The world spun around Miguel as he tumbled over the cliff edge. The wind screamed in his ears, and the crystal in his hand pulsed with warmth against his chest. He tried to shift his form to fly, but the energy from the elders' explosion had left him drained and disoriented.
"Don't give up," his Lolo's voice whispered in his mind. "Your potential is limitless—you just need to learn how to use it."
Miguel forced his eyes open, seeing the rocky ground below rushing up to meet him. He raised his hands instinctively, and the crystal blazed to life, creating a cushion of soft energy that slowed his fall—but not enough to stop the impact.
He hit the ground hard, his body rolling down a steep slope before coming to a stop against a large boulder. Pain shot through every part of him, and his vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness took him was a figure running toward him through the trees.
When he woke, he was lying on a rough mat in a small wooden hut. The air smelled of wood smoke and dried herbs. A man with weathered hands and kind eyes was tending to a pot over the fire.
"You're awake," the man said, turning to look at him. "I found you at the bottom of the cliff yesterday evening. Thought you were dead at first—broke three ribs, twisted your ankle, and you had quite a bump on your head."
"Where… where am I?" Miguel asked, his voice hoarse.
"Just outside my farm, in the foothills of Mount Madja-as," the man replied, handing him a bowl of warm broth. "Name's Mang Dante. You're lucky—the cliff you fell from has killed many before you."
Miguel's hand went to his chest, feeling for the crystal. It was still there, tucked safely inside his shirt. "Thank you," he said quietly, tears welling in his eyes as he remembered the battle, the elders, the village…