The sun beat harshly upon the red earth as Elijah stood before a map sprawled across a makeshift table in the rebel command hut. The bamboo walls creaked with the breeze, but inside, the heat was oppressive—not from the weather, but from the weight of decisions that needed to be made.
Around him sat the core revolutionary leadership: General Emilio Aguinaldo, General Antonio Luna, Apolinario Mabini, and Colonel Gregorio del Pilar. Each of them bore signs of exhaustion and tension. The Spanish had surrendered—but peace had not come. The Americans had landed, smiling with flags and promises.
And now, the smiles had begun to crack.
"The Americans continue to fortify their position in Manila," Luna said, voice sharp. "They've refused our entry into the capital—even after we bled for it. Now they act as if it's theirs."
Aguinaldo rubbed his temples. "General Otis claims it's to maintain 'order.' He insists we're not prepared to govern."
"They said they came to liberate us," Mabini added grimly. "But they speak as masters now. Not allies."
Elijah remained silent. He had read this part of history—knew how it would unfold. The Treaty of Paris had already been signed in secret. The Spanish had sold the Philippines to the Americans for twenty million dollars. Every delay, every friendly negotiation, was a lie meant to stall for time while American reinforcements arrived.
And no one here knew it yet.
Except him.
A Dangerous Truth
Later that night, Elijah sat beside Eli-Ah in the shadows beyond camp. She held a telescope, watching the stars—though her mind, like his, was far elsewhere.
"They're coming, aren't they?" she asked.
Elijah nodded. "Within months. Otis will find a reason to start the war. It won't matter what Aguinaldo says. They'll push us. Maybe even provoke us."
Eli-Ah glanced at him. "Then what do we do?"
"We prepare," Elijah said. "We consolidate. Fortify. And we train like hell. Because when they come, they'll come with everything they have—and more."
Eli-Ah lowered her voice. "You mean the machines?"
Elijah hesitated. "Not yet. But soon. The Americans will be the blade. The machines… the mind guiding it."
Fissures in the Leadership
Back in the command circle, tensions were mounting. Luna, ever fiery and uncompromising, accused Aguinaldo's inner circle of being too passive—too trusting of the Americans.
"They're stringing us along while they tighten the noose," he roared. "You think they'll give us independence? We'll be colonies again before the year is out!"
Aguinaldo's eyes narrowed. "And you would have us strike now, while we are outnumbered, undersupplied, and divided?"
Luna slammed his fist on the table. "Yes. Better to die standing than live crawling!"
Mabini interjected. "We cannot rush into war blindly. Diplomacy must be tried first."
Elijah stepped forward. "It's already begun behind closed doors. The Spanish have sold us. The Americans just haven't said it aloud yet."
Everyone stared at him.
"You're certain?" Aguinaldo asked.
Elijah nodded. "I've seen the draft of the treaty. In Paris. They consider us property now."
The silence that followed was colder than steel.
A Time for Decision
In the days that followed, the revolutionaries began to fortify their positions outside Manila, building trenches and stockpiling arms. The Americans responded with more troops, more artillery. Communication between the two sides grew colder.
Skirmishes flared. A Filipino soldier shot by an American patrol. An American officer insulted by a checkpoint. Tiny sparks dancing ever closer to the powder keg.
In secret, Elijah began training select units with hybrid weapons and tactics drawn from his knowledge of the future. Eli-Ah modified crude radios to transmit across kilometers. Isa worked with Luna's elite guards to build a mobile artillery division powered by scavenged tech. Every day, the lines between history and innovation blurred further.
One night, Isa returned from a recon mission to Manila. Her expression was grim.
"They're planning something," she said. "Otis and his officers—they've cleared civilians from parts of the city. I think they're preparing a preemptive strike."
Elijah looked out over the jungle canopy, the lights of Manila glowing faintly beyond the horizon.
"They want us to fire first," he murmured.
Eli-Ah nodded. "So they can justify the war to the world."
The Looming Shadow
On the first day of February 1899, Elijah stood beside Aguinaldo and Luna on the edge of a fortified trench near Santa Mesa. Rain had turned the ground to mud, but no one dared to move. Across the river, American troops had begun construction of barbed wire fences—within land still considered part of the First Philippine Republic.
Luna gripped his rifle tightly.
"They're daring us to cross."
Elijah said nothing.
Because in just a few nights, they would.
He could feel it.
The war was no longer a possibility.
It was an inevitability.
And the future Elijah had hoped to avoid was rushing toward him like a bullet.