The mountains were quiet that morning. Too quiet.
Elijah stood atop the ridge overlooking the Cordillera valley, the cold wind tousling his hair. The sky stretched wide and empty above him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching him back.
Below, the growing encampment of the resistance buzzed with activity. Fortifications were being reinforced. Trenches carved. Armories built into the earth like veins beneath stone. The base had grown. Their numbers had swelled with recruits from Ilocos, Pangasinan, and the northern tribes, all rallied by the retaking of Tarlac and the flame of resistance reignited.
And yet… beneath it all lay tension.
Not just between men who had once fought on opposite sides of the revolution.
But within Elijah himself.
The Heartbeat of the Machine
In the shadow of the ridge, deep inside a reinforced cave lit by oil lamps and repurposed Aeternus tech, sat the device they had captured after the skirmish in Baler—a gleaming black core laced with runes of light. It pulsed.
Once every ten seconds.
Then every eight.
Then seven.
It was counting down—or waking up.
Eli-Ah had barricaded herself inside the lab for days. She'd barely eaten. She kept records in a language no one else could read—glyphs from her original time, her original war. A time when the Aeternus had ruled the world like demigods.
Elijah entered quietly.
"You're still in here?"
"I don't have the luxury of rest," she replied without looking up. "Not when this thing keeps responding to you."
He frowned. "Me?"
Eli-Ah finally turned to face him. Her eyes were bloodshot from sleepless nights, but fierce with purpose.
"You don't hear it, do you? The frequency? This device—it's syncing to your neural rhythm. Not mine. Not anyone else's."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Oh, it does," she said bitterly. "You're not just an anomaly in time, Elijah. You're part of the Fracture. And now, they know where you are."
Echoes of the Past
Later, in the quiet of his tent, Elijah stared at the map laid out before him. Pins marked strongholds. Red lines marked troop movements. But no ink could mark the uncertainty clawing at his chest.
He thought of the memory fragment Eli-Ah had shown him.
His face. His voice. But it hadn't been him.
A clone? A prototype? A rebel?
He didn't know.
And maybe he didn't want to.
But as he sat there in silence, a familiar presence entered.
Isa.
She carried a wrapped bundle of food—dried meat, warm rice in banana leaves—but her expression was unreadable.
"You haven't eaten," she said softly.
"Didn't have the appetite."
She sat beside him anyway. They didn't speak for a long time.
Then Isa broke the silence.
"Eli-Ah told me what she found."
Elijah tensed.
"She told me what you might be."
He sighed. "And what do you think?"
Isa stared at the flickering lantern between them.
"I think I don't care what you were. I care about who you are now."
He looked at her, surprised.
But she continued, more quietly, "That doesn't mean I'm not scared. If she's right—if you're linked to the Aeternus—then you're not just our greatest weapon. You're also our greatest risk."
"And if I lose control?"
Isa's voice trembled. "Then I'll be the one to stop you."
A long silence.
Then Elijah whispered, "That's fair."
But her hand lingered on his for a moment too long before she pulled away.
Visions in the Storm
That night, the first storm in weeks rolled in.
But it was wrong.
Lightning struck not with thunder—but with crackling distortion, warping the air. Several resistance fighters claimed they saw figures in the clouds. Shadows. Shapes.
Then the beacon pulsed.
It spiked to life, humming louder, sending ripples of energy that shattered glass lanterns and knocked out two scouts who had wandered too close.
Elijah was among those who responded first.
When he touched the surface of the core, visions filled his mind.
A scorched earth.
Metal soldiers marching through Manila.
Skies filled with burning blue ships.
But more than that—he saw himself, standing among them.
Clad in armor like theirs.
Crowned in light.
Commanding the death of millions.
And behind him—a woman screaming his name.
Isa.
He tore his hand away.
Eli-Ah rushed to him, grabbing his shoulders. "What did you see?"
"I saw… the end."
The First Strike
The very next morning, a patrol failed to return.
A scout runner made it back—barely. His body scorched. Eyes blind. He spoke of shimmering figures, faster than any man, who used weapons that disintegrated flesh.
No banners. No faces.
Just glowing masks.
The Aeternus had sent their first units.
Recon. Probes. Scouts.
Eli-Ah confirmed it. "They're testing the timeline's integrity. If they believe you're a deviation, they'll sterilize the entire region. City by city. Tribe by tribe. Until no one remembers you ever existed."
The Rift Widens
Tensions soared.
Some leaders—veterans of the original revolution—accused Elijah of bringing a new war upon them. Some even suggested handing him over to the Americans to "solve the problem."
Isa punched one in the mouth.
Eli-Ah nearly executed another.
Elijah, however, did not respond.
He stood before them in full uniform, his voice calm, clear, but unyielding.
"If you're looking for someone to blame, I accept it. But I will not run. And I will not hide. If the Aeternus come, we face them together. Or we die alone."
And somehow, they listened.
Because despite their fear, they knew—Elijah was not just a leader.
He was their last chance.
A Spark in the Dark
That night, Elijah stood by the signal beacon.
The pulse had steadied.
But far, far above, the stars had begun to shift.
One, in particular, blinked with rhythm.
Eli-Ah joined him, her voice softer than usual. "You still believe you can save this country?"
"Yes."
"Even if you're part of what's trying to destroy it?"
He looked at her.
"That's why I have to."
And behind them, Isa watched silently, her hand brushing the hilt of her blade—not out of fear, but out of resolve.
She would follow Elijah into the storm.
Even if her heart might be broken on the other side.