The next time they came back to the land, it seemed… different.

The sky still had cracks, the temple was still old, but the air felt changed.

The light from the Balete’s roots followed them in. It was no longer a simple shine; it was a pulse—slow and steady, like the heartbeat of a sleeping god beginning to wake. When Epoy touched one of the carved pillars, light flowed through the fissures in the stone.

The land was reacting.

Sids looked at him, his breath stuck in his throat. “It’s coming to life…”

Then they heard a hum—a soft, barely noticeable sound in the air. As they moved further into the damaged temple, items started to glow: a broken fan, intricate with silver feathers but in pieces; a stone knife lying on a broken stand; a circlet of moonstone resting under fallen vines.

“Artifacts,” Sids whispered. “Things from our past. ”

Epoy moved closer to the fan and felt a rush of feelings—it was a memory that wasn't exactly his but felt very familiar. It was Libulan’s fan, which was used to control the tides and winds above.

He picked it up.

It made a soft sound in his hand, even with the crack. A breeze blew through the temple.

Sids reached for the knife—his knife—once used to cut through the threads of fate. It shook in his grip, as if remembering what it was meant for.

“They still have power,” he said softly. “Not much. But it’s real. ”

They looked at each other—heartbeats matching the rhythm of something ancient coming back.

The land wasn’t completely healed. Not yet.

But it was paying attention.

And they were not strangers to it anymore.

Then the tree outside lit up once more—this time even brighter. The light streamed into the land, weaving through the vines, moving across the ground like fireflies following familiar paths.

And then…

The memories hit them both.

Overwhelming.

How they had been taken from the divine world.

How the gods above saw their love as a disruption—how the sun demanded order, while the moon was brought down.

Sidapa’s frantic rebellion.

Libulan’s ultimate sacrifice.

The fall into being human.

Sids held onto Epoy’s hand, feeling pain and clarity come crashing together. “They made us forget. ”

“But not forever,” Epoy whispered.

Because now they recalled.

Not just what was gone—but what they needed to get back.

Their hands, still connected, began to glow softly, the divine marks on their arms spreading out like vines regaining their color.

This place was still broken.

But it wasn’t without hope.

They would come back.

They would fix it.

…

Far away, in the human world, Apollo crouched near the roots of the Balete tree—camera in hand, aimed upward.

He felt it again.

Not the whisper from before.

No.

This time it was louder. Richer. Divine.

The camera clicked softly, capturing the light in a picture.

He stared at the screen and then smiled—quirky and knowing.

“They’re coming to life,” he murmured.

Then he looked up at the tree again, something unreadable in his eyes.

“Finally. ”