On the fourth night, Bianca woke again to the sound of movement—this time, closer to the house. She slipped out onto the veranda, the moon high and bright.
At the far edge of the mango grove, a figure stood just inside the tree line. She couldn't see his face, but she knew instinctively it wasn't one of the caretakers.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak. Just… stood there.
Pochi's bleat rang out from the goat pen, sharp and loud. The figure turned, melting into the darkness.
Bianca stayed frozen until the sound of the night returned—crickets, rustling leaves, the distant splash of the fountain.
---
The next morning, she found something odd in the grass where the figure had stood: a small, dark feather, unlike any bird she knew from the area. It was glossy black, but when she tilted it in the light, faint iridescent green shimmered along the edges.
Kaloy's gaze was fixed on it when she held it up.
"That," he said slowly, "is not from anything natural to this land."
Bianca's skin prickled. "Then where—"
"Keep it," Kaloy interrupted. "It may tell you more than I can."
---
That evening, as the sun sank behind the mountain, Bianca took the feather to the guava tree. She didn't know why—only that something inside urged her to bring it here.
She laid it at the base of the trunk. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then, one of the glowing root-lines she'd seen that first night reached out, curling gently around the feather before pulling it into the earth.
The air shifted—cooler, sharper. Somewhere deep inside the tree, she felt an acknowledgment.
Pochi bleated from nearby.
Bianca looked at him. "What did we just do?"
The goat only chewed calmly, as if the answer was obvious.
---
And somewhere beyond the bamboo forest, in a place where moonlight barely touched the ground, the man who had been watching her clenched his fists.
The land had accepted the first offering. The old magic was waking.
And the ones who would try to take it… were already on their way.
---
Bianca woke before sunrise, as she had every day since returning to the hacienda. The air was cool, the grass damp with dew, and the faint chorus of roosters drifted across the valley. She stretched her arms and took a deep breath, savoring the quiet.
The guava tree she and Pochi had awakened days ago still bore heavy fruit. Bianca had filled two woven baskets with the best ones, their smooth skins glistening faintly even in the dim light. She didn't know if anyone else would notice the faint shimmer, but she wrapped them carefully in banana leaves all the same.
Today, she planned to bring them to the village—not to sell, not yet, but to share. It felt right, like a small offering of thanks.
---
End of Chapter 13