Creatures came from everywhere.
Kitsune from Japan. Gumiho from Korea. Nahual from Mexico. Kelpies from Scotland. Strigoi from Romania. And hundreds more—species Glad had never heard of, from places she'd never visited.
Dumaguete swelled beyond capacity. Tents sprang up in every available space. Translation services struggled to keep up. Food supplies strained.
But no one complained.
"We're here because of you," a South African tikoloshe told Glad. "Because you showed us unity was possible."
"Now we need to prove it's powerful."
The Unseen hadn't attacked since Tokyo. Waiting, perhaps. Watching. Building strength.
Glad used the time wisely.
Defensive plans. Communication networks. Emergency protocols. And most importantly—community.
"I want every creature here to know every other creature," she instructed. "Not just their species. Their names. Their stories. Their hopes. The Unseen feeds on isolation. Let's starve it."
Bonds formed across every divide.
Kitsune taught tengu about illusion magic. Kelpies shared water defense techniques with kappa. Duwende and kapres—traditional rivals—built fortifications together.
"We've never had this," an ancient kapre marveled. "In 800 years, I've never seen species work together like this."
"That's how they kept us weak," Glad replied. "By convincing us we couldn't. Now we know better."
The Unseen watched.
And for the first time in its eternal existence, it felt something unfamiliar.
Uncertainty.