The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and ripening rice as Miguel dela Cruz stood in the center of the terrace, his bare feet sinking into the mud. Above, the full moon hung like a copper coin in the night sky.
"Remember, anak—focus on the flow," his grandfather, Lolo Daniél, said, his voice rough as dried coconut husk. He leaned on a gnarled staff carved from molave wood, his weathered face illuminated by the moonlight.
"I'm trying, Lolo," Miguel whispered, closing his eyes. At sixteen, his shoulders were already broad, and the dark bat-wing birthmark on his left shoulder seemed to pulse with warmth. "But I can feel... something pulling at me. Like a hunger I can't name."
He pressed his palms into the soil, and suddenly the world shifted. He could sense every single rice stalk around him—each one a tiny river of golden energy, flowing from root to grain.
"There," Lolo Daniél said sharply. "That's the Lakan speaking to you. Now draw it in slowly—don't greedily gulp it down like a child drinking sugarcane juice."
Miguel focused, guiding the gentle stream of life energy up through his arms, into his chest, and toward the center of his being. But as the power gathered, a heat flared in his jaw, and his teeth began to ache.
"Lolo!" he gasped, clapping a hand to his mouth. "My teeth—they're changing!"
Lolo Daniél was already moving, lifting a wooden bowl carved with ancient symbols. Inside swirled blessed coconut oil mixed with crushed ampalaya leaves.
"I told you this would come," he said, anointing Miguel's forehead with the cool mixture. "The hunger is part of our blood. To cultivate as an aswang is to walk the razor's edge. Take only what you need, and give back tenfold. Do you understand me?"
Miguel nodded, forcing himself to steady his breathing. "What happens if I take too much?"
*The old man's face grew serious. "Then the hunger takes over. You become nothing but a beast that feeds on life itself—one of the Tagabulag. And we have hunted those monsters for generations."
Slowly, Miguel learned to temper the hunger, channeling the Lakan into a glowing crimson-and-gold sphere in his dantian. When he opened his eyes again, he could see the faintest traces of energy in everything around him.
"Try jumping," Lolo Daniél urged with a small smile.
Miguel bent his knees and pushed off—and soared over three rice terraces before landing lightly on the other side. He stared at his hands in wonder.
"Lolo... I can feel the mountain breathing. Every leaf, every drop of water—it's all connected."
"Good," his grandfather said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Because your real test is just beginning."