The search for the prophecy's source took them across the Philippines—and beyond.
Ancient libraries in Manila. Hidden archives in Cebu. A monastery in the mountains of Luzon where monks had preserved pre-colonial texts for centuries.
"Nothing," Maya reported after each stop. "Whoever wrote this, they hid their tracks well."
The Watcher, still in cat form, grew frustrated.
I have existed for eternity. Someone knew I could change before I did. I need to know who.
"We'll find them. Just keep looking."
Finally, in a cave in Siquijor—the same island where Glad had learned Anino's secret—they found a clue.
An inscription, older than any they'd seen:
"The One Who Watches shall find its heart among the small ones. Seek the garden where immortal flowers bloom."
"Our garden," Maya breathed. "Anino's garden."
But those flowers are my gift. I made them.
"Maybe that's the point. Maybe the answer was always going to be you."
The Watcher considered this.
I am the answer?
"You're the one who changed. That's what the prophecy was about—not predicting change, but hoping for it. And you fulfilled that hope."
So the writer...
"Believed in you before you believed in yourself. And now you do."
The Watcher sat in the garden, surrounded by its own eternal gift, finally understanding.
I am loved. Not despite what I was. Because of what I chose to become.
"That's the whole point."