In the expansive realm of the sky, where stars acted as record-keepers and galaxies held mysteries, the Moon Prince, Libulan, roamed quietly. He was distinct from his brothers and sisters—gentle, luminous, with silvery hair that cascaded like moonshine, and eyes that reflected ages of sorrow. Libulan always sensed that he was. . . unique. The deities of light esteemed his beauty but murmured behind him, for he embraced his gentleness and had no interest in combat or veneration.

On Earth, deep within Mount Madia-as, Sidapa, the God of Death, held sway. Tall and with a bronze complexion, adorned with a golden crown and dressed in flames and blossoms, Sidapa oversaw the Tree of Fates, where mortal lives were illustrated by radiant threads. Despite his role, he wasn’t a villain—merely solitary. After all, eternal life often brought its own kind of pain.

Each night, from his lofty perch, Sidapa looked up at the moon. Not for its illumination, but for the youth who silently glided through the cosmos. Libulan, illuminating his solitude.

As for Libulan? He began to perceive. A soft calling in the atmosphere. A gust that felt like a yearning. Each time he drifted above the mountain, he sensed it.

Then one night, Libulan floated down—drawn by an unexplainable force. He discovered Sidapa waiting beneath the Tree of Fates, surrounded by flickering fireflies and blooming orchids. Neither spoke initially. No proclamations, no rumbling thunder. Just a shared glance. A silent, universal understanding exchanged by two eternal beings who had endured their isolation for far too long.

Sidapa presented Libulan with garlands of jasmine. In return, Libulan shared the radiance of his moonlight.

From that time on, they met frequently. In secrecy. Libulan would escape from the celestial realms and land in Sidapa’s embrace, wrapped in mist and cosmic dust. Sidapa, feared by many, allowed himself to be gentle only when with Libulan. He would lightly caress the god’s pale face and murmur, “You are not delicate. You are the stillness amid the tempest. ”

However, tranquility is fleeting.

When the other celestial beings discovered the truth, they were infuriated. "The Moon mingling with Death? Outrageous! " they exclaimed. They plotted to separate them—set fire to the mountain, banish Sidapa, and extinguish Libulan’s light.

Yet Libulan stood firm. He faced them bravely, no longer soft-spoken. “He recognizes me—not just as a deity to be revered, but as a spirit to embrace. I will not abandon him. ”

Thus, a pact was made.

Libulan could remain in the sky, but he would never again set foot on Earth. Sidapa must remain tethered to his mountain, never to feel the touch of moonlight on his skin again.

Still, even now, when the crescent moon shines most brilliantly over Mount Madia-as, and the winds carry the sweet aroma of orchids, it is said that Libulan bends the sky to kiss Sidapa from a distance. Two gods—divided by destiny, yet connected by a love that even death could not sever.