Chapter 71: The Rebel
The wind howled across the hills of Cebu, not with monsoon fury, but with the rustle of banners. Red ones.
From the hills near Toledo, peasants marched. Not with torches and pitchforks—but with stolen rifles, machetes, and flags bearing a crude sun pierced by a crown. The banner of the so-called "Free Cebu Movement."
At their head rode Domingo Reyes, a former landowner turned revolutionary, with a scar down his cheek and a polished Aragonese rifle slung across his back. His words echoed in every barrio:
"Aragon promised autonomy. What we got were their rules, their taxes, their teachers telling our children to speak Kareyan instead of Binisaya. We fought off one empire before. We’ll do it again."
Domingo’s grievances were half-truths and twisted ideals, but they spread like wildfire. The recent land reclassification laws, meant to formalize ownership and distribute titles fairly, were mistranslated as land seizures. The price of imported wheat was blamed on Firewell. And when a single bureaucrat misfiled subsidies for a farming commune in Balamban, it became the match that lit the fields.
By the end of the week, two regional offices had been sacked. A train carrying medical supplies was derailed. And on the seventh day, the Aragonese-appointed governor’s residence in Cebu City was stormed.
The rebellion had begun.
—
Firewell – Civic Council Hall
"They’re calling it a ’provincial assertion,’" Juliette read aloud, voice taut. "But they’re shooting at police and burning Kareyan-language books."
Across the table, Minister Talib rubbed his forehead. "We failed to account for cultural pride. Our curriculum—our symbols—might have been too eager, too quickly imposed."
Lancelot stood, arms folded. "It was more than that. We overextended. Again."