelined, resented, or eliminated. Here, in this era, the danger was even greater.
Villagers came quietly to say goodbye. Elders offered blessings. Children he once led struggled to understand why their commander was leaving. Alejandro spoke little, but when he did, his words were measured.
"Learn to see before you act," he told them. "That will keep you alive."
The night before departure, Alejandro stood by Lake Lanao alone. The water reflected the moon like broken glass. He knelt and pressed his hand into the cool surface.
"I will return," he whispered. "Stronger. Wiser."
He did not say when. Leaders learned early that promises tied to time often broke.
As dawn approached, Alejandro rose, straightened his clothes, and turned toward the path north.