The ridge was unusually quiet for a Tuesday night, the usual crowd of weekday riders and "overlanders" likely deterred by the threat of a localized thunderstorm. Elias stood by the hood of his sedan, the engine ticking as it cooled in the mountain air.
A cluster of stars and bright clouds can be seen high above the flashing artificial lights of the city. It was the Milky Way. No flashlight needed, just with your naked eye. A spectacular scene with thousands of stories. Who would have thought that this is the same sky our ancestors have been seeing in their voyage, their seasons of harvest, and their lives?
He looked up, searching for his anchor. Aldebaran, the red eye of the Bull, was high and defiant. It was a "Fixed Star," a point of celestial certainty that had guided navigators for thousands of years. Elias took comfort in it, it was the only thing in his life that didn't require a quarterly review or a performance metric.
But as he scanned the horizon toward the east, he saw it—the sickle-shaped head of the constellation Leo beginning its slow climb over the peaks of Sierra Madre. Legend said that the Lion was the Bull's natural enemy, a fire sign rising to challenge the earth. Creatures of opposites.
"Don't get too close," Elias muttered to the sky, a bitter joke aimed at his own sign. "You'll only get burned."
A sudden flash of light cut through his thoughts. It wasn't lightning. It was the sweep of yellowed halogen headlights bouncing over the uneven gravel.
A polished, gray, Yamaha NMAX — looked like it belonged to a reckless driver with a student license yet to get a professional one due to low scores from driving schools. It didn't park with the precision Elias practiced, it skidded into a diagonal halt, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust that momentarily obscured the stars.
The music hitting the air was a sharp contrast to the silence - a soulful, chaotic saxophone track that felt entirely too loud for the altitude.
From its seat, a man hopped out removing his dusty helmet. He was a blur of movement—loose linen, messy hair the color of ash gray, and a DSLR hung over his shoulder like a weapon. He didn't look at the ground; he looked straight up at the zenith, laughing as he nearly tripped over a stray rock.
Elias stiffened. The man was a variable. He was a noise in a silent room. He was the Lion in flesh, and he was currently walking straight toward Elias's carefully crafted peace.
"Hey!" the stranger called out, his voice bright enough to rival the stars Elias had been adoring. "You seeing that? The way the Milky Way is spilling right into the valley? It looks like spilled milk on my granny's carpet!"
Elias adjusted his glasses, his Taurus heart already thumping with a defensive rhythm. "It's actually a high concentration of cosmic dust and ionized gas," he replied stiffly.
The stranger stopped, tilting his head. He looked at Elias—really looked at him, from his polished leather shoes to his ironed collar, and grinned. It was wide. Predatory in some way, and impossibly warm smile.
"Spoken like a man who reads the map but never takes the trip," the stranger said, holding up his camera. "I'm Dane. And I think you're blocking my shot of the Bull."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Dane. I didn't know this was your 'spot,'" Elias replied, using his fingers to etch sarcastic air-quotes.
"You're fine. I just need a minute and…" Dane adjusted his tripod, aiming a heavy lens toward the constellation. "…there! Ganda. Nice."
Elias raised an eyebrow, lingering as he waited for the man to pack up, but Dane seemed to be taking his time. No sign of heading back to where he came from yet.
"You with them?" Elias pointed his lips toward the group of campers gathering around a portable butane stove nearby.
"Ah, no. I'm on my own. Those guys are from PAS—Philippine Astronomical Society. They're always here," Dane replied, eyes fixed on his camera's LCD screen. Elias nodded, scratching the back of his nape awkwardly.
Dane looked up, catching the nervous gesture. "You haven't told me your name. May I know who I have the pleasure of sharing the sky with tonight?"
"Elias," he said, straightening his posture as if he were back in the boardroom. "Elias Santillan."
Dane let the name hang in the air for a second, a small smirk played on his lips. "Santillan, huh? You sound like you belong in a building in Makati or Pasig, not standing in the dirt in a thousand-peso shirt."
Elias stiffened. "It's an ironed shirt, not a personality trait."
Dane laughed, a warm, easy sound that seemed to echo off the trees. "Relax, Elias. I'm just saying, you look a little... overqualified for a Tuesday night here. Most people come here in hoodies and slippers to eat balut and look at the city lights. You look like you're waiting for a board meeting to start in the middle of the Sierra Madre."
Elias looked down at his polished shoes, now coated in a fine layer of Rizal dust. The contrast was ridiculous, and for the first time that day, a tiny crack appeared in his composure. "I just... needed to breathe. The city felt a bit small today."
"I get it," Dane said softly, his tone shifting from teasing to something more grounded. He stepped aside, gesturing to the space beside his tripod. "The city is a cage, Pare. But up here? The ceiling is a lot higher."
A moment of silence settled between them as a cold mountain breeze swept through, as if acknowledging their presence there, high above the world, under the vast starry sky.
"So, what do you do?"
"I'm an accountant." Elias replied.
"Whoa. Sounds like a mountain of taxes and unbalanced sheets."
Elias smirked, suppressing a laugh that caught in his throat. He cleared it quickly, regaining his composure.
"I'm a freelancer," Dane continued. "Photographer… graphics? I don't know, really. I just hustle whatever is available."
Dane Imperial, his full name, doesn't believe in "the grind." He doesn't believe in five-year plans, and he certainly doesn't believe in alarm clocks. He was a Leo, and like his ruling planet, the Sun, he believed the world was supposed to revolve around him—or at least, he was supposed to enjoy the view while it turned.
He had graduated college with a degree in Fine Arts. Since graduation, he had worked as a freelance photographer, a bartender, and, briefly, a dog walker for a woman who lived in a penthouse. Tonight, he was a "seeker."
Dane gestured for Elias to come closer. "Take a look. Since you're already blocking my light, you might as well see what I'm hunting."
Elias hesitated, then stepped forward, his leather soles crunching on the dry earth. He leaned over the viewfinder of the high-powered DSLR. Through the lens, the hazy gray of the Manila sky was stripped away, replaced by a deep, velvety indigo.
"That's Aldebaran," Elias whispered, the name slipping out before he could stop it. "The Eye of the Bull."
Dane paused, his hand hovering over the focus ring. He looked at Elias with newfound curiosity. "You know your way around the neighborhood?"
"It's... a hobby," he replied, his voice regaining its corporate mask. "In Taurus, Aldebaran is the anchor. It's a giant, forty-four light-years away, yet it looks like it's right there, holding the rest of the constellation together."
"The anchor," Dane repeated softly, looking back at the screen. "Very fitting. You look like you spend a lot of time trying to hold things together."
Elias didn't answer. He couldn't. He was too busy looking at the star. Up here, away from the fluorescent lights of the office and the blue glare of his spreadsheets, the "Eye of the Bull" looked less like a data point on a chart and more like a fire.
"You know," Dane said, breaking the silence as he adjusted a dial, "the PAS guys over there? They look at the stars to measure distance and temperature. But you... you look at them like you're looking for a way out."
"Is it that obvious?"
"In this city?" Dane chuckled, his silhouette sharp against the distant glow of the metropolis. "Everyone is looking for a way out, Elias. Most people think they can just use the malls or the bars. It's a temporary escape. You chose the hardest path, looking up."
Elias shifted his weight, the realization of the time—and the looming 8:00 AM meeting in Makati—suddenly crashed down on him.
"I should probably head out," Elias said, checking his watch. The glowing dial felt like a tether pulling him back to the grid. "Traffic on the way back to the city... you know how it is. And I have a shift in the morning."
Dane nodded, though he didn't look away from his camera. "Yeah, I get it. The 'parking lot' on the highway waits for no one." He finally looked up, offering a casual, two-finger salute. "Nice meeting you, Elias. Not many suits come up here just to stare at the sky."
"It was... refreshing," Elias replied, though the word felt inadequate. He began walking toward his white sedan, his leather shoes crunching awkwardly on the gravel.
"Hey," Dane called out. Elias stopped and turned. Dane was holding up a small, slightly crumpled business card or rather, a piece of cardstock with a QR code and a social media handle printed on it. "Just in case you need a photographer for a corporate event. Or, you know, if you ever need a shot of the stars that isn't blocked by your own head."
Elias hesitated, then reached for his phone. He didn't take the card, but he opened his camera app and snapped a quick photo of it as a courtesy.
"Dane_Views," Elias read the handle off his screen.
"That's the one. See you around, Mr. Accountant."
Elias gave a stiff, polite nod—the kind he practiced in the elevators of his office building—and climbed into his car. As he pulled away, the red glow of his taillights illuminated the dust, leaving the photographer and the "Eye of the Bull" behind in the dark.