The Revolution Came

Intermission: Reunited

January 24, 1934

"To mi Hermano-Mayor,

It has been far too long since we last spoke. We shouldn't have left you when you needed us the most...

The night you disappeared, I should have known something was wrong. I should have stopped you, asked you where you were going, anything but assume you just needed fresh air.

Mamá won't admit it, but she misses you. Every day, she carries that old photo of you and Papá, holding it close as if it will bring you home.

Things are getting worse here. The government under Señor Bonifacio is hunting down the Spanish mercenaries who targeted our revolutionaries. The crackdown has only intensified since the attempt on his life.

Wherever you are, may God watch over you, my dear Hermano.

Ang Iyong Hermana,

Astrid"

It had been months since they left the Philippines, a departure made possible by Señor Bonifacio's intervention. His sponsorship ensured their safety, knowing full well that their family name carried weight in the revolution.

Her father, José Trivalgar Rivera, had been a pivotal figure, serving as Secretary of War in the Katipunan Supreme Council. Her brother, Cody Henry Rivera, once stood beside Bonifacio himself, acting as a trusted confidant during the factional conflict in Cavite.

She had always admired their courage, especially Cody, the black sheep of the family.

She remembered the afternoons when he would sit beneath the old tree at their homestead, engrossed in books about the French and American Revolutions. How he would debate politics with their father, always questioning, always pushing.

She missed those days. She missed him.

Then, whispers of a revolution in the Islands of St. Lawrence reached her ears. A leader had emerged, known only by the name "Maypagasa."

The moment she heard it, she knew.

Her brother was still out there, still fighting. Still standing against injustice.

____________

The ship docked at Cheapsake, its hull creaking as it settled into the harbor. The salty wind carried the sounds of merchants shouting, sailors unloading cargo, and the distant hum of city life beyond the piers.

Astrid stepped onto the wooden planks, steadying her mother as she gripped her cane. The old woman's eyes locked onto the banners fluttering above the customs house—three flags, each representing the revolution's founders.

A voice broke through the din.

"Welcome to the Islands of St. Lawrence. Please surrender your tickets here."

The harbor master stood before them, ledger in hand, his uniform slightly worn but well-kept. Astrid and her family handed over their tickets without question.

"Your name, madam?" he asked, dipping his quill into ink.

Astrid met his gaze. "Astrid Samantha Luis Rivera."

The harbor master's expression shifted. His hand hesitated before logging the name.

She was used to this reaction. Was their family name cursed? Was there nowhere they could go without being hunted by National Guardsmen or scrutinized like criminals?