First Cultivator of the Philippines

After I stumbled home that evening, nursing the fresh scratch on my arm from my earlier encounter with the tiyanak, my grandparents immediately noticed.

"Jiro! What happened to you?" my grandmother exclaimed, rushing to my side with a look of pure worry. She reached for my arm, carefully inspecting the wound. My grandfather, on the other hand, sat back in his usual wooden rocking chair, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

"Did someone bully you at school?" he asked, his voice gruff but laced with genuine concern.

I hesitated for a moment. Telling them the truth was not an option. They would not believe me, and even if they did, it would only put them in danger. So, I forced a laugh, scratching the back of my head awkwardly.

"No, no, nothing like that, Lolo. I, uh, tripped over a root. You know how clumsy I can be." I offered what I hoped was a convincing smile.

Both of them exchanged glances. My grandmother did not look convinced but sighed, patting my shoulder. "You need to be careful, anak. These wounds don't heal as quickly as they used to when you were younger. Let me get some ointment."

I nodded, thankful they did not press further. "Thanks, Lola. I'll be more careful next time."

Since that day, something had undeniably shifted in me. It was not just the lingering soreness from the fight; it was deeper, almost instinctual. I could not ignore the pull to grow stronger. After school, I found myself heading back to the woods in Barangay San Juan to train.

The isolation of the woods was perfect. Towering trees shielded the area from the afternoon sun, and the air carried a hushed stillness. I could practice my Phantom Prowl Steps without distractions. I would sprint from tree to tree, weaving between them as silently as I could, trying to perfect my footing and timing.

One afternoon, I decided to test my energy again. Standing before a thick tree, I channeled all the qi I could muster into my right fist, watching as faint wisps of energy coiled around my hand. I punched the tree with everything I had.

The bark cracked slightly, a small dent forming where my fist landed. I grinned triumphantly but quickly winced as I felt my energy drain.

"Still not there yet," I muttered, plopping down on a nearby rock to meditate.

I closed my eyes and started circulating the energy into my dantian. The process had become smoother since my first attempt, but there was always this persistent ache in my forehead whenever I meditated deeply. It was sharp, like something was trying to force its way out.

"What the heck is this? Is this normal?" I grumbled to myself, massaging my temples. "The novels didn't say anything about your head hurting like crazy. What am I, growing a third eye?" I chuckled nervously at my own joke but couldn't shake the unsettling thought.

One late afternoon, as I was practicing my movement techniques, I felt it. A presence. The air grew heavy, and my instincts kicked in. My muscles tensed as I scanned the area, expecting another tiyanak or worse.

Instead, I spotted it. A towering figure stood a few meters away, partially hidden behind a tree. It was a tikbalang.

Its horse-like face watched me with a curious expression, its mane swaying slightly in the breeze. The body was humanoid but enormous, with muscles that seemed carved from stone. Its fur glinted golden in the dappled sunlight.

"What the heck," I whispered, blinking.

The tikbalang tilted its head as if it had heard me, its ears twitching. Then, to my utter surprise, it sat down. Just like that.

"What are you doing?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

The tikbalang didn't reply. It just continued to watch me, its expression unreadable. I tried to focus on my training, but its unrelenting stare made me self-conscious.

"You know," I said, pointing at it, "it's kinda rude to just watch someone like that. Ever heard of personal space?"

The tikbalang neighed softly, which I couldn't tell was a laugh or an insult. Either way, it didn't move.

"Fine, whatever," I muttered, trying to ignore it. I resumed practicing my Phantom Prowl Steps, sprinting between the trees and dodging imaginary attacks. Every now and then, I would glance over my shoulder, and it was still there, its head following my every move.

At one point, I misstepped and tripped over a root, landing face-first in the dirt. The tikbalang let out a loud snort.

"Are you laughing at me?" I shot back, sitting up and glaring at it.

It neighed again, definitely louder this time.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, brushing dirt off my clothes.

As the sun began to set, the tikbalang finally stood, towering over me. It looked at me for a long moment, then raised a hand or hoof? and pointed to my forehead.

"What? What's wrong with my forehead?" I asked, touching it instinctively. The tikbalang didn't answer. It simply turned and disappeared into the trees, its massive form blending effortlessly with the shadows.

I sat there for a while, dumbfounded.

"Great. Now I have tikbalangs judging my training. What's next? A kapre giving me pointers on punching?"

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that the tikbalang hadn't come by accident. It had been observing me, maybe even testing me. The way it pointed to my forehead… was it trying to tell me something?

I shook my head, deciding to pack it in for the day. The woods were starting to feel a little too crowded for comfort.

The next day, I decided to return to the woods to train again. After yesterday's strange encounter with the tikbalang, I was half-hoping it wouldn't show up. I mean, sure, it didn't attack me or anything, but its intense staring was more unnerving than the tiyanak's ambush. At least the tiyanak had the decency to try to kill me outright.

As I reached my usual spot, I stretched my arms and cracked my neck. "Alright, focus. No distractions today."

I started with the basics, weaving through the trees using Phantom Prowl Steps. My movements felt more fluid now, my confidence growing with every pass. Just as I was getting into the rhythm, I felt it.

That presence again.

I stopped dead in my tracks, glancing around. And there it was.

The tikbalang was back.

This time, it was sitting cross-legged on the ground, leaning casually against a tree, as if it had all the time in the world. Its golden fur gleamed in the sunlight, and it held a long blade of grass between its fingers, twirling it absentmindedly.

"Seriously?" I muttered under my breath.

It didn't say a word, not that I expected it to, but its large, expressive eyes were locked onto me. It tilted its head slightly, as if silently judging my form.

"Look, I don't know what your deal is, but could you not?" I said, waving a hand in its direction.

The tikbalang just stared.

"Fine, stay there. See if I care," I huffed, turning back to my training.

I resumed my movements, darting between the trees as quickly as I could. I could feel my steps getting lighter, my balance improving. But every time I glanced over my shoulder, the tikbalang was there, watching.

At one point, I tried to ignore it completely, focusing solely on my technique. As I leapt over a fallen log, I miscalculated my landing and ended up tumbling into a bush.

The tikbalang let out a soft snort.

I shot up, twigs sticking out of my hair. "Oh, you think that's funny, huh?"

It didn't respond, but its ears twitched, and I swear I saw the corners of its mouth twitch upward.

"Okay, you win this round," I muttered, brushing myself off. "But don't think I'm giving up."

I decided to move on to testing my qi punches. Standing before another tree, I gathered energy into my fist, watching as the faint glow of qi enveloped my hand. I took a deep breath, steadied my stance, and threw the punch.

The tree shuddered slightly, leaves rustling as the bark cracked.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, grinning at my progress.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tikbalang rise to its full height. It walked over to a nearby tree, a much larger one with a trunk twice as thick as the one I had just punched. Without a word, it raised one massive hand and casually tapped the tree with its knuckles.

The entire tree toppled over with a thunderous crash.

I stared at the fallen tree, my jaw hanging open.

"Are you kidding me?"

The tikbalang turned to look at me, its expression completely deadpan. Then, as if to rub it in, it dusted its hands off dramatically and sat back down, crossing its legs again.

"You're such a showoff," I grumbled, glaring at it.

The tikbalang just twirled the blade of grass in its fingers, completely unfazed.

Despite my irritation, I couldn't help but laugh a little. There was something oddly endearing about its smug silence. It was like having an overpowered but quiet gym buddy who couldn't resist flexing every chance they got.

As the day went on, I continued my training, doing my best to ignore the tikbalang's constant presence. But every now and then, I'd catch it mimicking my movements in a weirdly exaggerated way. If I practiced a qi punch, it would pretend to wind up for a punch, its enormous hand moving in slow motion before stopping just short of hitting anything.

"Are you mocking me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Gag* ata to1." I said in my head.

The tikbalang tilted its head innocently, as if to say, Who, me?

I sighed, shaking my head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

By the time the sun began to set, I was exhausted but oddly satisfied. Despite the tikbalang's antics, I had made progress. My movements felt sharper, my punches more controlled.

As I gathered my things to leave, I glanced over at the tikbalang one last time. It was still sitting there, watching me with that same unreadable expression.

"Alright, see you tomorrow, I guess," I said, half-joking.

To my surprise, the tikbalang raised a hand in a slow, almost lazy wave.

I blinked, then shook my head with a laugh. "Yeah, okay. Goodnight, weird horse guy."

As I walked back home, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort. The tikbalang might have been an odd and silent observer, but in its own way, it felt like I wasn't training alone anymore.

Little did I know, that silent observer would become an unexpected ally in the challenges to come.