The act of setting an aircraft onto the ground or another surface such as ice or water after flight.

* * *

The Philippine Air Force Aerospace Museum, despite its unusual possible open hours, is relatively empty. I guess, only those who are interested with aviation, planes and military will ever want to visit such place. But I am not any of the above; instead, something about it draws me to it. Not just merely the very museum, but the site itself. Like, even if the museum doesn't exist right there, I'll still wish to visit it. Surprisingly, not just once, but as how many times I'll certainly be able. For now, I only have this moment.

Thankfully, the site itself, even if barricaded by the premises of the Villamor Air Base, is open to the public due to it being converted to a museum. As expected, it showcases the history of the Philippine Air Force—all from the very start to the current, though there had been a greater focus towards to whom the base itself was named. And to the unit that he commanded.

The well-known and celebrated fighter pilot of the Second World War, Colonel Jesús Villamor, led vigilant airmen to the skies of the Philippines even at the outbreak of the Japanese invasion. A group of pilots under his command of the Sixth Pursuit Squadron. And though there were too many to be led by him, one of them had been specially mentioned as well.

Lieutenant Cesar M. Basa AC.

I stare at his framed portrait. Looking at it, I find him quite too familiar—a man in his mid or late twenties, in a formal uniform with heightened and sharp features, dreamy eyes, and a ghost of a smile. Definitely a handsome one that upon seeing another picture of him in a group photo, denoted to be his last known photograph, I know at once that he has the looks.

I get an attachment with him at once; that I suddenly doubt one of the illustrations that said that he was caught by enemy fire while dangling helplessly from a parachute. It is weird finding out that there are too many things that I am in search of him, yet there aren't much that can be found. Too little seems to be known about him, but none of it actually do him any justice. That for some reasons, I feel like I know him much more than anyone else.

But that's impossible; not to mention weird.

Giving up myself with how I seem to know him, I sigh heavily and proceed in checking out the rest of the exhibit. Two mural paintings also feature him, using the same portrait that I've been staring from earlier as basis for the work. Aside from that, there hadn't been anything else then. Even when I make it to check the second floor—seeing more vacant space than those featured guns and armaments, history of the Philippine Air Force's uniform all the way from PAAC, and diorama of old airfields—there hadn't been any further mention of the man himself. Perhaps, if I am to visit that air base named after him, I'll find out more... But I immediately take that idea back as he is surely a great mystery aside from the fact that he is worthy of having an air base named in his honor.

The biggest question mark then is why am I attracted to him. Is it because that if I am to squint too well in trying to have a good look of him in an otherwise hard-to-see photographs, I'll be able to see how he resembles someone I know of? That not just because of the last name that can attribute them to be distant relatives, then I want to figure it all?

I guess not, I ponder, telling myself. Dahil maging 'yong lalaki na 'yon ay bigla na lang din nawala na parang bula.

After that last leg of our promotional shooting flights, the man himself seemed to leave without any trace. It had been four months, and no one knows where he is; except for the fact that after those shooting days, when I thought that things are starting to work out for me to figure out more about him, he seemed to suddenly file a rather lengthy leave.

For the first month, everyone assumed that it might be in preparation for some training. The second month, everyone started deducing that he was chosen to be part of pilots to be trained for another type rating, or perhaps, he is using that incentive he received for agreeing to be part of the promotional shooting. Come third month and everyone is already asking if he had resigned or what, but his records remain to still be an employee that even the HR are saying that the man, despite not showing himself off, continue sending the same letters of absence for some reasons. Now, on the fourth month running, I can swear that he is close to receiving a notice that he is fired.

No one had seen him, nor even heard from him since then. Or so I think of...

I am descending the stairs after that exploit of the second floor when something—someone—suddenly catches my eye.

A man of familiar visage had been standing right on the exact same spot as I've looked on intently at the portrait of that fighter pilot hero under Villamor's command. He seems to be staring at it just as equally as I did so earlier; not to mention that as I look on from where I am, it is only his side profile that I can see. And for some reasons, that respective angle reminds me of someone at once.

Not just one person, but two.

I hurry on my steps, trying to catch the man at once. However, I may be daydreaming alone that when I make it downstairs, the said man is gone; but as I draw closer to the portraits by the entrance again, I can swear that it is not just one man that I recognize. That, at that respective profile, I seem to see both the man on the photograph and the missing one from four months ago.

Pero... imposible iyon, 'di ba? I ask myself. Na makita ko rin ang isang tao na paniguradong ayaw magpakita at ang isang tao na mula naman sa nakaraan?

I know that doppelgängers are possible; but not to the extent that I'll even know one, or even find one another staring each other at the face...

At the corner of my peripherals, I notice the man himself out of the museum, heading somewhere that my response had been immediate to run after him. I keep on only catching him in corners, unsure of what to call on to him to catch his attention. I am afraid that I have the wrong man all along, and so I keep chasing after him. It feels like this isn't the first time that I did—albeit physically—as it feels that I've been chasing after him for so long already. Until at the end of the long road, I lose sight of him for a second, that there is no chance that he had been a ghost to just disappear at once. Unless I continue trying to find him as a real person, and the only possible scenario is for him to take a sudden turn. To a place that I didn't expect anyone will suddenly pay visit of... especially if that said person isn't at all religious.

However, I have an inkling gut-feeling that I am after someone who've been quite pious, if not overtly in such a manner but had been a firm believer of the powers from above. And it feels like I am after someone who'll always have some religious item in his person, and be welcoming to the aspect of life and death. As if, I am running for someone who'll always wish to be inside a holy place due to some unfinished promise.

And so, even if losing the chance of ever finding him, if ever he didn't take this path, I dare take the risk of trying to enter the nearby chapel just right next to the very museum itself. I know at first glance that it is one due to its rather out of place structure out of the usual buildings around the area, and the stained glasses and cross featured at the façade. As if everything is heaven sent, the silhouette of the man I've been after for stands there in front of the altar.

His back is on me, and I suddenly have a strange sensation and understanding that this isn't the first time that I did see him in such a way. I seem to know him too well in such a way; that even if we're both lost in the crowd, I'll know that it is him just by that physique. The rather unkept dark hair by now despite how he usually will want to have it properly kept, the broad shoulders of a swimmer, the visible taut and lean muscles of his arms and strong back underneath the white dress shirt he had been wearing with the sleeves folded until his elbows, and the rather slim waist and long legs of his. I can go on to a very long list of knowing him fully even from just that silhouette; and even without finally facing him, I can detail everything of him. As if I have memorized every inch of his skin, and know the feeling of his touch, and that of his comforting smell, and the taste of him all.

Like he is a part of me. He always is. Always.

He is now looking at the retablo of the crucified Jesus on the middle as flanked by St. Joseph and the Virgin Mary with a Child Jesus above a house, and I wonder if he knows that I am here. And if he knows, will he run away from me again? Will he hide and be fearful and leave me?

But I can't help not to be drawn to him, and slowly and cautiously walk down the aisle before tentatively calling him in the name I know of him. "Elian?"

At that, he shivers, causing me to stop at once. He then slowly turns to me, surprised visibly etched on his face. And doing so, I realize that it is definitely him. At the same time, he seems to be a different person, too.

Some man from long ago that I've dreamed of. Someone that seems to be beyond just one or two mere photographs. Someone that I know I've loved and will always do so.

I bite my lower lip and slowly approaches him again. "For the past four months, where have you—"

He shakes his head at once, taking a step back in the process. Thankfully, even though he turns away, he didn't make any indication of leaving. But his expression... he seems so pained, so close to tears. A memory from long ago that seems to mirror a moment back then that also placed him in such a manner that now breaks my heart.

I bite my lower lip and only keep my mouth shut, fearful that any words out of me will lead him to close himself once again.

"I..." he starts, almost choking on his words as he seems to slowly open up himself to me. "I always wonder if it is all just a mere coincidence or what. But... every time I see you... ever since I saw you when our paths crossed for the first time, both of us from two completely opposite groups... I have this numbing sensation of wanting to know you... or just to let you go."

I swallow hard, and I am grateful that I manage to do so than to gasp out loud, fearing that it will only provoke him to stop and derail things out.

"I dare to test the waters, believe me. But things only got worse. It pained me and comforted me, that I feel like I am going crazy." He breathes in and out heavily before looking back to me. "Para akong nababaliw. O nababaliw na yata talaga ako. A part of me had been saying na matagal na kitang kilala. That I've known you for far too long. No matter how weird it may be, at para talagang nababaliw na ako. I feel like I am losing my own mind."

"Does... Does looking at me right now makes you think of it that way?" I ask in almost a whisper.

He swallows hard and frowns a little as he looks at me. There had been a play of emotions in his face right now, one that shifts from deducing me to understanding all of it to fully taking control then. He didn't say anything.

"Or baka mas dapat ang itanong ko ay kung nakapag-desisyon ka na ba sa kung anong gagawin mo? Gusto mo bang isipin ko na lang ang lahat ng ito na parang isang panaginip at sabihin sa lahat na hindi tayo nagkita?" I inquire the next. "Wanting to run away from this all over again?"

"If I am to do that, I'll certainly lose my mind. It seems like the only way for me to keep my sanity is to stay. So, I want to take the risk," he carefully replies. "I want to know you, kahit na parang pakiramdam ko ay alam ko na ang lahat-lahat tungkol sa iyo. God, I always wanted to. But, at the same time... it feels like I don't deserve the chance. Like I am not worthy of you. After... After everything that happened..."

Something seems to click inside his mind as his eyes widen for a moment, and tears finally fall from his eyes. Some sort of realization makes him shudder.

I feel that. Or rather, he isn't the only one. An electric fire of connection makes me understand that there is something beyond this meeting alone. That it isn't just us, but even the very place itself draws the two of us right at this moment.

A fog in the distance that in all the rows of blankets, there exists him and me in all of it. Not any happy memory; as I can feel that it is one of sorrow. As if, even if that vision may involve us, it still feels like it is from someone else's; as if it is the memory of the place itself instead that gives you that eerie feeling.

Tears also fall down my cheeks before I even know what is going on, and they come in a rush to blur my vision at once.

"Oh, God..." he mumbles as he shakily covers his mouth with a hand and his other one instantly grasps for the nearest pew to steady himself. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm so sorry because... because I wasn't able to fulfill my promise. To you." He takes a shaky breath and drops his hand. "Pagkatapos ng lahat ng sinabi ko... Naging makasarili pa rin ako sa mga desisyon ko. Pagkatapos ko ipangako ang lahat-lahat, at inisip ko na magiging ayos ka lamang... Na magiging ayos lang kayo... Pero hindi." He clumsily brushed off his tears, and if he appeared in pain earlier, this time, he is devastated. "I'm sorry because I've put... I've put something... someone else than you!"

I look up at the ceiling, wielding my tears to stop, but I can't. Doing so, staring at the white color and at the hanging chandelier, the walls and ceiling seem to blend into something else for a moment—morphing to a higher ceiling of metal and steel, and the walls are farther away than this entire space with only a small window high above to let a few light filter in. Even if I am lost to that sensation, I can swear that I understand the depth of his words.

It is not just something or someone that he did prioritize, I think. Naiintindihan ko iyon, for some reasons. He isn't talking in riddles; I just know it that that someone needs him more than I do.

I swallow the heavy lump that settles in my throat, and when I speak up, it comes in a stutter in between sobs, "N-Naiintindihan ko na I'll not be the top priority. Hindi mo... Hindi mo kailangan ipaliwanag o ihingi ng tawad iyon. But still... I hope that your answer will still be me."

He blinks rapidly and looks at me as if I suddenly grow another head. "You are always the answer. You've always been. Ako 'yong... Ako 'yong dapat... Ako 'yong umaasa na your answer will be me."

"You are always the answer for me, too, Elian," I remark almost chuckling. "So, you should—"

Suddenly, he interrupts me at that, saying a word—a name—that I didn't know will mean so many things for him. And also, for me.

"Ano?" I instantly ask in return.

"That's my name. The first one, out of other given names." He nods.

Parang 'yong lalaki doon sa litrato... Hindi lang sa pangalan, pero maging sa itsura, sa postura, sa talino, sa lakas, at sa ugali... Strange for me to assume that all of those things are a parallel between them just because they have the same name.

However, a part of me believes it all too well. That the very reason why I feel like I know that man is all because here stands in front of me some sort of a fragment of him. Or is he just a small piece of him?

I take a precautionary step closer to him, and this time, he didn't flinch and just remain standing right there. As I walk to him, flashes of events start to blend in the background of my own mind—seeing him in color being surrounded by his friends; the small talks of inspirations between one another at night outside some barracks; when he considers me his lucky charm for every first thing he is to accomplish; experiencing the domestication of life with him along with the teasing, fighting, laughing and missing; the promises of love to last more than a lifetime, the future and of forever; and the cruel fate that had been death in the end of it all. And when I stand in front of him now, in front of the altar, it seems like the right thing.

That my heart had been broken by guilt and of the prospect that I am starting to forget everything about him when I know him all along. That, right here, I can proudly say that I do have everything of him committed all to memory. From the end strands of his hair, all to the soles of his feet; the light that sparks on his eyes, the tingle and warmth of his touch, the comfort of his smell, the sound of his laughter and voice, and the curve of his smile and the taste of his lips. I know it all, and it is all mine.

The most beautiful part of it all is, I wasn't even looking when I found him.

Only inches away from one another right now, I reach out to brush away the tears from his eyes, causing him to nuzzle his cheeks against my palms as he closes his eyes, and I inquire, "Would that make you mine?"

He slowly opens his eyes—dark eyes boring straight at mine with that familiar light of devotion and happiness in them—and leans his forehead against mine as he slowly reaches out for his knuckles to brush my own tears and caress my cheek. He whispers, "Yours."

I breathe, "Mine."

At that, he closes the distance between us as he presses his lips against mine and its familiar taste like that of the sky and stars overwhelms me. It is foolishly easy to let him steal such sweet and gentle kisses from my lips, but it only makes me demand more. It is only for a moment that we break apart before his lips are back on mine, only this time, his kisses are ravenous. He is now kissing me nothing like moments previously; now, he is demanding, enticing and urging in fervent worship. And I cling to him, wanting the desire that courses in hot fever between us to overpower us.

We both break apart from one another with rather dry tears on our cheeks, hands grasping each other in fear of being apart once more, and keeping the distance as close as possible as we catch our breaths.

Staring at me with absolute clarity, his happiness much apparent this time that only makes him much more handsome than ever as he breaks into that warm and huge smile, he remarks, "I am home, (Y/N)."

My heart skips of hearing him speaking my name with such reverence and love that I didn't expect I'll be hearing once more. And I nod and smile to him in return, "Yes. Yes, you are. Welcome home, César."

I don't know if this is real or not; but one thing's for certain, I want to stay wherever this is. I neither want to sleep, if this is reality; nor wake up, if this is a dream. I want to be here. Always. I am at peace here. And I am home.

César is home. He is my sky of 12,000 feet.

• FIN •

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A/N: Vote, comment and share! Whatever you do means a lot to me, and I am really wishing for some feedback!
My birthday's this coming Sunday, and watch out for bonus chapter to be released on that day as a gift for all of you after all the shed tears! And also, continue watching out for potential bonus chapters in the future (And yes, I have too much up on my plate prepared for a bunch of it!)
A much lengthy Author's Note could be found on the next chapter entitled The Succeeding Years, which officially closed the Artificial Horizon story.

A few list of notes to share!
1. I try to stick to the exhibit of the Philippine Air Force Aerospace Museum from the last time I've visited with two of my friends, one of them had been the one who've died, last 14 February 2023. As mentioned, it is relatively empty. There are few planes hanging from the ceiling, and as I've been searching for something concerning Basa and the 6th Pursuit Squadron, there had been some photographs and plaques nearest to the entrance that featured Villamor, Basa and the 6th Pursuit Squadron itself. The two mentioned photographs of Basa from the chapter are also found there. On the first floor, there had been murals wherein two of it also has a painting of Basa as also added below here, too. There is also a collection of aircraft parts in the other side of the building. On the second floor, there is nothing much except for a few items owned by Villamor and Aranzaso (I remember narrating what I know of about him to my friends in the process because even that story of his is an angsty one!), old items owned by pilots, the uniforms used by PAF since PAAC, armaments and weapons used during WWII, and diorama of current and former airfields. Outside the museum, in the garden, are other aircrafts used by PAF. A few more walks and there's the chapel in honor of the Our Lady of Loreto, which had been considered as the Patroness of Aviators after being revered as such during WWII.
2. The suffix of AC in the name was one I consider to be "airman cadet" because there were no records of it through the internet or even in the Philippine Air Force itself. True, Basa had been an airman cadet of theirs, but I also doubt that after earning the rank of a lieutenant, such suffix of an AC would still mean that?
3. The Virgin Mary with a Child Jesus above a house is the image of Our Lady of Loreto, which is considered to be the patroness of aviation, pilots, attendants, the air force, construction workers and builders. This title of Mary refers to the house in which she was born and raised, and in which the angel Gabriel visited her in the Annunciation. Tradition holds that angels miraculously transported the house from Palestine to Loreto, Italy, in the 13th century. In March 1920, the Lady was officially proclaimed "Aeronautarum Patrona" by Pope Benedict XV (1914-1922), being the patroness of aviators since then. Veterans of World War I prayed the Virgin Mary asking to protect them from new conflicts or when flying.
4. There were no evidence that the site of the current museum and the chapel had been formerly a building, precisely as inexplicitly mentioned one in the story, to be the storage or some sort of hangar or what where those who've died during the bombing of the Nichols Airfield (currently Villamor Air Base) had been—where, as you've read throughout the story, the Reader last saw César, even though he was good as dead.
5. Why 12,000 feet? Well, try rereading César's POV from Chapter 44 - Artificial Horizon. His last mentioned altitude? 12,000 feet.
6. I don't know if you'll have this question in your mind but if you are considering this to be a happy ending, then feel free to do so. But I consider the end of this story to be just "tragic-tragic" or "happy-tragic". If you want the "tragic-tragic", then consider this chapter a dream itself of the Reader, because it had been revealed on that the Reader is actually dreaming of the future and had been living in the past; and if you're into the "happy-tragic", then consider this as some sort of a reincarnation where they have a good or quite a grasp of the past. Either way, be my guest on how to interpret the complexity of this story compared to that of Dead Reckoning. Sorry if I am messing up with your minds.

Chapter title: Landing. Just like how landing is considered to be the last phase of a flight itself prior to taxiing to the ramp area and chocks in, I consider it to be the ideal title for the last chapter to denote its ending.

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