*Clank-clank-clank!*
The rusty tricycle limped down the cracked, sunbaked road of Hacienda Salamanca, its battered wheels jolting like they were dodging regrets. Heat shimmered off the pavement like it was trying to escape the province altogether.
Inside the sidecar, Alden slouched to the left, one arm resting on the dented frame. Sweat trickled down his temple, but he didn't bother to wipe it off. His gaze wasn't on the road it was somewhere far deeper than memory. Somewhere darker.
That woman in the vision. That shadow clinging to the back of his brain like dried blood on an old shirt.
His fingers twitched.
*Was that really me? Or someone I used to be?*
He exhaled, heavy. His breath misted the edge of the sidecar window despite the heat.
*"Alden..."*
His head jerked to the side. Nothing. Just the endless stretch of road and rice paddies whispering in the wind.
He glanced at Mang Romy, the driver—greying hair plastered to his forehead like defeated battle flags. The man didn't even blink, lost in an off-key kundiman, gripping the handlebars like the road owed him a favor.
*"Kuya... Kuyaaa..."*
A soft voice behind him.
Then—
*SMACK!*
"OW! What the f—!"
Alden jerked forward, clutching the back of his skull. His face contorted as he twisted around.
"What the hell, Ceasar?!"
Behind him, Ceasar beamed like a lunatic who just found out his crush liked his Instagram story. His body was half-crouched, like he'd leapt straight into the tricycle from another dimension—sneakers dusty, backpack hanging from one arm, eyes glowing with mischief.
"Dude! You looked possessed," he laughed, voice cracking with energy. "I seriously thought a ghost got you! You looked just like my uncle Romy before he 'accidentally' flew to Saudi all spaced out, then boom! Gone! Ghosted his family!"
"Hahahaha!" His laugh exploded through the window, cackling and contagious.
Alden blinked, still processing. "I'm serious, jackass."
Ceasar put a hand to his chest with mock sincerity. "And I'm seriously two seconds from exorcising your soul with a slipper. Next time, announce yourself before smacking someone!"
He wiped a fake tear with his pinky finger, sniffling. "But it's funnier when it's unexpected."
Even the tricycle seemed to rattle in agreement.
---
**A Few Minutes Later... Mid-Ride Nonsense**
The warm wind tugged at their shirts as the tricycle chugged along like a loyal dog with asthma.
Ceasar leaned in with narrowed eyes, grinning like he was about to drop a conspiracy theory. "So, what's haunting you, bro? Did you see something creepy? Was it a flying manananggal?"
Alden didn't look at him. His face remained stoic, but his jaw flexed once.
Ceasar's grin widened like a spotlight. "Or... is this about Camille again?" He waggled his eyebrows like they had a life of their own.
Alden's eyebrow twitched. "Why'd you bring her up?"
"Because I saw it in your eyes!" Ceasar gasped dramatically, clutching his heart like he'd been stabbed by a romantic teleserye. "That deep, tragic stare. Like you just found out your crush blocked you during Lent."
"You're disgusting."
"Thank you." Ceasar bowed. "But anyway, I saw Cheryl yesterday. Bro... she was wearing this tiny black ribbon. And I swear it whispered, 'I'm the main villain of your love life.'"
Alden stared blankly, unimpressed. "Pray to God. Maybe He can soften the heart of your wicked crush."
"Hey! Don't call my future ex a witch!"
"Future ex? You're not even dating her."
"In my heart? We're already married. In my head? I'm buying her fishballs after class. Reality? I'm invisible." He looked out dramatically at the passing fields, as if waiting for credits to roll.
"♪ Even if you don't want me anymore... ♪"
Alden facepalmed. "Wow. Even your delusions flirt."
Laughter erupted between them—loud and shameless. Ceasar clutched his stomach. Alden shook his head, grinning despite himself.
Up front, Mang Romy chuckled, eyes still on the road. "Tricycle's starting to feel like a comedy bar."
"Thank you for the free ride, Tito Romy!" Ceasar called out. "Featuring tonight: Two emotionally damaged students and a ghost!"
*Buzz.*
Ceasar looked at his phone, then practically lit up like a Christmas tree. "Whoa! Cheryl sent me a 'Good morning sun' emoji!" His eyes sparkled like he'd just been knighted.
Alden squinted, skeptical. "Sure that wasn't for the class group chat?"
Ceasar froze. "F*ck. It was. She posted the flag ceremony announcement."
"Useless."
Suddenly, the warm air turned heavier. A silence slithered back in.
Alden's eyes unfocused. "Maybe it's nothing..." he murmured.
A distant voice echoed again. *Kalasag...*
"Dude, you're doing it again!" Ceasar's eyes narrowed. "You look like someone who died and forgot to lie down!"
Alden snapped upright. "You scared the crap out of me."
"You look like a ghost trying to remember their Wi-Fi password."
A beat passed. Alden's smile faded, his voice dropping. "I saw a baby... or maybe I was the baby. Or watching myself as a baby. I don't know anymore."
Ceasar's grin froze. "Wait, what?"
"Forget it. Probably just a weird dream."
"Nah, you probably ate expired delata last night," Ceasar nodded thoughtfully.
"Shut up."
"No, for real. A ghost would smell that breath and go, 'Nope. I'm out.'"
Alden's eyes narrowed, his voice turning firm. "I'm not joking. I really saw something."
"What? A white lady? Tikbalang? Or the ghost of your quiz score?"
Alden stared ahead. "No. Just... that baby. I think it was me. I think—"
Ceasar's eyes widened, then his hands flew up. "That's it! Horror movie idea: *The Wi-Fi-less Child: Crying at 3AM.* Tagline? 'He has no bars... only scars.'"
He made fake thunder with his hands and widened his eyes like a lunatic.
Alden burst into laughter. "You're such a dumbass."
"Or maybe you really were the baby. You dreamt your past life. Probably mad 'cause you didn't get your milk!"
A pause.
"Huh?"
"HATDOG!"
They both doubled over, cackling.
*SMACK!* Alden lightly whacked the back of Ceasar's head.
"Ow! Hey! That's physical abuse! I'll report you!"
"Report yourself to a mental hospital first!"
---
**Arrival at School**
The tricycle sputtered to a stop like it had just survived a war. The front gate loomed ahead—faded blue paint peeling like sunburn, steel bars etched with years of teenage vandalism. Someone had scribbled "Zyrene 4ever <3" over the school motto. Another read "Math is a virus."
The national flag flapped lazily in the humidity, barely catching the morning breeze. The sun had begun its daily assault, baking the earth with sadistic enthusiasm.
"Haaaay, p*ta, we survived." Ceasar jumped off, stretching like he'd just climbed out of a coffin.
Alden climbed out slower, eyes scanning the area like something might be waiting.
The school grounds buzzed with life. Students in white uniforms trudged through the courtyard, clutching bags, review sheets, and unresolved emotional trauma. Vendors lined the outside walls—fishball carts sizzling, a taho vendor yelling through megaphone lungs, an old lady selling lukewarm banana cue under a tattered umbrella that said "Vote Wisely."
The smell was a chaotic buffet of fried oil, wet soil, cheap cologne, and teen anxiety.
"Hi Aldeeeen!!"
A group of girl students screamed under the acacia tree like someone had just spotted their pop idol.
Alden blinked. One girl did finger hearts. Another looked ready to offer a dowry.
Ceasar's jaw dropped. "Bro, you just breathed and caused a hormonal earthquake."
Alden smiled politely. "Good morning."
"KYAAAAAAAAA!!"
A few almost fainted.
Ceasar looked up at the sky, betrayed. "If I had your face, even the principal would greet me every day."
"If you had my face, you'd be in jail for misuse," Alden chuckled.
They walked past the main building—a depressing, moss-stained structure that looked like a colonial ghost and smelled like damp chalk and teenage BO.
"Let's go before Ma'am Ailyn throws her chalk again," Alden muttered.
"Too late," Ceasar pointed. "She's already holding her 'Deadly Mongol No. 2.'"
---
**Flag Ceremony**
Students stood in uneven lines like soldiers forced into a flash mob.
"Why does this feel like a funeral with background music?" Ceasar adjusted his polo.
A scratchy loudspeaker buzzed, then wheezed out the national anthem like it was choking on static. Everyone stood stiff, half internally asleep. A couple students whispered. One guy clearly lip-synced the wrong lyrics.
Birds circled overhead. The janitor swept nearby, his broom barely touching the ground. A dog—possibly enrolled—wandered through the line, sniffing shoes and judging silently.
Alden didn't sing. He was looking at the sky. Not just looking—searching. Beyond the clouds, beyond the light.
Something stirred in him. Like static behind his eyes.
As the anthem ended and someone yelled "Ready, set, Pledge!" Alden's heartbeat slowed. His spine tingled. He looked down at his arm.
Was that... light? A faint flicker. Gone in a blink.
"Bro?" Ceasar whispered beside him, hand over his chest, fake-pious.
"I'm fine," Alden swallowed.
But he wasn't. He could feel it now—inside him. The same feeling from the tricycle. That voice.
*Kalasag...*
Like something ancient was waking up. Or had never really slept.
---
**Classroom, Later That Morning**
Room 3-A was chaos in rectangular form. Ceiling fans squeaked in protest, desks were etched with love confessions and math cheats, and the whiteboard was permanently smudged like a ghost had tried to erase its name.
"Another day of pretending we care." Ceasar threw his bag onto his chair and collapsed.
Alden dropped his notebook. Still blank. Still waiting for answers.
From the hallway, a student yelled, "Ma'am Ailyn is coming!"
"SH*T—" A dozen kids scrambled to open books they hadn't touched in weeks.
In swept Ma'am Ailyn, high heels clicking like gunshots. She wore a sharp barong blouse and an expression that could melt steel.
"Good MORNING, children," she snapped. "Or should I say, rotten kids?"
No one spoke. Fear had entered the chat.
"You," she pointed at Ceasar, "stop smiling. That means you did nothing again."
"Yes po," Ceasar admitted like a war prisoner.
She sighed. "If I see another homework that sounds like it was written by a robot trying to be poetic, we'll meet at the tip of the ballpen."
Ceasar whispered to Alden, "She means death."
As the lecture began, Alden's vision blurred again. Not sleep something was pulling at him. A tug behind his chest.
The mark beneath his shirt pulsed once, sending a chill down his spine.
And somewhere, in another corridor of the school, a pair of glowing eyes watched him through the cracks in the wall.
A whisper curled through the wind: "The Maharlika is waking up."
The temperature in the room dropped by degrees that no one else seemed to notice.