The skies above Cavite burned gold beneath a manufactured dawn.

  From a distance, Aguinaldo’s Stronghold-Cavite looked like a forgotten citadel—but behind its colonial fa?ade was a fortress pulsing with surveillance, data bunkers, and loyalist drones marked with the sun-and-hawk insignia.

  Bonifacio had once fought to free this land.

  Now, he had to steal from it.

  At the edge of a broken expressway, Rizal, Bonifacio, Oryang, and a remote-guided drone operated by Mabini surveyed the perimeter.

  “This is where the First Republic was signed,” Mabini’s voice came through the drone speaker. “And where Aguinaldo buried its ideals.”

  Bonifacio cracked his knuckles. “Then we dig them up.”

  Using cloaking tech from Oryang’s resistance cell, the group slipped past outer patrols, blending with street sweepers and ruins scavengers.

  The plan was simple: locate the hidden vault beneath the old Casa Gobierno ruins, extract the Republic Seal, and escape before reinforcements arrived.

  But nothing ever stayed simple in a revolution.

  Inside, they passed walls draped in propaganda—holographic images of Aguinaldo crowned with digital laurels.

  Below each display, children of loyalists recited modernized oaths of allegiance.

  “They’re rewriting the Kartilya,” Rizal whispered. “Twisting the Katipunan’s code.”

  Oryang frowned. “Even children are being programmed.”

  Bonifacio’s hand gripped the handle of his bolo. “Then we do this fast.”

  After bypassing biometric scanners using Mabini’s encoded retinal patch, they reached the underground archive: a chamber lit by golden lamplight and glass cases of historical relics—real and forged.

  At the center stood a pedestal holding a metal disc etched with ancient Tagalog script and revolutionary seals.

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  The Seal of the First Republic.

  Rizal approached it slowly. “It’s more beautiful than I imagined.”

  Oryang examined the pedestal. “Tripwire nodes. Movement triggers. And… someone’s already accessed it.”

  Bonifacio stepped forward. “Who?”

  A voice echoed through the chamber.

  From the shadows, a figure emerged.

  Not Aguinaldo—but one of his most trusted lieutenants: General Artemio Ricarte, a hybrid-enhanced guardian, once exiled in Japan, now reprogrammed to serve Aguinaldo’s vision.

  He still wore the insignia of a revolutionary general—but fused with high-tech armor and memory inhibitors.

  “You shouldn’t have returned, Supremo,” Ricarte said.

  “You used to fight for the people,” Bonifacio replied. “Now you guard a tyrant.”

  Ricarte’s voice was laced with sadness. “We all choose our sacrifices.”

  Ricarte drew twin energy rapiers.

  Bonifacio met them with his twin bolos.

  The clash echoed like thunder in the vaults of history.

  Rizal and Oryang circled the room, disabling alarms while Mabini’s drone hovered to assist with data extraction.

  “You shouldn’t have come back here,” Ricarte said mid-combat. “You were a martyr. People remembered you with honor. But now? You’ll die as a threat.”

  Bonifacio parried a strike. “I’d rather die standing than live kneeling again.”

  The duel intensified—history and loyalty colliding in a storm of blades and plasma.

  While the two warriors clashed, Rizal reached the pedestal.

  Mabini’s drone inserted a data key.

  The Seal responded—glowing bright as it recognized three fragments within the system:

  Bonifacio’s DNA imprint from the Katipunan registry.

  Rizal’s neurocode tied to Noli Me Tangere.

  And Aguinaldo’s dormant command key—still embedded in the Republic’s digital memory.

  “Seal integrity confirmed,” Mabini’s voice said. “Extracting key now.”

  As the Seal powered down, a rumble shook the chamber.

  “They’ve triggered the failsafe,” Oryang warned. “We’ve got to go!”

  Bonifacio broke away from Ricarte just as a tremor collapsed part of the ceiling. Ricarte stood beneath falling dust and fractured stone.

  “You still have a choice,” Bonifacio called out. “Come with us.”

  But Ricarte didn’t move. “I made my choice long ago.”

  They escaped seconds before the chamber sealed behind them.

  They fled through old catacombs beneath the city, pursued by sentry bots and reprogrammed guards.

  Bonifacio held the Seal in his arms like a relic from another lifetime.

  Rizal covered the rear, his pen-weapon firing calculated bursts of electromagnetic interference.

  Oryang called in an extraction drone.

  As they flew back toward their mountain hideout, Bonifacio looked down at Cavite—at the broken memories buried beneath marble and marble lies.

  At the Mindvault, Mabini studied the Seal.

  “It’s all here,” he said. “With this, we unlock La Liga.”

  Rizal sighed with relief. “And then what?”

  Mabini looked up, expression unreadable.

  “Then the world remembers who we are. And who we could have been.”

  Bonifacio touched the metal surface of the Seal.

  “And who we still can be.”