The jungle was unnaturally quiet.
A storm had passed the night before, leaving the air thick with moisture and the ground slick. Birds did not sing. Even the rebels moved with hushed footsteps as if nature itself was holding its breath.
Elijah had not slept. He stood outside his tent, arms crossed, watching the mist roll over the trees. His mind buzzed with the burdens of leadership and the creeping fear that their revolution was now a race against not just an empire—but time itself.
Then came the runner.
"He's here," the young scout panted. "The man who asked for you… he's at the riverbank. Said he came from the future. Like you."
Elijah's heart stuttered.
The Man by the River
They found him near the shallow bend of the river, standing beside a tree, soaked from the rain. He was lean, weathered, and covered in mud, but unmistakably out of place. He wore remnants of a Philippine Marine uniform—modern camouflage torn and faded. A tactical belt dangled with useless tech, and slung on his back was a battered rifle that wouldn't be invented for another 70 years.
He looked up.
"Elijah delos Reyes?" he asked.
"I am," Elijah answered, stepping forward, Isa and two guards at his side.
The man gave a relieved chuckle. "I didn't think you were real. Thought I'd gone insane."
"Who are you?"
"Sergeant Adrian Vega," he said. "Philippine Marines. Or… I was. Until two weeks ago."
Adrian explained everything. A failed recon mission in Zamboanga. A lightning storm like none they had ever seen. A flash—and then he woke up alone in the jungle. The year was 1898.
"I've been hiding, watching. Heard rumors of a rebel leader who knew American tactics before they happened. That had to be you."
Elijah nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Anyone else with you?"
Adrian's face darkened. "Two others disappeared with me. I haven't seen them since. If they survived... they might be in enemy hands."
That sent a cold shiver down Elijah's spine.
A Dangerous Welcome
Back at the camp, tensions flared. Luna, ever suspicious, interrogated Adrian relentlessly. Isa, though wary, believed his story—especially when he helped repair an old cannon using knowledge of modern metallurgy.
But Elijah wasn't ready to trust.
He met Adrian alone that evening, by the fire.
"Let's say I believe you," Elijah said. "Why come here? Why risk it?"
Adrian pulled a folded map from his boot and unrolled it.
"There's an armory in Nueva Caceres. Hidden. Reinforced. They're stockpiling weapons, and not just from this time. Some of that tech… it's from the future. American black ops must've sent someone—or found something."
Elijah stiffened. "How do you know this?"
"Because I buried half of it myself before I came here. Part of a weapons cache near Mindoro. If the Americans found it, they're experimenting. And if they mass-produce it… we're doomed."
Truth in the Firelight
That night, Elijah and Isa walked alone through the sleeping camp.
"You believe him?" she asked.
"I do. I have to," Elijah said. "If even part of what he said is true, we're fighting an enemy with more than just guns and soldiers. We're fighting the future."
Isa touched his arm. "So are we still leading a revolution, or a war across time?"
Elijah turned to her, eyes weary but fierce.
"Both."
The Ghost's Warning
Adrian stood outside his assigned tent, staring at the stars.
"Something's coming," he muttered as Elijah approached. "A bigger storm than either of us has seen. And I think those missing soldiers… they're part of it."
Elijah frowned. "You think they're alive?"
"I hope not," Adrian said grimly. "Because if they are—and they're working for the wrong side—we're not just rewriting history. We're watching it burn."