Sids reached out his hand. His hand floated above the faint mark carved into the old Balete tree, and when he pressed his palm against it—

Nothing happened.

No sound. No light.

Just the gentle rustling of leaves and the feeling of waiting.

He frowned in confusion. “I swear… I saw it light up. ”

Epoy moved closer, instinctively drawn to the moment. He didn't say anything—he just placed his hand softly on Sids’s hand.

As soon as their hands made contact, the symbol began to glow.

First, it was faint. Then it became brighter.

Finally, it was dazzling.

The world exploded in brightness, as if a curtain had been pulled back. Their surroundings distorted like images in water, and then—

—silence.

They crashed down, gasping for air.

Grass. Wind. Stars.

Slowly, they sat up, feeling confused, their clothes fluttering in a breeze that felt too gentle to be real. Then they surveyed their surroundings—recognition hit them like a wave.

It was the same tree, but different. Taller. Older. Glowing with an energy that raised goosebumps on their arms. The air sparkled. A moon much larger than Earth’s hung low over the jagged mountain ridges. The atmosphere was rich with magic—almost sacred.

“This is it,” Epoy whispered. “This is the place from our dreams. ”

Sids looked at him—but no, this wasn't Sids anymore.

And Epoy—wasn’t Epoy anymore.

Golden strands of memory began to unravel inside them. A rush of emotions flooded in—faces, names, feelings, a love that had been buried so deep it was almost lost.

Libulan.

Sidapa.

The names hit their hearts like bells ringing.

Libulan staggered back, holding his chest as the memories overwhelmed him. He saw visions of meetings under the stars, secret touches, hidden smiles beneath celestial temples. He imagined himself dancing in the sky, casting soft light on a dark world… always watched by the one who waited for him. Sidapa, the god of death, who never feared the moonlight.

Epoy—no, Libulan—gasped. His knees touched the soft ground, and without realizing it, tears streamed down his face.

He wasn’t crying from fear.

It was sorrow.

Sorrow for something lost.

For love separated by the cruel hands of jealous gods.

Sidapa knelt in front of him, his own face showing deep sadness. He reached out, holding Libulan’s face with the same gentleness he had shown in secret moments beneath the stars.

“I remember everything now,” Sidapa whispered. “All of it. ”

Libulan cried softly, clutching the fabric of Sidapa’s shirt as if trying to ground himself. The pain, the longing, the loneliness came crashing back. But beneath it all… was warmth.

“I looked for you in every dream,” Libulan said through shaky breaths. “I thought I was going crazy. I thought it wasn’t true. ”

“It was true,” Sidapa said, pulling him closer. “They tried to take you away from me. They tried to erase what we had. ”

And in that instant, there were no students. No uniforms. No names such as Sids or Epoy.

Only deities.

Only partners who had once been separated by destiny, now holding each other under the holy tree where their affection first started.

For the first time in what seemed like ages, they felt liberated.

Liberated to remember.

Liberated to experience emotions.

Liberated to love—without worry.

And the tree, the holy Tree of Fate, shone above them as if blessing their meeting.

They remained in that embrace for what might have been hours, or even lifetimes.

Together. Just like before.

Just like always.