Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was now the climax of the novel. Everything was in ruins; Crisostomo was nowhere to be found, Aling Sisa was dead, Elias was left to die, and the civil guards were hunting them down.

Nothing made sense. 

Klay had no idea what was happening with the people of the book, only that Jose Rizal had made the story so intense. From what she remembers in her Rizal classes and Filipino history is that the book (and its sequel) is tragic. 

No one lives.

“But…I changed the story, didn’t I?”

The surge of adrenaline was dying down as they weaved through the forest led by Pablito. He and his men formed a barrier of sorts around the two refugees, the grips on their rifles and revolvers steady. Any ambush and these skilled rebels will not hesitate to pull the trigger. 

Klay was dragging her feet, processing all the current events. Every time they were so close to safety, to being victorious, they fall into a pit. The young woman had her head hung low, her arms wrapped around her midsection. 

Wave after wave of anxiety and dread hit her small frame, making the woman tremble with every step. The men had their eyes towards the forest, darting from every corner, tree to tree, yet they could see how the only woman in their band was close to breaking down.

They’ve seen this before. They all have. 

And while Pablito and his men have witnessed this time and time again, not just from women but from all sorts of people, from all ranges of ages, now was not the time to console her. 

They were being hunted. Pablito was ready to put the woman to sleep in the event she loses it and throws a fit. It wasn’t the first time he had to do so. 

The silence and lack of events was the silent killer of every intense incident. It’s the aftermath; the in-betweens. The miniscule pause. 

Her breathing became labored with every step she took. Her vision blurred as she recalled all the events of just that night . And as if that wasn’t enough, yesterday evening was full of revelations, and then it was spent on scouring all of Crisostomo’s belongings and putting it to the fire. 

And even before that, even before those dramatic turn of events, Klay was already on the verge of insanity if it weren’t for the fact that she would remind herself ‘it is only a book.’

(Literature is a basis for morality and identity. Keep that in mind.)

From even plains, their trek became strenuous as the slope of a mountain came to view. Klay, who was engrossed in her mind, had stepped on the hem of her skirt. The woman nearly fell on the rocky earth, if it weren’t for the man who had caught her elbow just in time.

Said man has been watching their female companion with steady eyes. His job was to keep Klay safe, after all. She had a massive panic attack from earlier, and was now reeling. 

Fidel tightened his grip on her elbow; Klay was unresponsive. The maiden had let go of her whole weight the moment he caught her. “Klay.” he whispered. However, Klay refused to look at him. It was as if she didn’t hear him.

Maybe she didn’t.

Klay was lost in a world of her own. 

Pablito saw the two of them lag behind. He motioned for his men to stop. It would seem that Klay was going to become deadweight to them. Pablito narrowed his eyes on Fidel, hoping the man got the message.

Fidel clenched his jaw. “Klay, please. We need to get away from here.”

Tangled locks served as curtains, concealing Klay’s face from him as her head hung low. His other hand, the one holding the rifle ( ‘-from the dead civil guard, dead, dead, deaddeaddea-’ ), dropped the weapon. He reached for the woman’s face, parting her tousled locks. 

Two warm fingers brushed Klay’s jaw, causing the woman to snap. The woman yanked her arm, ready to scream, ready to fight, the fight or flight instinct kicking in. “Let g-!” in her haste, the woman landed on the ground. 

Fidel’s heart broke at the sight of his beloved. 

Deathly pale against the moonlight, crazed eyes looking at him (yet not seeing him), a hand already on the sharp rock beside her. ‘It’s eating her alive.’ He got down to his knees, a shaky breath escaping his lips.

“Klay, look at me. Please. It’s Fidel.” He reached for her, just like how one would approach a scared animal. “Look at me, Klay. Nothing will hurt you. I’m here.” Fidel watched Klay breathe erratically; her chest heaving in an uneven manner, her lips trembling as it zoned in on his hands. 

Just moments ago, it was Klay who had comforted him at the grave of Ibarra’s grandfather. 

When he saw the tombstone, suddenly all of Fidel’s strength disappeared. He fell to his knees, the rifle going down with him. His pristine slacks earned a tear as he landed on the earth. 

“Fidel!” he heard a cry- a woman’s voice, probably -but it fell on deaf ears. What he did hear was the blast of the bullet emitted from the rifle, and a body hitting the cobblestone. The hard thud of flesh and meat of a human , against the floor and then…

Silence. 

Fidel pressed his forehead to the ground. His fingernails dug into the earth, before gripping his hair. Words tried to leave his lips, yet all that came out was a jumbled mess of whimpers and sobs. 

For a man who has never bowed to the soil, Fidel wanted nothing more than to bury himself under it. 

Fidel had folded over himself, trying to squeeze his big frame into something small. He began to rock back and forth as he relived the minute he was no longer an innocent man.

The moment he had pulled the trigger, he had disconnected from his body. It was only Klay’s urgent pleas of “get away from here! ” that had him moving. 

And in their haste, he could still hear the man’s last breath leave his body. Saw the fear in his eyes. Fidel had no idea who the man was, what the man was before he became a civil guard. 

He most likely had a family; was he still a bachelor living with his clan? Did his parents rely on him for provision? Or maybe he had a wife? Was the wife with child? Did they have children? How many would they be? Was the man a brother? A friend? A decent human being just like all of them, only doing what he was told to do for the sake of making a better life for him and his loved ones?

Fidel had no idea who the man was, didn’t even get a name from him. Only that the civil guard had pushed Klay, the table cracking under her weight, and Fidel had no choice but to aim and fire. 

His aim rang true. Straight to the heart. 

The man was dead. 

And it was at Fidel’s hands. 

“Fidel. Fidel, please. Fidel, I’m begging you. Stand, Fidel.” Two small hands pulled his shoulders, insistent yet gentle. Fidel was paralyzed. He wouldn’t, couldn’t , move. 

Those two hands then traveled to his hands. Warmth covered his knuckles, rubbing in small circles. 

“Shh…Fidel…I’m here. I’m here.” the small movements over his knuckles slowly had Fidel laxing his grip on his hair. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“I’m alive.”

‘She’s here.’ 

‘She’s alive.’ 

Fidel raised his eyes to the woman before him, the woman he loves with everything that he has, and broke into a sob.

Klay pressed his head to her chest, her arms draping over his shoulder. One hand made a home in his scalp, combing the strands lightly. Her other palm rested on his nape. Just a touch from her had Fidel’s wall crumbling down. 

This was a far cry from their embrace earlier. 

Now that they were in a safe place, Fidel’s walls came crashing down as the death of a man took over him. 

And Klay was holding him. 

With one hand, he grasped her elbow, which in turn had Klay hugging him tighter.

For a few minutes, they stayed that way. Her small hands warmed his neck and brushed his aching scalp. It was hardly even a minute, but it felt like an eternity for the both of them. 

Fidel pulled away, still clinging to Klay’s elbow. Though her hands were no longer resting on his shoulders, they instead caressed his face. Klay wiped the dirt away from his forehead and cheeks, gingerly nudging his nose and edges of his eyes. 

Fidel could only stare at her.

Murder is a sin that promises you a seat in hell. If Fidel had to choose between watching Klay be hurt or having blood in his hands, the man will not hesitate to take life. 

‘You’re no longer worthy of her.’  

Hot tears slid down his face as he stared at the angel before him. His hands were tainted; he had killed a man. Shame overpowered his already weak body. 

‘I am well aware that Klay is the hurdle the Lord has sent my way in this world,’ A distant memory played before his eyes. ‘And yet, I can not deny the fact that Klay is the only woman I have loved, I love, and will love.’ 

Wasn’t that only days ago? 

So much has happened since then. Yet none of them matter. He no longer matters. 

He could never have Klay’s love. He never did in the first place, and now more than ever.

(But he will gladly accept his fate if it meant Klay was safe and alive.)

And now, their situations have switched. He was no longer panicking, though bile was making its way up his throat. They had no choice but to leave Elias; the man was injured and was losing too much blood. 

‘May God guide your soul, amigo.’ 

Who knew, in his dying moments, Fidel would consider what people called a scoundrel a friend?

“Klay, look at me.” His fingers had finally reached her jaw once more. The woman flinched, and it squeezed his heart. “I’m here.” His eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of recognition. 

Her breathing slowed. She reached for his wrist, her index positioned over his pulse. Once again, time stopped as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

‘Then promise me. Promise me you will not die. Promise me that you will live.’ 

“You’re alive.” barely a whisper, yet Fidel heard her loud and clear. “I’m alive.” 

“Can you stand, Klay?” He asked. His hand was now cupping her face, his thumb wiping the tears. “Klay?” The woman was trembling, due to the cold air or her anxiety, Fidel wasn’t sure. “I-I can’t…”

Pablito was then behind Klay, his salakot low over his eyes, hiding his face. 

“We have to hurry, Binibining Klay. Señor Fidel. We’re still in enemy territory.”

Fidel looked up, to see the man’s expression was nothing like his stony warning. Sad, full of regrets and understanding, were written across his features. “I’m sorry, but we really have to go.”

It occurred to Fidel that Pablito had also just lost his friend, his brother. 

Just like how Fidel had lost his. 

He nodded. Pablito blinked once and all of his emotions were behind a wall once more. His blank stare was a persona of a leader; of a person that carried the weight on his shoulders as he led his men to their deaths. 

Fidel had met the man once, on their journey to San Diego. Pablito ambushed them, ransacked their luggage, and then requested for money or jewelry in exchange for their freedom.

And now, Pablito was leading them to their camp. A safe place.

Fidel watched the man walk towards the front of the group, clapping the shoulder of another revolter. He brought his attention back to the petite woman before him. “We have to go, Klay. Can you stand?” he asked again.

The woman studied his face. Tears kept spilling from her eyes. “...F-fidel…” she whimpered. “...y-y-your…p-pulse…i-it’s n-n-norm-mal…” he had no idea what the woman had said, yet he nodded all the same. “Yes, Klay. We have to go.”

She trembled once more, biting her lips while doing so. It would seem that Klay was still not in her right mind. 

For Klay, she was focused solely on the steady heartbeat of Fidel fluttering against her finger. She needed an anchor. She needed to know that he was alive. That his pulse, that his lifeline, wasn’t going to die down.

Fidel slowly tore his palm off her face, only to face Klay’s iron grip. She wasn’t going to let go of him anytime soon. They needed to get a move on and Klay was a statue on the ground. 

He was left to make the decision for them.

Given that his shirt was left pressed against the bleeding arm of Elias, Fidel grew conscious of the only possible solution he had left: carry Klay. 

This night had him committing sin after sin. What else could he do, though? For the duration of their trek towards camp, Fidel hardly noticed the crisp air of the night. Now that he had to carry Klay, implying that she would be pressed against his bare chest, suddenly had him blistering in the chill breeze. 

“Klay…” he began, lowly. “Forgive me…but we really have to go. I need to carry you, okay? Trust me, please.” Fidel slowly moved the hand that was cradling her cheek to her shoulders, while the other moved to hook under her knees. 

Fidel had made sure he had gathered the skirt as he slipped his hands under her legs, so that when he carries her, her skirt still covers her legs. He swallowed as he maneuvered his arms around her body, careful that he wouldn’t touch her anywhere indecent. 

“Forgive me, Klay.” he whispered. He prayed Klay would understand, though it was futile. The woman was preoccupied with looking for his pulse. Her hands itched to feel the constant beat of his heart, anything to tell her that he was alive. 

Fidel slowly got to his feet. He swayed, not at the weight of the woman in his arms, but at the uneven ground. He adjusted the woman in his hold, angling his hands on her shoulder and the back of her knees. 

“Pablito.” he called. Said man turned, a questioning look on his face. Fidel inclined his head to the side. The leader nodded. Fidel’s rifle was soon in his hold; Pablito slung the weapon over one shoulder while his own firearm was locked under his armpit.

Pablito whistled for his men to walk, nodding at Fidel once. “Will you be alright?” he asked. Fidel looked down on his love, her face obscured as she hung her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“We can take turns carryi-”

“I’m fine.”

Pablito faltered, surprised at the solemnity of the man opposite of him. His eyes darted at the dainty maiden in his arms. It all fell into place. He studied the man once more; what Pablito was looking for, no one knew. 

But there was a flash of approval and Pablito turned on his heel.

Fidel moved to follow the man. He pulled Klay closer to his chest. In truth, the man was reeling at the proximity. Sure, he wasn’t touching her skin specifically. However, it was the fact that he was topless and the only separating her skin from his is her clothes. 

‘Dios Mio, Fidel! Get your head out of the gutter!’

Before he could even stop his thoughts from desecrating himself any longer, Klay began to squirm in his hold. She then wrapped her free arm over his shoulder, and then forced her face onto his neck.

His eyes grew wide.

Perhaps it was unintentional; it could be the only explanation…

Klay’s lips pressed on the juncture of his pulse. 

And then, she pressed her forehead on the side of his neck, a soft sigh and a few tears escaping her. 

His heart stopped. 

He nearly dropped the woman, if it weren’t for her tiny palm resting above his heart. 

Pablito, who was adjusting the strap of his rifle, turned to face him. “Señor?” Fidel let out a gag. The leader took a step toward the young man, only for Fidel to shake his head. “S-sorry.” 

Pablito blinked. He then directed one of his men to take the lead. He stayed behind, a few feet ahead of Fidel, in case the young businessman caved. 

Suffice to say, Pablito was impressed with Fidel. 

The climb to the camp was a difficult one; it rested behind the mountain before them. Beyond their camp was the cliff's edge, overlooking the natural scenery of their land. Of their home.

From time to time, Pablito would look over his shoulders to see if Fidel was still there. It would seem that the maiden had fallen asleep in his arms, indicated by her head resting on his shoulder. The palm that was planted over the young man’s heart had dropped to her knuckles. The slow rise and fall of her body accompanied her faint snoring. 

‘Rest, Binibini. You will need it.’ 

He then studied the man carrying the slumbering Klay, who seemed too alive yet absent from his surroundings. If it weren’t dark and the orange glows from the torches didn’t paint the surrounding, Pablito would see the scarlet-tipped ears, nape, and entirety of the face that belongs to Fidel.

Soon enough, Pablito could make out the bamboo torches lining the forest, signifying their hideout. Because of the demanding and troublesome trek uphill, no civilized man has ever dared to travel deep into the forest.

Such is why their hideout has never been found to begin with. 

People began to swarm the area, holding torches and weapons of their own. Some with firearms, the others with swords and daggers. At the front and center of it all was his younger sister, Lucia.

“Pablito…and Klay?” his sister rushed past him to the duo behind him. Lucia brushed back Klay’s bangs, looping them behind her ear. “What happened?” She faced Pablito. “Is she injured? Poisoned?” Lucia’s hand moved from her ear to press against her forehead. 

“Panic.” Fidel supplied. 

Lucia’s frantic expression melted to one of understanding. “Helena, Benita, take Señor and Klay to my hut. Prepare a bed, water and food.” She then faced Fidel. “She will stay with me for the rest of the night, if that’s alright? I’ll have the medics keep an eye on her and I will also be there.”

Fidel considered the notion. He would rather stay by her side for the rest of the evening, fatigue was consuming his body, as well as his mind. He nodded. 

Lucia took a step back as two women approached them. “Follow us, Señor.”

As Fidel distanced himself from the group, he had heard the names of his best friend, his brother, and the name of a new comrade be swept away by the wind.

It was the morning after. Fidel, who was the new bunkmate of Pablito (replacing Elias), woke to a moment of…silence.

It was one of those fractures in time where you slept off a heavy and intense day, and woke up with a sense of uncertainty. A moment of numbness, where you ask yourself ‘what the hell happened?’ and immediately have the memories come crashing down on you. 

He was thankful Pablito had gone off to stand guard for the night; he had the whole hut to himself. Fidel sat upright on the spare rattan bed. Tears were already slipping down his face. 

No more cotton mattresses, no more silk beddings. The only cushion he had was the blanket stuffed with sparse feathers from chickens, a thin, ratty sheet for a blanket.

So this is how the mighty fall.

But none of it mattered to Fidel. The comfort of his old life was a distant echo in his mind, something he had no hesitation in abandoning. He thought he would suffer in the event all of his possessions were taken from him, yet none of them could parallel the lives of his brother, and the woman he loves.

Fidel brought a fist to his mouth. The last time he ever saw Crisostomo was at the church, where he had basically ousted himself. Fidel never saw the man in the barracks, didn’t see him when he was free, and now the sun was barely touching the sky, and all Fidel remembers is the angry tears in his amigo’s eyes as his chants echoed inside the holy dwelling.

‘Mi amigo…’

Fidel lowered his walls once more, weeping over the fact that he will never see his brother anymore.

“Dios de los Santos, a ti elevo la vida de mi amigo, de mi hermano. Guíalo y mantenlo a salvo. Rezo para que haya huido del país; lejos del desorden que es San Diego. Quédate con él, siempre, Querido Dios.”

A fervent prayer left his lips as the man wept over the fate of his only family. Juan Crisostomo Ibarra had been his childhood friend, and had been a constant in his life despite the distance in their journey during their academic years. 

And now, Crisostomo Ibarra was only a memory painted across his mind. 

Fidel wept. He wept, over the loss of his friend, over the loss of his dignity, over the loss of his identity. He was now a wanted man; a traitor and a murderer. Fidel could never return to the life he once had; he had given them all up the moment he entered the church that Christmas night.

Gone was Fidel De Los Reyes y Maglipol, the one and only son of Celeste Reyes y Maglipol and Joaquin Reyes, the esteemed lawyer from London, the rising businessman of San Diego.

Now, he was nobody. And he had nothing.

‘You have Klay.’ the voice of his mother entered his mind. ‘She is with you, my son.’ his father added.

Soon, Fidel’s whimpers ceased. His late parents were right. Last night (or was it during the early hours of the morning, just after midnight?), Fidel had bared his soul to Klay. Not once, but twice. After his breakdown at the grave, he had begged the woman to give him a chance at love.

And when they found Elias, wounded and bloodied, he had declared his love for her; that despite the mess that they are in, he will remain unflappable. All for the sake of her safety, for if she were to be caught in the midst of this war, Fidel might not live with himself.

‘Then promise me.’

Fidel choked on a sob.

‘Promise me, you will not die.’

“I won’t.”

‘Promise me you will live.’

“I will.”

'I promise.’

“Klay…” Her name was a cry on his lips as another wave of despair hit him. He may have lost everything, he still had Klay. She was still there. 

‘I’m here. ’ she had whispered to him that night at the graveyard. 

When they arrived at the camp, Lucia had instructed him to her hut, with two women to tend to Klay. He was hesitant to leave her at first; a spare bed was occupied with the sleeping body of Klay. Helena and Benita had promised him that Klay would be taken care of, and that he should eat dinner before heading to bed. 

He was skeptical, wanting nothing else than to be at Klay’s bedside when she wakes. But the women were adamant.

‘We need to tend to her, even if there aren’t any wounds. And you’re also tired. What help can you be? Please, let us handle this.’ 

Pablito was already waiting for him when Fidel left the hut, pointing at another just a few feet away from Lucia’s. ‘Take the spare one. Or whichever. I’ll be on guard tonight, anyways.’ and the man left without another word.

The ex-lawyer wiped away his tears. He used the collar of his camisa de chino to rid the stains off his face. Before he left Lucia’s hut, Helena had offered him a change of clothes. He had burned away his pants, along with the muddied Italian leather, before letting exhaustion take over.

The sun was peeking through the windows.

Fidel was a new man.

He left the hut, with his first priority being to see Klay. A bench sat at the end of the steps of Lucia’s hut. Seeing as that Lucia was not among the first people to greet the sun, nor the ones to rest for the day, Fidel had no choice but to wait for her to grace him with her presence.

“Señor Fidel.” Fidel looked behind him to see the calm features of Lucia. He bowed his head. "Good morning, Lucia."

"And to you, Señor." The tiny woman descended the steps. "She's still asleep. But you may see her. Food will be at the main area; just follow the trail down my hut."

The woman nodded to him before heading off to breakfast. Fidel wasted no time in entering the home.

His eyes landed on Klay's sleeping form curled up in a ball. That night he had laid her flat on the bench, and now she had folded in on herself.

His chest tightened at the vulnerable position she lay.

There was a small stool at her bedside. Fidel gently pulled the chair to him, setting himself on the sturdy wood.

Her face was free from any troubles. No lines creasing on her forehead, no thinly pressed lips. Instead, those very lips were parted slightly. 

'Those same lips that kissed his pulse.'

Fidel clapped a hand on his neck, the exact area where Klay's lips brushed it, and immediately regretted it. The sound stirred the woman. 

A soft moan rumbled at the back of her throat as she stretched her arms over her head, as well as relieving her legs from its previous cramped position.

If Fidel wasn't blushing enough, he would be akin to a tomato by now. And the way the woman woke up; this time Klay had no fault whatsoever.

She had no idea a man would be waiting for her to greet the day.

Yet Fidel still blamed Klay for being scandalous.

(Perhaps not all things must change.)

Fidel looked away as Klay started to grow alert. The fair maiden slowly pushed herself to sit on the bench, her blouse slipping over one shoulder.

"...huh…" Klay looked around her, wondering why the area was so different from the room of Sir Ibarra's estate.

Sir Ibarra. 

Arrested. Elias and his ancestry. The church. Burning the estate. Fidel and Mang Adong getting arrested on the basis of affiliation. 

Freeing Ibarra. Going back for Fidel. A body on the floor. A graveyard. Panic attacks. Elias dying. Sisa's corpse-

Klay began to hyperventilate at the onslaught of the memories from last night.

Fidel, who noticed her labored breaths, quickly reached for Klay's hands that began to yank her hair.

"Klay!" He cried. His hands covered hers, holding them in place. "Klay, it's alright. Klay. Look at me."

It was like Klay was seeing him the first time. For Fidel, it did. She was finally looking at him, seeing him, and Fidel wanted nothing more than to hold her.

She did that for him.

Klay threw her arms over his shoulder, one hand cupping the back of his head. Fidel took a second before returning the hug, one arm around her small shoulders.

"You're alive." She whispered. The woman then buried her face in his neck again, making Fidel uncomfortable due to the fact that it was the exact same spot she had kissed him.

"I'm alive." He replied.

The two held each other for a few more minutes, relishing in the comfort of one another.

This was his anchor. His Achilles Heel.

Klay then pulled herself away from him, her eyes glassy. She caressed his face once more as her lips trembled.

"...F-fidel…" she sobbed.

Fidel hushed her, slipping his fingers through her hair. "Klay."

The sound of her name broke the girl. He was pulled back into her arms, a gift he will never tire of receiving, and cradled his love.

He let her weep over his shoulder, not even thinking about the stains on his shirt. His long legs were cramped between the tiny stool and the bunk, and all Fidel could think about were the whimpers that wracked Klay's body.

It took a while before the woman had calmed down. She peeled herself from him, her shaky fingers opting to wipe her tears. Fidel beat her to it, his thumb already catching the droplets.

Klay let him. When he finished, the tall man got to his feet and offered his hand to Klay. The maiden sniffed. She gently laid her palm on his, his fingers automatically circling her hand.

They walked out of Lucia's hut, hand in hand, off to have a meal on this new day.

Chapter Text

Klay had run off to who knows where. 

Earlier, Klay was a quiet little thing. Completely mute as she stared off into the treeline while they waited for their turn at breakfast. It was not the right time to talk about anything.

Like her, Fidel was musing over everything that had happened in the less than 24 hours. In those hours, he had lost everything that defined his life. 

And nothing he could ever do now will take it back. 

When their turn came, Lucia and Pablito greeted them with news. It would be as though these people had no common decency; no bad news until the person has eaten.

But what would be the good news?

Nothing about their situation indicates good tidings. And so, they lost their appetite the moment the words left Lucia’s lips. The moment it registered.

“Two burnt corpses were found in the forest. One is of Aling Sisa’s, the other is of Elias.”

Though her back was to him, Fidel knew exactly when Klay began to cry. Her shoulders shook as sniffles took over. ‘She hasn’t really gotten to grieve.’ Fidel placed his hands over her shoulders, trying to calm her down as best as he could. He would hold her, if she hadn’t moved forward. 

“That would mean no one has found Crisostomo Ibarra?” 

Fidel locked eyes with Pablito, who barely shook his head. “No one has seen him.” he replied. The ex-businessman clicked his tongue. It was Klay who was more obvious in her deductions.

“...there’s a possibility he’s alive.” 

Lucia only shook her head. “We can not be certain, Klay. If he’s in the forest, we will definitely have a difficult time looking for him. It’s wide and never ending, with so many paths a person can take. Even our best hunters can’t be sure; if he’s alive…he should be smart enough to get out of there.”

Klay grabbed Lucia’s hands in an instant. Both men were surprised at the sudden burst of life in Klay, who just moments ago, was shattered. “B-but there’s a possibility, right? I know sir Ibarra! He’ll show up, eventually!” Klay had cupped Lucia’s hands in hers, begging the woman to understand. To give in. To find Ibarra.

‘He might be making the effort to be found. It’s our turn to find him.’ Fidel wanted to argue, however Lucia gently switched their positions. Now she was the one holding Klay’s hands. Instead of the pleading grip of Klay, it was now turned into a delicate clasp.

“Klay…if until now he hasn’t made himself known…it’s most likely he’s…he’s dead.” 

Klay’s fingers slipped from Lucia’s hold. “N-no. Y-you’re wrong. E-elias…h-h-he…he said t-that…he…Ibarra…r-ran…” her words were becoming incoherent by the second as sobs permeated her tiny frame. “...h-he’s…sir Ibarra is alive. I know he is alive.”

“And I will prove it.”

Fidel watched Klay slap her tears away. The woman hiked her skirts as she pushed past the siblings, grabbing the salakot off the table. The siblings followed the woman with their eyes, their expressions identical in pity and grief.

They should be used to this by now; watching people get all riled up before being slapped with the reality of their denial. 

It happened to them, once upon a time. And though it would be best if Klay just accepted it as is, Pablito and Lucia know firsthand that grief must be dealt with. 

It is a far worse consequence to be numb before undergoing the stages of grief. 

Pablito was about to comfort his younger sister, when Fidel rushed past them. The siblings were surprised at first, more on Fidel’s sudden movement than Fidel himself, before they both sighed dejectedly. 

Let them deal with it. Let them accept it in their own way. 

And then they can move on with their plans.

Pablito opened his palm for his younger sister, who held it without even sparing him a glance. The siblings may have lost everything, they at least still had each other. Lucia hung her head in defeat as they made their way to their respective huts; they knew that the moment they became rebels that they would always be on the losing side of the war. 

But that’s exactly why they fight.

They’ve only lost if they give up. 

Which is why Klay broke into a full run deep into the forest. Crisostomo Ibarra is alive. He’s only dead if Klay doesn’t do anything about it. Fidel was left to chase after her. Given that Klay was already meters ahead of him, Fidel had no choice but to hurry.

Klay was out of breath the moment she reached a clearing. Her mind was frenzied while she ducked under branches, looked behind trees, and basically searched everywhere her eyes could see.

And now she was out in the open. A sparse portion of land that would take a few minutes to walk on before entering the forest once again. And the line of trees would be the only other witness of Klay screaming at the top of her lungs.

She couldn’t afford to have a breakdown the night before; with everything happening so quickly, and with no room to spare, Klay had to force down all of her anxiety even as she slept. Luckily, she had fallen into a dreamless slumber that left her feeling disoriented.

(A part of her had hoped she would wake up at the top of her apartment’s rooftop and this was all just a dream.)

“SIR IBARRA!!!” Klay felt her jaw aching as she shouted at the heavens. “SIR IBARRA WHERE ARE YOU!!!???” Klay moved to the middle of the clearing, not caring if someone could hear her now.

Right now, it wasn’t about Ibarra. It wasn’t about the hideout or the civil guards or anyone from the damn book.

Right now, Klay was breaking apart and nothing will stop her. 

“CRISOSTOMO IBARRA!!!” 

“SIR IBARRA!!!”

“I’M RIGHT HERE!!!”

“IBARRA!!!”

Klay let her emotions get the better of her. The woman tore down the high grass, throwing every rock she’s reached, and basically scaring off any living creature within the proximity.

All except one.

His senses were on high alert when he lost sight of Klay. Ideas of Klay getting into trouble became worse than the previous ones as he scoured the forest. 

‘Did she trip? Did she faint? Maybe she’s vomited? Did a wild animal hear her? Is she being chased down? Was she captured?’ bile burned his throat at the last one. The civil guards are on high alert, after all. It was never a bad idea to think of the worst possible scenarios; for this one, the Alferez most likely sent guards to search the forest.

‘Klay…where are you!?’ Fidel paused in the middle of the forest. He had no idea where he was at the moment; fortunately he carried with him a compass from the camp. ‘Our hideout is settled on the east; it is a reminder for everyone that the sun brings in a new dawn to start again.’

Fidel began to panic as he had no idea which way to go. The forest began to blend with one another as they had gone off track ages ago. 

“CRISOSTOMO IBARRA SHOW YOURSELF!!”

‘On the right!’ Fidel raced to where the voice came from. The closer he gets, the louder Klay’s shouts become. The more he could hear the desperation and distress. He stopped at the edge of the clearing when he finally saw Klay.

Her blouse hanging off on one shoulder, and her posture crumpled on the earth. The maiden faced the heaven’s as she shouted the name of his best friend once again. 

“IBARRA!! I’M RIGHT HERE!!”

Fidel drew in a shaky breath. He shouldn’t cry. Klay needed him, and if he became weak then who would Klay rely on? Fidel slowly made his way into the clearing. His body shook with repressed tears as his arms wrapped itself around Klay from behind.

The woman did not cease in her wails.

“IBARRA WHERE ARE YOU!!???” 

“I’M RIGHT HERE!! SHOW YOURSELF!!”

“CRISOSTOMO!!!”

With every cry, Fidel held her tighter. Even he couldn’t stop his own tears from falling. “Klay…please, that’s enough. We have to go.” Fidel pressed his face onto her crown, praying that the woman would calm down. He didn’t want to physically restrain her and drag her back to camp. “Please, Klay. Let it go. Let him go. ”

The woman froze in his grip. “Let Crisostomo Ibarra go, Klay. Let go. ”

It happened in an instant. 

Klay tore away from his grip, pushing the man to his back. Fidel was shocked at Klay’s sudden surge that he couldn’t bring himself to stand. She looked down on him, the sun on her back. And with the salakot over her small face, Fidel could barely make out the anger and desperation clouding her irises. 

Her whole face was contorted in a glower.

“Leave me alone.” 

Fidel watched the woman he loves be consumed by the shadows caused by the light behind her. He felt glued to the earth as he stared at blazing eyes full of hatred and anger.

“If you’re not going to help me, let me go. ”

His heart broke at her last words. Let her go? Let her go?  

Hell no! 

He returned her glare with one of his own.

“You’re not going anywhere without me.” The man pushed himself to stand, their eyes never leaving one another. With the sudden movement, Klay’s salakot moved to rest on her back. Their chests were an inch from touching as he looked down on her, and she at him. The shadows no longer veiled her face from Fidel. He saw bloodshot eyes and tear stains blemishing her cheeks. 

He’s sure he looked the same.

“I am going with you.”

Fidel was determined to win this one. No way in hell was he going to allow Klay to venture off into the forest by herself, especially in her frenzied state. 

“You’re not helping me.” Klay narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve done nothing for your amigo since we’ve escaped, and now you’re telling me , the exact same person that got both you and Crisostomo Ibarra out of that godforsaken prison with a fate that’s better off living in our nightmares, to let go? ”

Her words were venomous in the way she released them. 

“You, the very same man who calls himself his amigo. The same man who claims that he will be at his friend’s side no matter what. The very same amigo that follows Ibarra like a puppy? You’re telling me to just give up? To let go?”

The maiden narrowed her eyes on her companion. “I know you said last night that you are just trying to keep it together. But now is the time to take action; the guards are hunting down Ibarra and we can beat them to it! And your plan is to let go? Fidel, we are in broad daylight, on the other side of the town, for crying out loud! We’re deep in the forest. Those guards have to travel back to their barracks and then go out here. We’re already here!” 

The man controlled himself from shaking the woman. She’s out of her mind. Klay has lost it. He said this to her then, and he’s saying it now. “Do you even hear yourself, Klay?” does she, though? Fidel took a step closer.

Her eyes widened. ‘Is this a part two of last night?’  The girl scoffed. Klay looked away for a moment, appalled by the statement of the man before her. ‘It’s always like this, with you.’ She snapped her attention back to him, her eyes squared on his.

“You are of no help to me, Mr. Reyes.” 

“I am. And I will.”

They stood, a foot apart, glaring at each other. 

“Leave, Fidel.” 

“You are not in the right state of mind to do anything alone, Klay.” 

They glared at each other once more. He knows Klay was driven to madness at this point; nothing she said meant a nickel. Loaded with emotions she has yet to properly process, coupled with the idea Crisostomo Ibarra could be alive. 

‘Please, Klay. Let me stay with you.’ he pleaded inside. His words from last night were true; if he loses Klay amongst all of his losses, he probably wouldn’t make it. ‘Don’t do this, I know you don’t mean any of them.’ 

He wanted to reach out for her; feel her warm skin against his finger tips, to pull her against his chest and keep her there. 

‘Please, Klay. I love you. Don’t go.’

She was the first to give. A first in their relationship, too. The woman backed away. She then turned to face the same direction as he, obviously trying to avoid his gaze. Fidel wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt.

They stood in silence. The air was buzzing with tension coming from the two.

“Stay here.” Fidel was the first to speak. A common occurrence in their relationship. “I’ll…head back to camp, grab us some gear and then…then we can look for Ibarra. Together.”

Klay made no sound. 

Her tiny frame was slumped, and while he doesn’t see her face, he knows the woman was fighting back tears. He’s been at her side the longest to know her little mannerisms and triggers. Klay had a habit of turning away from him, specifically, whenever she’s feeling too much emotion. 

Though he was in the right, Fidel still felt guilt for behaving in such a way. He would rather face an angry, blabbering, irritated Klay than this…

…this broken vessel.

“I’ll be right back.” the wind carried the message to the maiden, only for it to fall on deaf ears. Fidel turned away, his heart breaking with every step he took farther from the maiden.

And Klay was choking on her whimpers. 

“....why did I say that….” Klay fell to her knees when she no longer heard the crunch of grass under shoes. “...I-I’m so sorry…”

The clearing could only listen to the broken sobs of the maiden. 

Klay pulled her knees to her chest as she sobbed. For a while, the maiden was alone. She pulled the salakot over her head, a shield of sorts, from everything that was around her. Gradually, tiny glows floating about the day, though they should only be visible at night, began to surround Klay. 

One in particular lowered until he was a foot away from her.

He regrets ever letting her inside the story. He should have known; not all of his previous students, and the people before him, would act the same way as the first. Ever observant, in the shadows, simply watching. Sooner or later, someone will be involved. 

And it had to be his own student. 

He let Klay have a moment of her own. Like her, he had no actual power in the story. He thought (and hoped) that Miss Infantes could make an actual difference in the book. Yet it all remains the same.

It was written over decades ago. Basically gospel. 

‘What was, now is, and will always be.’  

The other fireflies, other travelers, flew around the clearing. He’s spoken to a few, having discussed theories and commentaries with one another. These travelers were like Klay; they had their own little adventure in the book (but not as immersive as hers), and could jump to and fro the story as they please. And now, they are witnessing another go through the events of Noli Me Tangere.

Or rather, the supposed events. 

Klay had changed most of the narrative; giving Maria Clara a voice, providing Ibarra company, being Sisa’s confidant and so much more. Yet, no matter the twists and turns Klay pushed the story to, it all leads to the same ending as ever. 

And this version was perhaps the most devastating he’s read thus far. 

‘It is time to go home, Miss Infantes.’ he thought as he stepped into his human form. No sound was made when he was finally standing on his own two feet. His heart ached for the young woman before him; it was a mistake to bring her here.

However…

If he hadn’t, would she have known the reality of the world around her? Yes, everyone has their own baggage to carry. Things that are better left behind closed doors. Nonetheless, Maria Clara Infantes must be shown that there is more to life than what she is used to.

More to life than what anyone is used to.

He will not deny the fact that the woman is mature for her age; he’s met students like her in his time as a teacher. Perhaps he was harsh, perhaps it was unnecessary. 

Would there be a rainbow if there is no rain before the sun?

“Miss Infantes…” he began. The maiden looked up immediately, falling on her butt in surprise. 

“Mr. Torres-!” Klay stared at her professor. Was that really him? Wait, didn’t he usually walk past her like he was running away from her and she would chase him like always? What’s the plot twist?

Klay scrambled to her feet, hastily wiping her tears away. She cleared her throat before speaking. “Sir Torres. I-it’s you…w-what are you doing here? Here, in the middle of nowhere? And where did you come from? H-how come I didn’t hear you? When did you get here…?”

Mr. Torres searched the eyes of his student. He has no idea how he’ll say any of what he intends to, so he nods his head to the side. “Join an old man for a walk?” 

‘I’ve never felt so old in my damn life.’ he pushed the cane off the ground as he decided to go deeper into the forest. 

“Sir! I-I…I promised Fidel I would stay here-” she sounded as if she had suddenly caught herself saying something she wasn’t supposed to. The professor looked over his shoulder, before totally returning to his spot a few paces ago. The old man couldn’t stop a chuckle, that came out a grunt, leave him. “It seems you’ve finally learned to listen, Miss Infantes.”

The girl, eyes puffy and cheeks stained, was actually blushing under the salakot. “...I just don’t want to make him more upset than he already is.” she looked down. While Mr. Torres chose to overlook Klay’s budding romance, even he couldn’t deny the intense chemistry she shared with the ( null ) character.

“Then start by apologizing?” 

Klay brought her face up in an instant. Her expression changed just as quickly, too. “Why are you here, Mr. Torres?” her voice suspicious. The man hung his head in defeat. There was no point in beating around the bush. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, honestly.

As he was about to open his mouth, Klay shot him down with a question that he wasn’t sure was his place to answer. “Tell me, how does the story end?”

He wanted to say something, anything really. Remind her that this is only a book, or that she’ll go home eventually so does it matter?

“Is sir Ibarra alive?” Tiny hands grasped the sleeves of his barong. He jumped in surprise, ready to scold the maiden, but Klay was on a roll. “He’ll return, right? T-that’s why there’s a sequel? El Fili, right? T-that’s why he isn’t dead- can’t be dead. Sir, please tell me!” 

If she’s talking about the original novels, then yes…but that is neither here nor there. 

This was Klay’s version. And it has yet to conclude.

The older man gently released his arms from her grasp, taking her tiny fists into his wrinkled ones. “There is a possibility…” hope sparked in her eyes. “...that he is dead, as far as I know.” Mr. Torres ignored the group of fireflies buzzing too close beside Klay’s head. 

Her fists went slack in his shaky hold. “S-s-so h-h-he’s dead?” her voice cracked into a whisper. And then, the force of her pull had the man swaying as she lashed out on him.

“You told me that I changed the story. You said I changed it! You…you gave me hope that there were changes- YOU MADE ME BELIEVE I CAN DO THIS! WHAT IS GOING ON!? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING!? YOU SAID!” 

Mr. Torres shut his eyes at her rage. It was always the people who were blind that were riled up the most, he was told by a colleague of his. A firefly in the group, actually. They were talking about Klay. How the events of Noli will change her.

“I hoped so, too. I honestly thought you would do it. That in all my years of traveling into this world, into this book, you would have changed its ending.” he shook his head. “And here we are; the story continues as it was written. As it was told. Where it’s going, and where it will go.” as he said those words, the woman’s frown grew deeper.

“Does it really have to be that way!? Was Jose Rizal serious about this!?”

“If you had read the book, then you would know.” was all the aged man could say. 

The girl’s jaw dropped at his answer. A wavering grin grew on her face. “H-he killed off his characters…one by one…He barely left anyone there!” she threw her hands down. “What kind of writer is he!?” 

Mr. Torres sighed. Klay was engrossed now. The truth remains, however, and the truth is… "They’re only characters, Miss Infantes.” he said quietly. “They’re just part of the grand narrative of the novel.”

“They are not just part of the novel, or just mere characters…they are real people. They have lives. They have feelings. They have their own stories- dreams, aspirations, goals!” The girl’s hands flew to her face as she spoke the next words. “And I became close to them! I became their friend! A sister, a confidant, a companion, someone they love and loves them back!”

“...and I’m happy that they love you, and you learned to love them back.” a rueful smile. “And, I’m glad to hear that you’re actually interested in my class.”

He failed to see the mocking smirk on the maiden’s face. “But do not forget: you are here to learn. And to know the real meaning of the novel.”

“And that is? That the people I love will die eventually? That no matter what I do, no matter what I say, I can never save them because that’s out of my control? Is that it?” Tears slipped down her cheeks once again. “Is that it, Mr. Torres? Is that what Rizal wanted to convey in his grand narrative that represents the Philippine Society? That we’re hopeless and at the end of the day, we will all die?”

He felt older beyond his years in front of the maiden. The weight of the world was on him as he was assaulted by the harsh statement of his student. A pessimistic view; not exactly unlikely, but too tragic to be real.

Chapter Text

“I know you’re mad. And that is exactly how I felt when I read Noli Me Tangere. I felt it, too.”

“Too? You felt it too? You read it, Mr. Torres. Whereas I lived through it. It was my everyday life! I woke up every morning in this world, eating what they eat, wearing what they wear, seeing what they see. They were the ones I talked to, people I laughed and cried with. I got to know them; what they like, who they are, where they came from! I experienced their hardships, their struggles. I grew close to them, I loved them!” She pointed a finger at him. “What you read is a far cry from what I experienced.”

On any other day, Mr. Torres will tolerate no disrespect whatsoever. But it wasn’t those days. As of now, he is willing to be the brunt that takes all of the small girl’s anger without question. She was right, of course.

And even if he says that he too had walked among the lands of the novel, Klay was an actual character. See, those before her had learned to make a name for themselves without changing anything. Most times, those people ended up as servants for the main characters to witness the whole story, random guests at the main events, just ordinary people who rested their chin on their chests to avoid any suspicion. 

Klay had started out different. 

Instead of ending up at the docks like most of the people, she woke up in the same room as the one and only Maria Clara De Los Santos y Alba herself. From there, the story changed. But this wasn’t the first time an outsider ended up in direct contact with the main characters.

Some ended up in the church of San Diego, just before Padre Salvi arrived. Some wake up in the forest beside Aling Sisa’s hut. 

But Klay ended up beside Maria Clara. 

The other travelers like him have conversed amongst themselves on why she ended up so close to the main character. Mr. Torres and the others have long prepared the dwellings of outsiders like themselves so that they may simply observe the story without any hiccups. If the outsider enters through the docks, beside the ship Crisostomo Ibarra will go down from, fellow travelers would pick them up and turn them into high-class individuals to have immediate invitations to any important event. For those who end up in the church, or at the edge of Aling Sisa’s forest, they have the choice of working for the institute (which turned out to be a traumatizing experience for many; not recommended) or to work as a merchant or household help. 

Of course, there were some who woke up at the camp of Elias. Some who became a pseudo-family member of Pilosopo Tasyo or any of the kind and gentle minor characters.

And yet, no one can give a solid theory as to why Maria Clara Infantes found herself in the room of Maria Clara De Los Santos y Alba. Some have said it was because of their names; both are Maria Claras so maybe the novel took that to account and brought her to the same place the original Maria Clara would be at the beginning of the book. 

Some theorized that the reason why Klay was too close to Maria Clara is because of their stark differences. Their personalities and ideas in life, the representations of women. But any woman from any generation could have been used as a figure of comparison; take for instance the women from the 1990’s or early 2000’s would have also stood as a relation. So that theory was bunked.

And then there were those who said that the novel doesn’t always bring the person to the exact same place someone else washed up on. Same area, but not the precise landing. 

Whatever the theory, Klay’s journey in the novel started out on a high-note, ASAP. Never in his life did Mr. Torres see someone begin their adventure within proximity of the main characters. It was expected the outsider would act on impulse at the start; it’s how it always goes. However, Klay shook the foundations and it wasn’t even the first official page yet!

Mr. Torres took it upon himself to keep a close eye on his student. Call it cheating, but every time a disaster was to occur, he would appear as the little firefly to guide her either away from the problem or to where it will happen. 

“You’re not the only one affected by the novel.” he said. Mr. Torres had no idea why he chose to start his statement with that, but he had no choice but to prowl forward. The memory of that Christmas night in the church of San Diego. The docile people of the town were causing an upheave, repeating the mantra of “Listen to us!”. Not only were they raising their fists towards Crisostomo Ibarra, they were shaking and crying as years of oppression finally made itself open in their hearts. 

Mr. Torres watched as the people who remained seated had their necks strained to look down, pretending that nothing was happening. Or that they were looking around in fear, cowering at the sudden rise of the so-called Indios of their land. No one was smiling, no one was cheering. This was the tell-tale sign of a riot. The people were buzzing with newfound energy. He saw the way Renato’s eyes darted from Padre Salvi’s to Crisostomo Ibarra. His body was trembling. 

He watched Elias’s stance become more sure as he began to usher the people at the back to move forward and close in on the friar. Mr. Torres could only weep as he saw Maria Clara ball up her veil in her hands and raised it as she chanted along with the crowd.

The veil that signifies humility in the face of God, now creased in her hands. 

Don’t get him wrong; Mr. Torres believes in the Almighty. Yet, even he couldn’t deny the weaponization of religion during the colonial era. How it served as a leash on many for those at the top. 

And there was Klay. Off to the side. A woman from a different time, from a different world, fighting for a cause that continuously happens whatever the generation. 

He hoped her version would be different. Mr. Torres wanted her version to be different.

And here they are. “Hundreds of years have passed; that novel served as a symbol for revolution. So that we may be free from the grasps of those foreign colonizers that conquered us, 300 years passed.” the Rizal professor watched his student’s face morph into confusion. “And whatever you’ve felt from this novel, whatever lessons…or love that you’ve felt from this place that you’ve learned from Noli…I hope…you will bring them with you to our world.” 

He found himself breaking at his own words. “And…that they may help you…in becoming a good and caring citizen of our country.” Mr. Torres saw the confusion settle on her face. The girl clenched her jaw, assessing the words of her professor. 

“...why…does it seem like there’s something else going on, Mr. Torres?” the corner of her lips twitched. “...why do you sound like…you’re giving your closing remarks?”

The professor wiped the corner of his eyes. “I-I’m sorry, Miss Infantes.” he looked her straight in the eye. “Class is dismissed. It’s time to go home, Miss Infantes. We must go home.”

Her jaw fell slack. “H-huh?”

“We will return to our world. This is where the story ends, and the role that you’ve done in the novel.” 

The girl took a step back, before pacing back and forth in front of him. Mr. Torres knew he had to intervene soon. “Miss Infantes, this is the end of the story.” he reached out for his student, only for her to slap his hand away.

“No!” she gazed at him as if his touch scorched her. “That can't happen! There’s so many questions and not a single answer to any of them! Loose threads are all over the place- y-you can’t be serious that this is the end!” 

The man shoved his hand in the pocket of his pants. The familiar cool chain of his watch greeted his fingers. “This is where Rizal wanted to end the story.” he brought the silver pocket watch, opening its cover. He gave his student a rueful smile. “Any moment now.”

Immediately, Klay brought her hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “Wait! Time first!” she sighed. “I have so many questions.” she reached for his arms again. “Is Crisostomo Ibarra still alive? A-and Maria Clara! What happens to her? Will they ever be reunited again!? Will their love actually survive!!!??”

Mr. Torres wanted to answer her, but it would appear that Klay was emotional. “What of Basilio!? What happens to him…what…will this town…this place rise from the terrors or will it remain under the dominance of those despicable colonizers!? Tell me!”

“...and F-fidel?”

The man hidden behind the treeline jumped in alarm. 

No one was there.

He was sure someone was…

…Fidel grew alarmed when he heard Klay’s shouting in the distance. It sounded as if she was talking to someone…was she caught? Was it a civil guard? The Alferez? Fidel fastened his pace, even with the extra weight in his arms. 

He arrived only to see Klay with her back to him. As he was about to call out her name, he recoiled at the way she lashed out. Fidel stayed behind the clearing, circling the area hidden behind the trees. And when he got the perfect view there was…no one.

Klay was talking to no one.

Yet the way she spoke, it was as if someone was right there. 

He wanted to intervene, however Klay’s words stopped him.

Read it? Went through with it? And then those questions…he’s only heard half of what Klay had said, but from the looks of it, there seems to have been a real conversation going on with whatever was in front of her.

“...and F-fidel?”

His eyes grew wide at the sound of his name leaving her lips. It was so tiny, so scared. He wanted to reach out and tell her that he’s right there, that Klay doesn’t have to worry about what will happen to him. He’ll be right by her side through it all.

He didn’t, though. He continued to watch Klay converse with the air.

“Perhaps…they will all be answered…in El Filibusterismo.” Mr. Torres supplied. He wanted to know, too. He has an inkling that their stories will go on as what was written, but their execution…and who knows, things might become different in Klay’s version.

A weary smile formed on her lips. “T-then…let’s go! Take me. Bring me to the world of El Filibusterismo!” she started to bounce on the tips of her toes, readying herself to the next world.

With a wave of Mr. Torres’s hand, her smile crumbled. “No. This is the end of the road for you, Miss Infantes. Your journey starts and ends with Noli Me Tangere.” 

Her lips twisted to an annoyed snarl. “Sir! Come on! Let me through! You can’t leave me hanging over here!”

The professor scoffed. “Oh, well then maybe this might encourage you to actually read all of the works of Rizal? Perhaps, the other literature of our nation.” 

Klay stomped around, like a child. “Can’t you give me a hint? Crumbs? A spoiler or two? Give me something I can work with, please!”

“Tell me, will it have a happy ending?” 

Mr. Torres, with all of the twists and turns the story took, knew the answer to that question. 

“It’s time to go home now, Miss Maria Clara Infantes.”

Klay’s hope came crashing down at her professor's words. The older man simply raised a brow. “Isn’t this what you wanted, since the beginning of your journey, Miss Infantes? You get to go home; be reunited with your mother and brother? Your friends?”

The girl shook her head slowly, before gradually nodding. “Yes…no...I don’t know!?” she took a deep breath. “But do you really mean as in right now? ASAP? No time to pack my bags and say…”

The older man inclined his head. “Miss Infantes? What is it now?”

A flood of memories washed through her mind. From the beginning of this crazy adventure, all the way to the last moments she’s witnessed. From the terror-filled screams of Maria Clara back in her room in the convent in Manila, to the intimate hugs she’s shared with Fidel.

“...goodbye…” lately, Klay has been on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. One minute she’s raging at the skies for her misfortune, the next she’s a sobbing mess on the ground. It seems she’s not completely off the ride yet. The woman looked up to the curious eyes of her professor, who seemed to come to terms with what she was about to say.

“May I at least say goodbye to them? Close the book properly by getting the closure I think I deserve? At the very least? To the people of this land and this…town? May I say goodbye to Pablito? Lucia?”

“...to Fidel?”

A bittersweet smile formed on her lips as she thought of him. She never thought she would have fond memories of the man. And as she thought about him, Klay was pulled into a hole of the people she’s encountered here. From Fidel, to Ibarra…

“Maria Clara…” How could she forget her tokaya! “I-I can’t leave this place if I don’t talk to her, please, Mr. Torres. Let me see her.”

Her best friend. Her sister. 

Her Maria Clara.

She wanted to see her soulmate once more before she ever sets off. Never in Klay’s life would she think she’s found the person she’d call her soulmate. Klay’s heard stories of soulmates being romantic partners finding each other in the mess called life.

She’s proud to say her soulmate isn’t under the romance category.

Maria Clara is someone, if born in her world, Klay would have no qualms about befriending. They were different, yet so the same. The way they learn from each other, help each other, and simply be there for one another…

“Bueno. I’m giving you an hour.”

Klay was too stunned to speak.

“A-an hour!? Are you serious?” 

Mr. Torres took a step back at her outburst. It held no anger, it was just really loud considering how they’ve both come down from their dramatic high. 

“As you can see, I am nowhere near the town. And you’re giving me an hour? That’s the exact amount of time I’ll reach the edge of the forest! There are no taxis or UV express, much less a jeep, that can take me down there in an instant! Be real! ”

The professor coughed. She had a point.

“Sir, pleaaaaase. An extension, please. That’s it.”

‘It would seem we’ve returned to our typical dynamic, Miss Infantes.’ Mr. Torres gave her a dumbfounded look. “Is this a computer shop, Miss Infantes?” Two can play at sarcasm.

The woman pouted. Earlier she was a raging spitfire with tears that never ended. Now, she was just like the student she was before in his class. The old man fought the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Somethings never change.’

“Siiiiiiir.” The girl whined. “Think about it! Besides, I’m going to leave anyways. Not to mention, it’s getting dark- hey, how long have we been out here? B-but, aside from that we are being hunted down! And then there’s curfew- the list goes on! You really think an hour’s worth of time is enough for me to say goodbye to the people of this town?”

He hated how she had checked every box on the list. 

“Sir, give me until tomorrow. That’s all I ask. I’m sure I deserve closure, at the very least…” the girl bounced in front of him, once again like a child. 

The older man narrowed his eyes on the girl. He may have felt sympathy and pity for her, but he is still a teacher. And he’s seen better pouts from other students. ‘Try again next time, Miss Infantes…hopefully, there won’t be a next time.’

“You have until dusk. Until the sunsets tomorrow. But no more than that. You really need to go home.” The girl tried her best to contain her smile, but the professor already saw it. “Remember: the moment the sun is gone and the night sky takes over, whether you like it or not, the bell will toll…” The girl nodded solemnly. “And you will go home.”

“The bell that only I will hear? Got it.”

The two nodded at one another, having come to an agreement. “Finish or not finish, time’s up.” Mr. Torres ran his thumb over the intricate design of the pocket watch. “The portal will take you back to our world.” 

Klay bit her lip. In all honesty, the only good thing that came about their conversation was Klay’s new found knowledge and love for her country. Other than that…it was a rather heartwrenching discussion he’s pretty sure the other travelers will want to talk with him more about later.

“Well, what are you standing there for? Time’s running out, hurry up!” the professor showed the woman the face of his pocket watch; a metaphor of sorts…

“Yes, sir. Copy.”

…as well as his little charm that transforms him to his little firefly state.

He watched as his student’s face fell to shock. And then she began to laugh, with tears glistening her eyes.

“Y-you’re Ali!”

Fidel, who had stood to the side, watched as a little firefly came into Klay’s view. He listened to her talk to the little creature, laughter and tears floating through the air. 

He has no idea what he had witnessed, other than the fact that he’s 100% sure Klay had lost it.

Chapter Text

Fidel took a deep breath before entering the clearing. As he stepped further into the open field, he noticed the swarm of fireflies floating around the maiden and it made his heart stop.

He remembers how he overheard a conversation of two science majors back in London; the colors of the sky during sunsets or sunrise depends on the humidity of the sky. The lower the humidity, the more vibrant the colors. The more the humidity, the sky becomes muted.

He remembers nodding along as he scanned through his notes for the next class. Though it held no real significance for him, it was a nice little trivia he’d use for small talk around campus or in those little cafes.

On a side note, Fidel had no idea as to why that came into his mind as he stared at the sight before him. The skies were muted, and all one could see was the dark orange against the blackening skies. It was December, after all. Fidel had always preferred the vast amount of colors painting the sky before everything falls into darkness.

However, with the soft miniscule glows from the fireflies and the orange kissing the silhouette of Klay…he’s never seen such beauty in his whole life. He’s been to the museums, seen the paintings, seen the lands change with the seasons in another land…

…and nothing could compare to the artistry he was witnessing.

Klay reached for the fireflies with her hands, dancing around as they flew around her. Some had found a home on top of her salakot , others had jumped from her hands. Her eyes were sore and puffy, dirt speckled on her cheeks due to the dry tear stains, and her worn out camisa and saya was too big on her tiny frame. 

There was something so… innocent …about the way Klay appeared. With the green glow and the blackening orange, Fidel was certain Klay was a fairy of sorts. 

Well, he wouldn’t put it past himself, honestly. And it wasn’t his affections for her that said that! The girl seemed to have an idea, a power of some kind, and…yeah, she did manage to capture his mind and soul, his eternity…only a goddess could do that.

( ‘Or a witch. You did call her a witch, you know.’ ) 

Klay giggled and he was brought out of his stupor. Last night, he told her how much he loves her. How despite the…difference of their world and their time, he will love her. Though he had no idea how he would make their cosmos unite, he would love her.

He’s loved her this whole time.

Maybe not in the beginning, and he’s glad it wasn’t love at first sight. Nor was it at ‘first fight’. 

No, the love he has for her is gradual. The same one he’s heard Ibarra tell him time and time again on nights the man got drunk and would sing praises about his dear Maria Clara.

"Apparently, you’re with me, worrying about our Maria Claras."

"No. You should get a move on, my amigo."

"I am well aware of the fact that you seem to have some…hidden affections for our dear Binibining Klay…I just didn’t expect you’d actually serenade her."

"Fidel, I know who you are. You are a ladies man, after all."

"I hope you don’t give up on Binibining Klay."

"It would make me the happiest man on Earth to see you two find love with one another; you two are, after all, the dearest friends in my life."

'Ah, mi amigo. Wherever you are now, I pray you are safe. I pray one day, you will be with your Maria Clara. I wish I could tell you, wish we could celebrate, how I found my Maria Clara.'

Fidel decided it was time to make his presence known.

The walk back to camp was quiet, yet rather peaceful. Fidel knew a million thoughts ran in Klay’s mind, and he had his own musings. 

When he had approached the woman, the fireflies flew closer to her. The sun had gone and the yellow, almost green glow bounced off her features. “Fidel?” He was a foot away from her. Earlier, they were arguing about…whatever that was.

When he left to grab his rifle (he never thought he’d call it his), he was plagued with thoughts of Klay running off to look for their friend. He prayed the maiden would still be there, perhaps no longer crying.

And in his time walking, he could hear her harsh words be repeated in his mind. He knows she said them out of her emotionally-driven state. Yet, they bear the truth.

What kind of friend does he think he is?

‘Enough, Fidel. You’ve already thought about this. Klay is right. The best thing we can do now is try to look for him…’

Fidel paused. He was in the middle of the forest. While he wasn’t familiar with the lands, he had done his best to leave little landmarks on certain trees he’s passed by that would lead them back to the camp. 

Being surrounded by nothing but evergreen, it reminded Fidel of the lonely halls of his estate. And here he was again, alone with no one to talk to. How many nights were spent going through mindless documents that, if he was being honest, held no weight in his business? Instead of getting an assistant, Fidel opted to do everything himself just so he can ignore the stillness of his home. 

And when there are guests, he’d go all out even if he didn’t like the company of those people. Sure, flirt with the ladies here, charm the potential business partners over there…however, the silence afterwards would be deafening as he would be left with the echoes of their boisterous guffaws and snickers. 

Those stone walls were cold and empty. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the Reyes family estate for over 3 generations in, Fidel would have sold it in an instant and bought a meager home closer to town. Closer to his shop.

But the estate also housed his memories, his life. He couldn’t let go of it.

And now, he has. In exchange for all that gold and security, he was given rags and endangerment. Now, his home would be the forest. Fidel knew that their camp won’t be permanent; they’re rebels after all.

Fidel looked up to the tall trees. Their green leaves and thick branches served as the ceiling while he walked. No solid walls to hold on to when his legs give way, no even floorings to avoid tripping and falling.

The forest was- is a dangerous place. Yet…

He didn’t feel any threat.

Of course, anything can kill him in these untouched lands. One wrong move and it’s either a wild beast or a hunting civil guard on your track. But he remembers the stories his mother told him. Celeste would spin tales every night, and while Fidel never believed them, he was always looking forward to them.

“But mother, they’re just stories.”

“Oh, my dearest, you have no idea what Mother Nature can do. The lands and the seas have provided us food, shelter, and even companionship. If we protect them, they protect us too.”

‘Seems like you’re right, mother.’ Fidel smiled. He’s sure his mother was smiling down at him.

This was his home now. And his other home…well, the woman better be right where he left her or so help him God.

And that’s when he heard the angry shouts from a distance. Dread came over him, thoughts of Klay in danger glued to his mind, as he ran with the extra weight. And then, he saw there was no one…and Klay was having an animated conversation with nothing.

She cried, she shouted, she whined and then she laughed. Under any circumstances, Fidel would have called the mental ward and have Klay be taken away…yet he kept hearing the same name that Klay told him months ago.

“Mr. Torres is the bane of my existence.” she said. Klay didn’t tell him, precisely, however he did hear it so that kind of counts. 

‘Is Mr. Torres within the treeline?’ Fidel squinted to the general direction of where Klay was talking to, but there seemed to be no other human being other than him. Perhaps Klay was seeing something? 

Aling Nena told him of a relative she has who could see the spirits of the deceased. Was Klay like that too? Well, any explanation was better than nothing. 

And then, Klay was surrounded by tiny lights floating around her and Fidel thought…yep, Klay was a being not from this world. A different planet? Heh.

“Klay.” he stopped a few feet from her. Ah, no matter how many times he looks into her eyes, he always finds himself lost and captivated by them. Full of emotion, full of life. The windows to her soul. 

“It’s late. We should go back.” he faced his palm upwards. Oh, those days when she would slap them away or ignore them completely, how long ago has that been? Lately, she’s been accepting his offers. Though hesitant, the moment their palms meet, Klay would tighten her grip on his large hands and never let go.

This time, she only stared at him. Fidel thinned his lips as he kept his palm towards her. “I-I’m sorry it took a while. The trek back to camp was a little confusing, so I had to set up some…clues.” he explained lamely. 

There was no hostility in her face, nor any hint of annoyance. She seemed to be studying him; taking him all in yet not really seeing him. Klay was once again lost in her own little world. 

“Binibining Klay.”

“Klay.”

“Klay.”

Long lashes fluttered as Klay blinked a few times. “F-fidel?” she reached for his face, her touch gentle and unsure. With the hand that was facing her moments ago, Fidel pushed her soft palm against his cheek. “ Hello, Klay .”

His eyes crinkled. Though he didn’t smile, Klay could hear the teasing lit in his voice, causing her to sigh. “Hello, Fidel.”

Warmth spread through his cheek from her touch. The sun had vanished completely. The moon was peeking through some of the clouds, and the stars have yet to glitter the sky. December was a cold time of the year, but all Fidel could feel was the pleasant sensation spreading through his body. 

“Let’s go home.” He lowered the palm on his cheek, cradling them in his hold as he tugged the maiden forward. A weary smile tapped on her face, and Fidel resisted the urge to poke her cheeks. He was itching to tease her, just for old time’s sake, but Fidel couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Now wasn’t the time. 

And so, with her hand in his, they traveled back to the camp. Leaving the buzzing fireflies and the chilly clearing.

One particular firefly trailed behind them; Mr. Torres just wanted to make sure they went home safe and nothing else .

(Mr. Torres wasn’t going to admit defeat to any of his colleagues. “They’re going to share a kiss goodbye.” to which he replied “I know my student.” and then, “you wanna bet” ) 

When they reached camp, Klay let go of his hand and dove through the nearest inventory laying beside the kitchenware. Fidel made sure he brought them first to the main area of the camp, the same place Lucia told him where most meetings and dining times happen. 

He watched, with a lopsided smile, Klay rummage through empty bottles and flasks, tipping them over to see if there’s any clean liquid. She was once again muttering to herself, in a language only she could ever understand. Fidel shook his head. In her haste, Klay had passed by the new stock of refreshments that were yet to be unpacked and distributed. 

Fidel took the honors of pouring her water into a wooden cup, a smile on his lips.

“Binibining Klay.” he procured the drink beside her, the girl jumping in surprise. Klay slowly got to her feet, pushing her weight onto the table in front of her. She reached for the cup, an embarrassed blush creeping on her cheeks.

“T-thank you.” 

He nodded, before quickly looking away when Klay began to chug down the drink. Maybe he should get the bottle again…she really is thirsty. A sigh of relief, and then a little hiccup. 

‘Oh, my Klay.’ 

Fidel cleared his throat before speaking. “So…uh, Klay…h-how was looking for…our amigo?”

He watched as her face fell. Fidel wanted to take back his words. “...Apparently, I found something else.” there was disdain in her voice.

“I know…you were talking to someone.”

Her mouth fell open. And then closed. And then open again. Very fast, too. Like a newly caught fish. It was funny. Before he could make a comment about it, Klay grabbed his arms. Tightly.

“D-did y-you see him?”

Fidel leaned his head back. He wasn’t opposed to the idea of Klay being in his personal space; however it was her imploring glare that made him feel like a child who got caught stealing a cookie from a jar. 

“I-I didn’t mean to become a Mari-”

“Did you see him, Fidel!?”

“W-who?”

“Mr. Torres!”

“Uh…”

“You know! The one who became the firefly who’s been following me around since the beginning of this crazy story?”

(Behind the flaps of the tents, a little firefly decided to make itself home.)

Klay squeezed his arms once, before bringing them to her hair. She had tossed away her salakot the moment the arrived at the main area, her hair mused and disarray. And now, those same locks are trapped in tiny, trembling fists. 

“It’s crazy, right!? Downright insane! C-can you imagine! I-I mean, that firefly ha-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Binibini.” he cut her off. “I…didn’t see anyone, aside from you, in the clearing. You were just…talking to yourself, in the middle of the forest.”

Her relieved composure, that was also a mix of tensed and tired, became rigid. “Y-you didn’t see anything?”

‘Other than you screaming, crying, and then laughing at nothing? Nope. Well…maybe, you surrounded by fireflies, but other than that. Sorry.’  

Fidel scanned the woman before him. “H-hold on. A-are you hallucinating…out of hunger? Have you eaten anything at all today? O-or did you somehow manage to forage some…poisonous plants or mushrooms…” his words died down. He really should have stopped at the first part.

Her mouth, which was in a small little ‘o’, twisted to a grimace. ‘Save yourself, Fidel! Take it back!’ alarms blared in his mind at the sight of irritation in his love’s face. He coughed. Fidel opened his palms to her, to which Klay covered with her own. Though, she still appeared vexed.

“...and…did I hear it correctly…t-that…you only have until tomorrow?” the annoyance drained from her face, and was replaced with…concern. Fidel did not like what he was seeing.

‘Please be a joke. Be a lie. Anything more than the truth, my love.’

“What does that mean, Binibining Klay?”

His eyes searched hers, as hers did on his. Fidel had no idea what Klay was looking for in him. He only knew that he was trying to find a hint that Klay was not being serious. What he saw in her pleading eyes, he decided to overlook.

‘I’ll play the fool, only for you.’ 

Her limp palms then gripped his hands. “Fidel.” the weight in her voice had him standing straighter. He knew this tone. She needed him.

“The moment the sun rises, I have to be in town. And not a moment after.” Fidel saw the beginnings of tears forming at the base of her eyes. “I know it’s dangerous and difficult and…” her voice broke. Klay swallowed thickly. “But I have to be there. I have to talk to Maria Clara.”

It was nice to be needed. It felt great, honestly. But Fidel couldn’t deny the disheartening news that he’s bound to hear. 

“Will you come with me?”

How could he say no to her? How could he ever turn away from her requests? Fidel ignored the little weight pulling at his heart as he licked his lips. In a logical view, going back to town would basically be suicide. And in broad daylight, too. 

However, the weight of her tone told him that it was absolutely necessary for her to do so. Sure, Klay has done some questionable things (and the events of earlier was just the cherry on top!) but most of the time, she’s right. 

And, he’s damn sure Klay will go to town with or without him . So, what choice did he have?

He returned the hold on his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, only for him to see the desperation in her eyes. He could only nod. All of the anxiety disappeared from her eyes. She hung her head, bringing their coupled hands to her forehead. 

Before Fidel could do anything more, Klay jumped into his arms. And once again, he stood still as a statue.

Her eyes were pressed on the distinct position of his juncture where she had kissed him the night before. Her warm breath tickled his clavicle, causing the hairs on his arm to stand. “Thank you.” She mumbled. He didn’t notice the girl had pulled him down to her height until he realized his hands were hanging stiffly beside her back.

He gently returned the embrace, ignoring the awkward position he was forced into. Klay really was tiny compared to him. 

Fidel should be savoring the hug, but his mind was glitching. He still hasn’t gotten over the accidental kiss on his neck. 

And of course it had to be his neck. Nothing less of Klay.

“How dare you kiss me! And without my consent!”

He never knew flowers could be used as weapons. He was wrong. He watched a small hand press against the cheek that he had accidentally placed his lips upon. Fidel has always known Klay had smooth skin; no blemishes or scars, and no makeup to hide anything! He just…didn’t expect it to be so soft and supple under his lips…

…he wonders what else would be soft and supple-

“Lo Siento, Binibining Klay. But you saw it with your own eyes; it was an accident…” a smirk. “...however, that would mean you have no choice but to marry me. ”

He did not see the twitch in the maiden’s eyes, nor the cute pout turning into a grimace. The man was too busy planning out their wedding. Would the church be available next week? Oh, wait. Padre Salvi’s the friar. Perhaps a church in Manila? 

Of course, Crisostomo Ibarra was going to be the best man. And why, Maria Clara will most definitely be the maid of honor! 

“Don’t worry. In the…event that we do get married…. Mrs. Fidel De Los Reyes …well, uh…you will, eventually, learn to love me too.” 

Oh, Klay in a pearly white wedding gown, a veil masking her beauty from him. The ceremony will be a blur to him, as his sole focus would be on his bride. And when they take their first steps on the aisle, as husband and wife, all he would see would be her blushing face and the sweet smile. 

Oh, to kiss those rose petals, taste the honey flavored lips when no one is around…

Oh. How long has that been? He stole a kiss from her.

She stole a kiss from him.

All too soon, Klay pulled away from him. “I-I’ll head back to…Lucia’s now…see you at dinner?” she slipped away from his hold. Fidel sighed. 

She's always slipping away just as he was finally able to hold her.

On Klay’s walk back to Lucia’s hut, she saw a group of men talking amongst themselves with…instruments! Klay slowly crept to them, hoping she didn’t look too stressed or excited to use the guitar.

“Uh…good evening!” she stood behind them, causing the whole group to stop and stare at the newcomer. “H-hello.” Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she made a small wave. “uh…I-I’m Klay…heh…”

They said nothing. Only continued to stare at the timid maiden.

“Uh…um…I noticed you h-have instruments with you and I was-”

“Ah! A request! And what would the song be, Binibining Klay?” The man nearest her asked. Klay balanced on the balls of her heels, a daring move given that the earth is uneven, and pointed at the man holding the guitar.

“um…I actually, I was hoping if I could…b-borrow your guitar, ginoo…?”

“Oh!” The man who was holding the guitar got to his feet and handed Klay the instrument. She noticed he had a hairy face. Beards. They then made space for the bench nearest her, the man leaving and opting to sit on the floor. Klay protested, only for the man to wave her off. 

“Yes, yes. We’ve heard of you, Binibining Klay!” the woman, who was settling down, stopped at his words. “M-me?” she pointed at herself.

“Yes! We’re rather close to the band that played at the picnic in the forest, you see. And they told us about the mestiza de sangley that borrowed their guitar and played music.” the man who sat on the floor explained. Klay gaped at the man. Wow, that was such a long time ago!

“We didn’t believe them at first…we asked if they heard you sing. They didn’t.” the men snickered, which caused Klay to blush in embarrassment. Though, there wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about to be honest. “Though, they did hear a few lyrics here and there…only, it was in another language!”

Klay shrunk under their curious gazes. She didn’t feel any discomfort or fear. They appeared to be decent men with nothing but interest in their eyes. 

“No wonder your name is familiar! You’re Binibining Klay!” the man on the other bench laughed. “You’re quite famous in our little group. You saved our dear Lucia, after all.”

“And then defended Aling Sisa from those scoundrels more than once.”

“Oh, and you’re also the girl that saved Elias from the crocodile!”

The small band grew somber at the mention of their fallen comrade. The man who was sitting down on the earth sighed. “You know, Binibining Klay, Elias told us about you too. About your singing, actually. He was really impressed with you, and your range.”

Klay ransacked her brain for any recollection of her singing with Elias around. “I-I don’t remember that…”

“Ah…w-well, that was because he was hiding. He didn’t make himself known; he did say you appeared to be really annoyed and…well, he also said you seemed too busy singing. Elias didn't want to disturb that.”

Oh. “Oh.”

Klay looked down on the guitar in her hands. It was an old little thing. It had a few scratches here and there, and the strings were mismatched. Yet, Klay was more than excited to play with it. She knows this old timer had been a witness to how many serenades and parties; had accompanied so many songs of different genres for all sorts of occasions.

“It…it would be an honor to hear you sing, Binibining Klay.” 

The woman paused. She actually wanted to take the guitar with her, back to Lucia’s hut…however, their hopeful smiles squeezed her heart. 

‘Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow.’ she told herself. ‘A farewell song seems fitting.’ 

“...if you’ll have me…?” she smiled. The men cheered, calling for others near them. “This is the first time I’ll ever hear a woman play a guitar. Do you think she knows how to play any other instrument?” another man, one with a funny mustache, whispered to his companion.

Klay chuckled. She should at least spend her last night in this place on a happy note. Klay strummed the guitar, tuning the strings. “Well, now I ask you. Do you have any requests?”

The (surprisingly large) crowd laughed…wait…that is more than the usual audience Klay has sung before (that being her mother, her brother and her classmates)!

“Oh, Binibining Klay! We’d be honored to have you sing in English!” the man with the crazy beard hooted. The man on the floor then laughed. “Any song you feel comfortable with, Binibing Klay. But I agree with Mang Luis. I’ve never heard anyone sing in English, would it be as sweet as our Filipino language?”

The crowd laughed. Well, it seems the song had chosen itself. “English it is!” Klay bit her lip as she thought of the song she’d sing for the night. ‘Better make it worth it.’ 

She then saw Lucia and Pablito join the crowd, amused and confused expressions on their faces. Klay waved at them. Lucia made her way to Klay, shooing the occupant from the other bench. “Move aside, Manuel.” Lucia then flicked the shoulder of the man on the floor. “Did you force Binibining Klay to do this, Ignacius?” 

The man on the ground dramatically cradled his arm. 

“Ah! I did no such thing! Binibining Klay asked to borrow the guitar…and…well, we just…we wanted to hear…” Lucia pushed the man away. “Binibining Klay, if you’re not comfortable-”

“It’s okay, Lucia. I don’t mind. But, uh…this will be the first time I’ve ever performed in front of such a big crowd.” 

The people began to make noises, their words overlapping one another. Some were pleading, some were laughing. Others were trying to make their comrades to quiet down, and those same people were being told to shut up as well. 

‘I only found you now, and I know I’ll miss you all so dearly.’ Klay watched these random bands of people, with no blood ties with one another, be so united. Pablito was also observing his friends bicker amongst themselves, before signaling them to silence.

“Well, Binibining Klay, the floor is yours.”

Her eyes bounced off the faces of the people. All of them were waiting for her to sing. But what to sing? Unconsciously, Klay began to search the faces of the crowd…looking for someone she wasn't sure she wanted him to hear her sing.

‘He’s not there.’

Klay began to play a mindless tune, not really sure what song to sing yet. Suddenly, the melody began to play itself. ‘This song…of all songs…’

The excitement of the crowd died down as the slow melody took over the night. Eager grins melted to soft smiles as everyone got comfortable around her. Though she hadn’t meant to play this song, it appeared to her in passing when she thought about the possible songs she could sing.

‘They did say to sing in English…’ Klay took a deep breath. “This is my last dance with you.” 

Her eyes immediately searched the crowd once more. Would he be there? This might be the first time she’ll ever sing in front of a huge crowd and…it would be nice to have a familiar face somewhere.

Fidel was nowhere to be found.

“This is my only chance to do all I can do.”

Pablito rounded the crowd, taking his spot behind his younger sister. “It’s a shame we have no idea what Binibining Klay is saying.” he whispered behind her. He placed his hands over his sister’s shoulders, rubbing them in hopes to ward off the chill breeze.

“Señor Fidel speaks English, right? Didn’t Elias say Fidel was present when Binibing Klay sang at the river?”

“Hmm…where could he be?”

Fidel was actually present…just a few meters away from the circle of people surrounding Klay. When Klay left him at the inventories, he decided to collect his own stock for both him and Klay. A little initiative of his, knowing that Klay is prone to doing things on her own…and since tomorrow, they already have a mission of their own, well Fidel learned to prepare for the worst.

With a little crate full of water bottles and flasks, ointments and other medicine, and other basic necessities, Fidel found himself on the trek towards the huts. That was when he heard a low whistle and people came rushing towards another site of the camp. He followed them with his eyes, wondering why so many of the campers seemed so…excited.

“Binibining Klay’s going to sing for us!” 

They could have told him that first time? Fidel’s feet moved on their own accord as sought out the petite frame that belonged to his love. 

And there she was.

Surrounded by men.

He felt the searing hot grasp of jealousy wrap around him as he watched Klay laugh along with whatever the man on the ground said. Though nothing was official ( yet . the man will not lose hope!) between him and his dearest, most adored, Binibining Klay …well, a man is territorial.

The man who handed Klay the guitar nudged his companion. Fidel narrowed his eyes as he pointed at Klay, and then began to chuckle amongst themselves. Was he also planning to court Klay! He was first!

He wanted to get close, but the swarm of people beat him to it. And with the crate in his arms, Fidel swayed at the onslaught of people vying to get close to his Klay. Then the man howled, saying it would be such an honor to hear her sing. And in English too!

Ha! Sucks for him, Fidel is not only fluent in that language, he is also eloquent. Wait…did crazy beard speak English, too? H-hey! Fidel’s the only one who should know (aside from Ibarra, of course) what English is! Especially when it’s his Binibining Klay singing it!

Why-!

“English it is!”

And all of the jealousy left his body at the sound of her voice. He was at the far back of the crowd. Though he was tall, there were other domineering heights in the group. And with the uneven earth, he was at a disadvantage from where he stood.

And then, he heard her voice. Truth be told, he’s rather surprised her voice hasn’t become raspy based on the events from just today and last night. Though, having been an avid listener of her serenades, Fidel noticed the slight croaky intonations in a few words.

Nonetheless, Klay’s voice was still the sweet honey he mixes in with his coffee every time he’s busy with work.

And like usual, her songs were all about romance. He’s actually pleased with the way she seems to be at peace. Though, there was a crowd hanging at her every word. 

‘And they don’t even understand a thing she’s saying…I hope.’ 

“To let you know what I feel for you is real.”

Fidel set the crate down. He mimicked the others by setting down on the dirt. Though, instead of facing Klay, he turned the other way and was greeted with the dark forest. He wasn’t really looking for anything; Fidel wanted to listen and staring at someone’s back wasn’t ideal.

Unless the back belonged to Klay.

So, staring off into space is the next big thing.

“This is the last chance…for us.”

Fidel sighed. The meaning of the song was catching up to him and…he didn’t like it at all. The man rested his elbows on his knees, his head tilted to one side. 

“This is the moment that I just…cannot end…” her smile was dropping and exhaustion crept her bones. ‘Why did I choose this song again?’ but Klay couldn’t stop midway. She wasn’t like that and she had no plans on becoming one. “Before I know that there’s a chance…”

“We’re more than friends.”

Fidel closed his eyes. By now, he would be thinking that the song was once again dedicated to his friend. However, jealousy had no room in his heart when it came to his amigo. The man was missing and Fidel’s going to envy a man who wasn’t even with them?

He’s not that narrow-minded.

Besides, maybe Klay was just singing her heart out like usual. This song, like many of her other songs, was probably just at the top of her mind. 

It meant nothing. 

It was for no one.

(If no one meant a man sulking away at the back of the crowd, a crate beside him and his salakot hanging off his neck, then yes. The song was for no one.)  

“So, don’t let go.”

Klay avoided the gazes of the people, knowing none of them belonged to the man she hoped would be there. Who knew she would finally come to terms with her feelings when she’s surrounded by people she has no correlations with? Ironic, isn’t it?

“...make it last all night…”

This was her last night in this novel. In this place. For months, this has been her home. The people of San Diego were her neighbors and friends, sometimes her enemies and other times her fans. More importantly, they became her family. And after tonight, they will all become a distant memory she could read once she’s back in her world.

“This is my last chance to make you mine.”

Two hearts that longed for one another were separated by a wall of rebels. 

Literally. No joke there. 

And a funny parallel this time is that, if you remove the group of people…Klay would be the one facing Fidel’s back.

Just like that time at the river. Where Klay was singing and Fidel could only watch her from behind.

“I kept my feelings so deep.” In the deep bounds of her mind, Klay has acknowledged her growing affections for Fidel. But that was as far it goes. She was told that if you acknowledge something, it would eventually stop festering in your mind. 

Face them, they said.

And so, she did. Somehow. However, it bore nothing as Klay found herself too immersed with everything else going on with her life. Everything happened too fast, and if someone asked her “how are you?” she will cry. Again. No hesitation. 

Anything regarding her infatuation for Ibarra, and her blooming crush on Fidel, were put on hold because they were irrelevant in the story. Noli Me Tangere was about Maria Clara and Ibarra, after all. 

None of it was about her.

“I kept my dreams of you and me…somewhere inside…”

Fidel tugged the loose threads of his sleeves. Like most of her songs, they had the implication of longing, anguish, and pain. A dash of humor and maybe a cup of teasing. 

It could also be compared to his relationship with the woman. 

And if God would allow, Fidel would nurture that relationship with her. He had every intention of showering love and adoration on Klay. And then, all those plans went down the sewers at the mere thought of her leaving.

He may no longer be Don Fidel De Los Reyes y Maglipol, only son and heir of Joaquin De Los Reyes and Celeste De Los Reyes y Maglipol. He may not be the lawyer who studied in Spain, or the businessman of San Diego. He’s stripped of his title and wealth, but that will not hinder him in loving Klay.

Nothing will.

Except for her leaving.

All those days spent dreaming, and nights consumed by thinking, would go to waste because Klay would be gone the next day. He’s heard her say she doesn’t belong here; that her home is somewhere far from San Diego. 

‘No. Not from this world.’ he corrected himself. He still doesn’t believe it, doesn't want to believe it . To see is to believe after all. But…judging by the way she says it, the intensity of her words and the determination in her eyes…no one can say she’s lying every time she tells them of her home.

So, Fidel did the one thing he’s been doing since his parents’ passing: keeping it all in. And, in the event Klay does go, he’ll suppress that, too. Locked away in the chest that is his heart. 

"I must warn you, amigo. Please don't hurt or play with our friend's heart."

"And why would I do that? Amigo, trust me. I'm a changed man. In fact, I'm afraid it would be her that could hurt me!"

And how right he was. 

The moment he realized he was in love with her, Fidel knew he would be at the losing end of this game. He's lost the moment he found out his affections for her to begin with! 

But he was willing to throw caution to the wind, believing that his fears would be for naught the moment Klay reciprocates his love for her.

Doesn't have to be full on love! He knows love doesn't work that way; it's gradual and patient, slow and steady. And given time, with proper adjustments and changes, it'll be perfect.

He's willing to spend the rest of his days loving Klay, if that's the case.

Only…

How could he if she won't be there the day after tomorrow?

The night air became colder.

"Although, I prayed that you would see it in my eyes."

The rebels gathered around had no clue what Klay was saying. Perhaps they should have gone for a song in their language, however they couldn't deny the sweet melody enveloping them in a pleasant embrace.

And they got the feeling it was a sad, maybe longing, song.

Fidel, on the other hand, has been mulling over the lyrics. The eyes were the windows to the soul; did Klay see her reflection every time she looked at his windows?

Since the river gathering, Fidel had done his best to show the maiden his growing love for her. He's beyond the point of fondness and endearment. He was falling for her, has fallen, and wanted Klay to know.

Of course, there were a few bumps on the road on his way to confession. And ended up ranting out at Señorita Victoria. 

He's done all he could, and would do more, just to remind Klay that he loves her. She doesn't need to do anything else.

And…yeah, forcing a woman to love a man was horrible. Fidel wasn't like that. But he will prove himself. And if that's not enough…he'll try again! 

In the event Klay finds love in another man…as long as that man will love Klay as she deserves, then he will take a step back.

He won't go down without a fight, though. It's not in his book.

"But, this is my last chance to say…" Klay reined in her emotions. She shouldn't cry in front of a crowd, especially one that was looking at her with appreciation. "What's in my heart before you stay…"

"…out of my life."

Klay forced all her focus onto the chords. She ignored the way she was digging her pads rather roughly against the metal coils over the fretboard. 

It's just…

Tonight was her last night. And frankly, she wanted to spend it with Fidel. 

Nothing had to happen.

Maybe they could talk. Talk about their lives, especially since she barely knew the man. What was he like? How long was he overseas? Did he have a cellar for his abundant wine collection or was it just on display on the wine shelf? When did he start drinking? Where did he learn to draw? Who was the woman he was working on?

Klay had even planned on singing. For him! Who would have thunk? She wanted Fidel to be her first live audience (with her consent and knowing) from this place. Maybe have him play the guitar too and they could probably sing a song that would fit his tuneless voice.

But that was out of the picture. And he wasn't there.

'Maybe he's already asleep…' she did say that they had to travel before sunrise. Oh well.

It would have been nice if Fidel was the only person who listened to her sing.

It would be her way of…making it up to him. She wouldn't mind greeting the sunrise without a wink of sleep if it meant she could spend the wee hours of the morning simply at the company of Fidel.

It would also be her way of allowing herself to let go of those emotions and give herself up to the 'what if's' that's been plaguing her since Fidel confessed.

'What if you gave Fidel a chance?'

(Shall I magically remove the hoard of people serving as your wall?)

"And then you'll understand the way I feel inside."

After his breakdown, Fidel had taken a few moments before gathering himself. He stood to his full height, offering his hand to her.

They were silent, until Klay asked him a question. He wanted to answer, honestly, but nothing else was in his mind other than the woman he loves.

"You're important to me, Fidel. But we can not happen. Can never happen. I've told you this countless times: we are from two different worlds. And we're running out of time!"

She heaved a sigh before turning the other way. It then occurred to him that she was shaking, and then she started to mutter to herself.

Something about redeeming twists and a way out of this forest. That they don't die like this.

And Fidel, with this crumbling resolve, declared his love for her once more. He may not deserve her, that will not stop him from loving her regardless. The forest will be the sole witness of his undying devotion until his last breath.

"I've said it to you before, and I will say it to you again. I love you. I love you, Binibining Klay. I still love you even if I don't know how I'll make our different worlds…and different times…meet."

And he saw it. He saw the cracks in her facade. The miniscule shine in her eyes. She was giving in.

There was hope!

"I wish I could return your feelings. I wish I could love you the way you love me…but I can't. I-I really can't."

The moment flashed too soon. And before he knew it, Klay was sitting on the ground in defeat. 

Fidel wasn't going to give up, though. He knows what he saw. He knows there's something there. 

"Why can't we? Why can't you give it a chance? Give us a chance?"

"This land is full of pain and suffering. You…you saw how it's poisoning everyone, one way or another. Love…love like ours? Can never grow in this place. So instead of giving it to me, offer it to our country instead."

Rejection stumped his heart. This was more painful than the last one. 

He knows Klay has feelings for him! He knows that she knows she has feelings for him! 

And Klay's already raised the white flag before anything could happen between them.

That was worse.

Just when he thought he had finally snuck into her heart, just like how she did to him, she had squashed what little they had before his eyes.

Fidel rubbed the area where his heart would be. 

"Offer it to the land…?"

"So, hold me close cause it feels so right."

Klay shivered in the night air. Around her, everyone seemed cozy and warm, content with just listening to her sing.

She wonders how often do these people get a moment's of peace like this? Always on the run. Always alert and ready to leave everything behind just so they can continue their fight.

This was the least she could do for them. 

Klay wasn't going to be there to assist them in their raids and rescues. She won't be there as their resident healer when they come back from another battle with the colonizers.

Come sunset and she'll wake up from this…

Nightmare? Dream?

Klay wasn't sure.

However, these people are as real as her. 

If only Fidel was at her side, then maybe the cold air won't be a problem.

Fidel looked towards the night sky. With his back on the people, he could easily forget the number of individuals present. 

He was alone once again. And tomorrow, he will lose another loved one. 

"I wish I could hold you tonight, my love." The stars winked from up above. " My Klay ." He whispered. 

 "This is my last chance to make it mine."

Perhaps it was. Tonight should have been the one and only chance she would ever have with Fidel.

To show him that…well, they may not be possible…but at least she could have given him tonight.

Let him know that he was important to her. That Klay loves Fidel, too. Maybe not in the way he would want her to, but nonetheless Klay hoped she would've been able to…show him in her own way.

For all she knows, Fidel was probably snoring away to get some energy for their journey tomorrow.

'Maybe…I could visit him and…'

And what?

Klay sighed through her nose. Unfortunately, all of those plans were in the trash. 

"Make this dream a reality." Oh, dear. Klay wasn't sure if she wanted that. The novel was real, at the same time just a fiction Rizal wrote to awaken the hearts of the Filipinos.

However…if they were real…ah.

It wouldn't be possible. 

Fidel would be from a time that was a far cry from hers. Even if he were from the real world, it would be unfair to take him away from where he belonged.

What she went through…Klay had no intention of making Fidel suffer the way she did.

"So close and yet so far." Indeed they are. They've always been good at this game of distance; him and Klay.

Fidel was used to their silly dynamic of being at arm's length of one another. Every time he tries to get close, Klay would take a few steps back.

However, he's never backed away from her advances. Never will. It was Klay who held back every time Fidel was certain he was close.

Every. Damn. Time.

"Gotta find a way into your heart."

"Gotta speak my mind."

"Gotta open up to you this time."

Klay unconsciously searched the crowd for the familiar face of one Fidel De Los Reyes y Maglipol. Maybe…maybe he was listening?

And he did understand English so…he might understand what Klay was implying? 

Maybe they could talk it out one last time?

'And what do you think you're doing, Maria Clara Infantes!' Klay forced her attention back to the chords. 'You wouldn't give in last time, and now you're going to go against everything you said…and for what? A heartbreak that you can't go back to?'

'...it's just for tonight…'

'And the consequences will be forever! All those what if's of yours will have more what if's once you give in and then go home!'

'...but…he deserves to know that I care for him…that I love him, in my own way…'

'And does he deserve to have that one night be all for naught the moment you step through the portal? Klay, the moment you go home…Fidel will remain here. You know that.'

'...just this once, can't I be selfish?'

'And will you be okay knowing you got a taste of love only for it to be taken away from you in an instant? Will you be okay knowing that's exactly what he'll feel?'

Klay frowned. Her mind and her heart were at odds with one another. And she hated it. 

She hated how she was being unfair to herself. But to be unfair to Fidel was worse. 

All he did was love her. All he was doing was love her. 

And Klay would hurt him more than she had to if she gave in.

But she couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to be with him…even if it's for just tonight.

"I can't let you slip away tonight."

The night breeze had dried his lips. He ignored the way his stomach grumbled. 

Right now, he was too lost in thought. 

He had two choices. 

Move on or hold on.

There was no denying that both options had their own uncertainties. If he chose to move on, he'll let go of Klay completely. 

If she really was leaving tomorrow, then it would do him better if he began to distance himself starting tonight. 

There's a chance she might return but…when will that be? 

Besides, if he chose to move on…he has to stand by it. There are no take backs. 

But if he chose to hold on…

Who's to say Klay might not love another? What if she never comes back? And Fidel wasn't a man who denies possibilities; who knows? He might end up falling for another woman. 

It was unlikely…but he ended up falling for Klay. 

He wasn't saying that the moment Klay goes, he'll run off to the nearest available woman out there. He just knows these things are bound to happen.

Fidel is only being realistic.

This was the exact reason as to why he was…oh, what did Klay say? Right! Allergic to love. 

He saw what it did to his father. What it did to his best friend.

What it's doing to him.

What can he do? What was he supposed to do?

The young man pulled the collar of his shirt to wipe the tears from his face. 

Love is unkind.

"This is my last dance with you." 

Her lips quivered as she thought about the man who managed to capture her heart under her nose.

Who knew she would fall for the so-called high and mighty and snobby misogynistic big-headed man who did a major 180° on her?

'I suppose it's for the best that he's not here.' Klay mused. 'It would be harder for me to let him go if he was.'

(If she only knew.)

"This is my only chance to do all I can do." Klay angled her head so her hair could shield her from the eyes of the crowd. She was feeling teary and was sure it was showing.

Her heart was breaking at the thought of leaving Fidel. Of not being able to give their love a chance.

"To let you know what I feel for you…"

"...is so real."

Two aching hearts yearned to be with one another, though they knew it was for the best they were apart.

It was always like this when it came to them. They were always hurting, one way or another, every time Klay would sing. 

It would be a punch to the gut if they were facing one another.

"So don't let go."

Fidel inhaled sharply. Was that the answer to the ongoing debate between his heart and mind?

He looked over his shoulder, gazing at where he assumed Klay would be. 

"Do you want me to hold on, Klay?"

"Do you want me to wait?"

"Do you want me?"

Of course, none of it was answered. Still, Fidel had made his decision. Just like the one he made by the river months ago. 

Fidel nodded. He pushed himself off the ground, patting the dust off his pants. It was time he brought the inventories to his hut. 

And dinner would be right after her singing…

Fidel heaved the crate once more, adjusting his grip as began to circle away from the group.

"Just make it last all night long." Klay knew the moment the song ended, they would be directed to the main site and have dinner. 

It might be a long shot but…she could at the very least spend her dinner at Fidel's side. They don't have to talk; to just sit beside him would be enough.

Klay frowned as she felt…weird. It felt like someone was looking at her, which is funny because she knows everyone is looking at her.

When she raised her gaze to search for…whoever…her eyes landed on a retreating figure that had a crate in front of him.

Klay failed to see the way Fidel's eyes darted away from her. And just in time, too. 

He knows Klay saw him. Knows that she knows it was him. But he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of catching him.

Besides, he wasn't willing to give up the little dynamic they've had since she began to serenade him. 

Let her think that he wasn't there. He didn't hear her sing like the other people around them. He just happened to be passing through. Nothing new there. 

A small smile played at his lips as Klay sang the last verse.

"This is my last chance to make you mine…yeah…"

Her eyes followed his every movement. He walked with purpose; calm yet sure. Just like the Fidel she has always known.

She found herself smiling in his direction.

(Which did not go unnoticed by the siblings, nor the people present in the crowd.)

"To make you mine."