A sharp nudge to his side dragged Evan out of sleep.
"Hey, wake up."
His brain, still floating somewhere between dreaming and the cruel embrace of reality, barely had time to catch up before another push sent him rolling onto his back. A voice followed, urgent but hushed.
"The Datu wants to see you."
Evan cracked one eye open. The woven roof of his hut greeted him, dimly lit by the soft glow of morning slipping through the gaps in the bamboo walls. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again, willing the world to leave him alone for just a few more minutes.
No such luck.
A third, much rougher shove had him grunting in protest.
"Alright, alright! I'm up! You're not my mom."
Punay, her expression caught somewhere between impatience and amusement, hovered over him. Her arms were crossed, the morning light highlighting the sharp angles of her face. "Lets go, the datu doesn't have all morning to wait for you.
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face. His mind was sluggish, still adjusting to the abrupt start of the day. Great, I guess no bathing for me again.
"Why does the Datu want to see me?" Evan mumbled, raking a hand through his tangled hair as he tried to piece together yesterday's events. Was this about the shark? Was he supposed to give a live demonstration on how to punch one?
He glanced at his scabbed palms and still-swollen knuckles. Or… had he unknowingly broken some sacred warrior code? Touched Alunay the wrong way? Said something stupid?
Punay rolled her eyes. "Just get up and move. He's waiting."
With a resigned sigh, he followed Punay out into the morning light.
Evan stood awkwardly in the dim interior of Kalawti's hut, the scent of burning herbs thick in the air. The woven walls let in slivers of morning light, casting shifting patterns on the dirt floor. At the center of it all sat Datu Dumaalon, his broad frame draped in fine woven fabric, his presence effortlessly commanding. Warriors flanked him, their expressions unreadable, while Kalawti remained seated nearby, her gaze fixed on Evan with an unsettling calmness.
Evan swallowed hard. Yep. Definitely some serious boss battle energy here.
The Datu regarded him for a long moment, then nodded slightly. "You saved my daughter's life," he said, his voice even, carrying the weight of authority. "Alunay has spoken of your bravery, of how you stood against the sharks and protected her."
Evan shifted on his feet. "I, uh… yeah, well, your warriors dragged me out of the water, so, you know, kind of a team effort."
Silence.
The warriors exchanged glances. Kalawti's expression didn't change, but something about the way she tilted her head made Evan feel like he had just said the wrong thing. The Datu, however, merely exhaled, as if dealing with someone particularly slow.
"You showed courage," Dumaalon continued, unfazed by Evan's awkward deflection. "For that, you will no longer be a prisoner."
Evan blinked. Well… that's unexpected. Pleasant, but unexpected.
"You are now a timawa," the Datu declared. "A freeman. You may stay in the village, or you may return to where you came from."
The words hung in the air. Evan barely registered the murmur of the gathered warriors, their reactions ranging from indifference to mild surprise. His heart thudded in his chest.
He was free. Not that they had ever physically restrained him, but the unspoken threat had always been there, a constant reminder of his place. Now, that weight was gone.
His first instinct should have been relief. Maybe even excitement. Instead, a strange heaviness settled in his chest, something he couldn't quite name.
He could leave.
But go where?
Do I even want to go back?
The thought hit him harder than expected. It was one thing to dream of escape, to imagine the moment he could return to a world of WiFi, air-conditioning, and food that didn't require hunting or fishing. But something gnawed at him, a question he hadn't dared to ask himself until now.
If I went back… what would I even be going back to?
A cramped apartment. An office job he barely tolerated. A life so predictable it blurred into routine. Even his old werewolf problem, the one that had once felt like a burden, was gone.
Sure, his parents were there. It had been a while since he last visited, but what would he even do back home? Sit around in the province, take care of aging relatives, and get labeled a couch potato?
Here, though? Despite the constant dangers, the sharks, the ever-present threat of snakes, he felt light. Like he was on an extended trip to the province, where no one expected anything from him. No bills, no deadlines, no suffocating weight of adulthood.
Datu Dumaalon's voice cut through his thoughts. "Should you decide to return to your village, I will gladly purchase back any of your possessions here."
Evan barely heard him. He knew this freedom wouldn't last. Adulthood always caught up, no matter where, or when, you were. Sooner or later, these people would pull him in, binding him with unspoken debts of gratitude, with responsibilities he never asked for. Eventually, the same old expectations that weighed on men's shoulders in his time would settle on him here too.
But here, he had something he never had back home, an edge. He knew things. He understood more than they did about the world beyond their shores, about concepts they couldn't even begin to imagine. And that knowledge made him feel like, just maybe, he could outrun the burdens that had always weighed him down.
Here, he wasn't trapped. The system hadn't fully solidified, hadn't locked every path to advancement. There were still gaps, still ways to carve out something more. He might actually have a chance to control his own life.
Evan shoved the thought aside as Dumaalon straightened. "As a timawa, you will no longer be bound as a prisoner. But you will be expected to contribute to this village and the tribute to the rajah."
Evan cleared his throat. "Uh… okay. But….." He hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the Datu's sharp gaze. "Like I said before, I don't actually know how to get back to my home."
Dumaalon remained unfazed. "Then you will stay here until we learn where your village is."
The Datu paused for a moment before adding, "I will send word. When I meet with the Rajah tomorrow, I will ask if your village is known to him or any of the traders in his marketplace."
"As a reward, you are given land," the Datu continued. "A plot near the river, where the soil is rich."
Evan barely had time to process I own land now? before Dumaalon gestured to one of his advisors. "You will also have two slaves."
Evan's stomach twisted. "Wait, what?"
"One to tend to your land," Dumaalon explained, his tone steady and unquestioning, "and one to serve you. They owe me their labor as repayment for their debts, and now, that debt belongs to you. They will do as you command."
With a simple gesture from the Datu, two figures were ushered into the hut.
Evan swallowed hard. His people now, apparently.
His gaze shifted to the two people standing before him, his so-called possessions.
The first was a woman with a lean, battle-hardened frame, her posture rigid despite the faded scars that traced her arms. Or rather, arm. The right sleeve of her simple clothing hung empty, the limb lost to a past battle or punishment. Tattoos sprawled across her upper body, dark patterns of four-legged beasts and crocodiles still visible even at this distance. Evan imagined that, had her right arm remained, it too would have been inked from shoulder to wrist. Her face was sharp, weathered, and unreadable, but her eyes burned with something Evan could only describe as defiance. Even as a slave, she carried herself like a warrior.
The second woman stood just half a step behind her, quieter but no less striking. Her build was softer, but there was a tension in the way she held herself, as if bracing for something unseen. Her gaze flickered briefly to Evan, then immediately to the first woman, lingering there with an intensity that didn't feel like mere camaraderie. Are they… lovers?
Evan's mind raced. He knew that the strict sexual conservatism in the Philippines had come from the Spanish. If that was the case, then people here, before colonization, must have been a lot more accepting, right?
Evan exhaled slowly. This was a test. He could feel it.
Dumaalon gave no room for hesitation. "You will be given time to settle," the Datu continued, his tone firm but final. "For this season, you owe no tribute. But when the next tribute is due to the Rajah, you must be ready to give your share."
Evan barely had time to process that before the Datu pressed on.
"Cultivate your land. Plant rice. Join the hunt. Dive for pearls. Craft pots. Smith swords."
Each task was spoken with measured uncertainty, as if the Datu himself wasn't entirely sure what Evan was capable of. So instead, he listed everything, casting a wide net, testing where Evan might fit.
"Weaving is no longer acceptable," Dumaalon added, his tone final. "That is women's work, not the work of warriors."
The Datu's voice remained firm. "As a warrior, you will be expected to take part in raids when called upon, whether by me or the Rajah. In three days, the warriors will hold a training session, and you will join them. After that, I will loan you the necessary equipment so you can accompany them on a hunt. There, we will test your skill and see if you have any worth as a hunter."
Evan barely kept his expression in check. Nope. Definitely not a hunter. Miss me with those forest ambushes. But one look at the warriors, standing tall, chests puffed with pride, made him swallow the thought before it escaped.
The Datu gestured once more, and one of his slaves stepped forward, carrying a neatly folded set of clothes. "These are the garments of a warrior," the Datu said. "I am giving you only one set. I trust that in time, you will earn enough prosperity to afford more."
Evan unfolded the clothes, running his fingers over the fabric. The upper garment was a simple, sleeveless vest made of tightly woven fabric, dyed in a deep reddish-brown hue. It was light and breathable, designed more for ease of movement than for protection. Unlike the rough, scratchy material of his old clothes, this had a finer texture, sturdy but not uncomfortable.
The lower half was a long strip of fabric, his new loincloth. He hesitated, realizing it wasn't pants, but rather a long, intricately woven loincloth. The fabric was thicker than he expected, with dark geometric patterns running along its length. It had to be wrapped and secured around the waist, with one end draping in front and the other tucked between the legs and behind, something he had only ever seen in old illustrations.
Along with it came a long sash, deep red and slightly frayed at the edges. He wasn't sure if it was meant for his waist or something decorative, but it added to the overall warrior look.
The Datu rose, signaling the end of the conversation. "Go. Punay will show you your land."
Evan took a slow breath, willing his thoughts to quiet, before giving a small nod. "Right. Guess I'm a landowner now."
Punay, who had been waiting silently by the entrance, smirked. "Try not to mess it up."
Evan sighed. "No promises."
As he stepped outside, the morning sun warming his face, a quiet snort escaped him.
'Guess it's Farmville time.'