December 30, 1896 – 6:45 AM, Bagumbayan, Manila
The crisp morning air was tense. With their rifles shining in the dim sunlight, soldiers marched in exact formation.
The field's edges were lined with rough wooden benches that held onlookers compelled to watch what the colonial authorities predicted would be a somber spectacle. There was a lot of tension in the air, and the crowd was filled with whispers of fear. Rifles gleamed in the early sunlight as soldiers in immaculate uniforms stood at attention.
José Rizal stood in the middle of it all, his hands bound. His gaze remained steady and his posture was composed despite the gloom of the situation. He had come to terms with the day that history predicted would be his last, the day he would die as a national martyr.
"Preparar!" the commander yelled.
Rizal's heart pounded steadily.
"Apuntar!"
He silently prayed while closing his eyes for a moment.
Then chaos erupted throughout the world.
From the eastern side of the field, a dense cloud of black smoke erupted. The soldiers' line faltered, and shouts of confusion ripped through them. Shadows moved precisely through the chaos. Just in time, guards were knocked down by gunfire. The escape was obscured by smoke curling around the running figure.
The morning air crackled with gunfire. Soldiers were hit precisely and fell instantly. The commander was abruptly struck, clutching his side and stumbling back with a cry as others attempted to regroup. The orderly firing squad disintegrated into chaos as his uniform was ripped and blood seeped through.
A tall, calm figure moved like a shadow among shadows through the smoke. As he silently led Rizal through the confusion, his eyes were serene, almost unsettlingly so.
"Move," the voice said, low but commanding.
Rizal's eyes widened. "…Who—?"
Before he could finish, he was struck in the back of the head by a sharp blow, and darkness engulfed him.
December 30, 1896 – 8:45 AM, secluded coastal hut near Manila
His nose was filled with the sharp tang of smoke and salt when he woke up. The gentle golden light of morning spilled over the rough bamboo walls as his eyelids fluttered open. An open window let in the sound of distant waves crashing against the coast.
With every muscle taut, he slowly sat up.In an attempt to control his breathing, Rizal blinked. He looked around the hut, enjoying the simplicity of the walls, the subtle smell of smoke, and the soft movement of the palms outside. Then his gaze went back to the man who had saved him from certain death.
"You… you saved me," Rizal said cautiously, his voice low. "Why? Who are you?"
The man didn't move, only studied him with those unnervingly deep eyes. "I have my reasons. Let's just say… I cannot let history unfold as it was written."
Rizal's brow furrowed. "History…?" He shook his head. "I have accepted my fate. If today is to be my end, then so be it. Death is not something to fear, only to face with honor."
"You are calm and steady," the man said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. "I expected no less from someone who awakened the Filipino spirit with nothing but a pen and words.
"Your words ignited the first spark of revolution," the man continued, his voice quiet but firm, "but a spark alone cannot save a nation enslaved by oppression. The world as it stands now… it is not ready for freedom. This is the moment to change that. To let the Philippines rise.
Rizal's eyes narrowed, his gaze steady. "Speak plainly," he said. "What is your purpose in saving me?"
His dark eyes met the man's, unwavering and steady. "Because the world as it stands... is wrong. Your death today was inevitable, yes, but inevitability is only the story written by those who do nothing. The first flame cannot burn alone. I could not let it be extinguished before its time."
Rizal's eyes remained fixed. "You talk about destiny and flames, but you act as though you are the only one who determines who lives and dies. Are you a god or a fool?"
A faint, knowing smile curved the stranger's lips. "Neither. I am only someone who sees what needs to be done. You used words to awaken the nation, to shine a light in the darkness. And out there, many take up arms, wielding violence to claim freedom. Both approaches... are noble in intention, but incomplete. Alone, words can inspire, but not protect. Alone, swords can fight, but not guide. Balance is required, thought and action, reason and strength, fire and shadow. That is what the Philippines needs now."
Sharp and steady, Rizal's eyes remained unwavering. "Balance…?"
"Yes," the man said in a quiet, confident voice. He paused, allowing his gaze to harden and darken with intensity. "Power without purpose is destruction. A nation cannot rise by pen or blade alone. It must have both, guided with purpose. The majority of Filipinos today are trapped in fear, their minds clouded by centuries of oppression. Some awaken to enlightenment, some take up arms in rebellion, but neither path alone is enough." Without action, knowledge is useless. I want to see the world bend for the Philippines because it only does so when force and will work together."
"You speak of balance, of fire and action… but tell me this," he said slowly, picking each word carefully, "must the path to freedom always be stained with blood?" Rizal's calm expression flickered with a hint of unease. "Does awakening a nation require drawing swords and taking lives?"
"Sometimes, José, there is no other way," the man said, his eyes darkening without hesitation. "Words cannot shield, but they can inspire. They are powerless to stop oppressors from silencing the courageous or crushing the weak. Although it is frequently the last option, violence is not the first. One must resist the winds that aim to extinguish our mother nation in order to lead it."
"And yet, every life lost weakens the soul of a nation," Rizal said, shaking his head slightly in a quiet but firm voice. "Fear and blood have given rise to freedom, but is it really freedom or just chaos disguised as liberty?"
Calm but unyielding, the man moved closer, his shadow extending across the bamboo floor. "I do not revel in death," he said. "The taking of life is something I dislike. However, a nation that is enslaved cannot wait for morality to catch up with the demands of the times. Ideals and force must work together to ensure that the Philippines rises. Enlightenment is crushed before it can spread if it is not protected. When our people are unable to stand, I will be the shield. Even if it means spilling blood, I will fight where oppression persists until one day the sun rises for our fellow men. To allow others to live freely, I will make the hardest decision, which requires the strongest will.
Rizal's eyes flickered, a mixture of apprehension and awe. "…And yet," he whispered, "to wield such power… is a heavy burden. How does one keep the fire from consuming everything in its path?"
The man's gaze remained steady, unflinching. "By remembering why we fight, José. By knowing that every act, no matter how dark, must serve the light. Only then can the flame guide the nation, instead of burning it to ashes."
The man's gaze softened slightly, as if weighing words carefully. "José… you are too important to waste in Death. You inspire the nation not through bullets, but through thought. Your pen has lit fires in hearts that even the strongest oppression cannot quench. That is why I need you alive, and active"
With caution, Rizal cocked his head and said, "Alive... and active? Do you mean that I would be involved in this uprising?"
"Yes," the man replied steadily, "but not as a fighter. You will represent our cause as a diplomat and educator. You will instruct, mentor, and uplift those who aspire to freedom. You will speak to hearts that cannot be swayed by a battlefield, reach minds that a sword cannot touch, and unite people with conviction and knowledge. Reason and flame are both necessary for the revolution. José, you are the source of reason.
"I will accept this responsibility," Rizal said softly and firmly, "if my words can save lives, guide the youth, and awaken the nation, then I shall serve." He exhaled slowly, his face displaying a mixture of disbelief and resolve. "But understand that I am loyal to the Filipino people, not to any particular person or scheme. I will speak, write, and instruct, but always for them."
"Then welcome, José... to the Ember Society (Samahan ng Alab)," the man said with a faint, approving smile on his lips.
Rizal's eyes lingered on the words, feeling the weight of their meaning. Ember. Flame. A spark that could ignite a nation. A secret society, hidden in shadows, yet ready to reshape the future.
"This… society," Rizal asked cautiously, "what is its purpose? Its… methods?"
"Follow me," the man said calmly but firmly, pointing to a narrow path that wound through the thick palms.
Rizal got up and followed, his senses keen, to a remote clearing where sunlight streamed through the trees in sharp beams, men and women moving with exact coordination, practicing formations, running drills, and using weapons with disciplined efficiency.
Rizal's eyes widened. "You… you train them like an army."
"We have to be prepared," the man said, nodding. "Words can't win every battle. Strength, strategy, and protection are just as important as enlightenment. But come with me."
They kept walking along the path until they came to a different building, a small building with open windows and sunlight streaming over rows of desks and benches, where students of all ages were learning history, philosophy, math, and literacy while their teacher moved among them, gently directing their hands and minds.
A wave of wonder washed over Rizal. "And this..."
"Yes," the man replied, turning to face him with steady eyes. "There are two fronts in the fight for our country. One with expertise, one with knowledge. We teach here. We guard out there. Additionally, both must cooperate. José, this is why we need you to lead this portion of the fight, to serve as a teacher and a diplomat, to mold minds while we protect them."
"This is the Ember Society," the man said, pointing to the compound. "Here, we awaken minds while shielding them from those who would put out the flame of liberation."
He handed Rizal a folded parchment. "This is our creed. Read it. Understand it. Live it."
Carefully unfolding the paper, Rizal scanned the bold phrase at the top:
"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted."
"This... does it mean that there are no rules?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Is that mayhem acceptable?"
The man shook his head, calm but firm. "No, José. It does not mean lawlessness. It means that the world you see—its history, its power, its oppression—is not absolute. To say that nothing is true is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile and that we must be the shepherds of our own civilization. To say that everything is permitted is to understand that we are the architects of our own actions and that we must live with the consequences, whether glorious or tragic."
Rizal's gaze swept over the entire creed, the tenets that each Ember member adhered to:
The Creed of the Ember Society
Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. The world is as it appears, yet none of it is absolute. Every choice carries consequences.
The flame guides us, but it must never blind us. Knowledge and action must always be tempered with wisdom.
Knowledge is power, but action shapes destiny. Ideas inspire, but deeds protect and transform.
Secrecy is survival; revelation is earned. Only the worthy may see the full truth.
Balance between mind and blade is our strength. Reason without courage is empty; courage without reason is reckless.
We protect the innocent, even when none watches. Our duty is to the people, not fame or fortune.
Our loyalty is to the nation, not the individual. Every member serves a higher cause.
Every choice carries a consequence; every action reflects a purpose. We are architects of fate; our steps must be deliberate, our hearts resolute.
We fight not for glory, but for freedom. Victory is the awakening of the nation, not the praise of men.
History is not written by fate, but by those who dare to act. The flames we light today will guide the world tomorrow.
Rizal's gaze lingered on the paper, taking in every word. This was more than just a list of regulations; it was a philosophy and a blueprint for a country that had yet to emerge.
"We act where others cannot," the man said, softening his gaze as if he could see the questions that were starting to form in Rizal's head. "We defend those who are unable to defend themselves. We shed light on minds kept in the dark by oppression and ignorance. Walking the path of fire and shadow is what it means to follow the creed; action and thought must coexist. Courage molds the will, while knowledge directs the hand. The flame goes out without both."
"This is what Ember demands of every member," he said, reaching out to the parchment. "To act, to think, and to responsibly bear the burden of freedom. To use authority with intention, to protect the defenseless, and to inspire the country with strength and reason. Living intentionally, acting wisely, and making sure that the flame we light today directs tomorrow is the true meaning of our creed: to live deliberately, to act with wisdom, and to ensure that the flame we light today guides tomorrow."
Rizal lowered the parchment slowly, eyes sharp. "Then… what's the plan? How does Ember change the course of our nation?"
"For now... we wait," the man said, his steady, unwavering gaze darkening. "We watch. José, even though few people realize it, the world is changing. Villages rise and fall under Spanish rule, and uprisings erupt throughout the islands. Some people are driven by courage, while others are overcome by fear. Every action has repercussions. Every whispered word of resistance, every death, and every glimmer of hope are all significant. However, acting carelessly would be a waste of our meager advantage.
Folding his hands over the paper, Rizal scowled and said, "So... we do nothing while people die?"
"Not nothing," the man remarked. "The Katipunan is fighting with heart, but without a clear plan, too many people end up hurt. Our job is to protect what we can and make sure that when the time comes, our actions actually count."
"You probably realized this back in Europe," he said calmly, "but Spain right now is stretched thin. They're dealing with colonies in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and here. Their leaders are divided, their people are tired, and their grip on power is weakening. Everywhere you look, the old systems are starting to crack."
He stopped to give Rizal time to process it. "The world is changing quickly. Revolutions are occurring everywhere, some covertly, some publicly. Japan is becoming more powerful, Europe is in disarray, and empires all over the world are fighting to maintain control. One tiny spark anywhere can start a chain reaction."
"And here," he stated gravely, "the Philippines is small but important. One spark, just one, can help us fight for freedom. Right now, our focus is on gathering allies, our fellowmen living all over the world. Scientists, thinkers, skilled people... we've been quietly connecting with them and helping them get ready. Every person we train, every connection we make... it makes our cause stronger."
....
The man said, "You should meet some of the people who are already carrying the flame before we move forward. Sandro, show our guest around."
"Yes, Supremo!" Sandro said with a small bow.
They went into a big room with tables piled high with small mechanical devices, notebooks, and blueprints. As they entered, a number of figures looked up.
The man said, "This is Lorenzo, our strategist. He's been coordinating our operations in the north and training others in tactical thinking." Lorenzo, a tall, composed man with keen eyes, gave a small nod of greeting.
The man went on, "And this is Amara, our communications expert," gesturing to a young woman who was fiddling with some wires and tiny gadgets. "She makes sure that our messages are safely received by members throughout the islands."
Rizal leaned in, curious. "Across the islands?"
"Yes," Sandro replied with a slight smile. "And beyond. We have our fellow countrymen abroad—Filipinos studying in Europe, Japan, and America. Scientists, engineers, and medical experts. They send back knowledge, designs, and training guides so that everyone will be ready when the time comes."
They passed shelves of documents, machinery, and metal components as they continued into the compound. Sandro pointed to a table with blueprints on it. "This is our innovation wing. Scientists, engineers, blacksmiths, and inventors work here. They design tools for the revolution—things that protect, surprise, and save lives."
When Rizal saw a table filled with detailed blueprints of rifles, handguns, and even experimental weapons with peculiar mechanisms, his eyes grew wide. Beside them were small models and prototypes, some polished, others still rough with exposed springs and gears.
A young engineer glanced up from a rifle that was only partially completed. "We're testing barrel lengths and trigger mechanisms," she stated with enthusiasm. "Accuracy, speed, durability. Fighters need to move fast, shoot fast."
"Some of these designs came from abroad—how, no one really knows. Only our Supremo understands the full story. But most of these ideas..." come from him," said a second man, looking at a blueprint under a magnifying glass.
With a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, Rizal moved closer. He nodded to Sandro, who was observing calmly from the middle of the room, and whispered, "Who is he, actually?"
Sandro looked after him.
The man stood composedly among the engineers and artisans across the room. He didn't say much, but everyone seemed to revolve around him. When he came over, some of them stopped what they were doing, listening intently as he said a few quiet words, and then they went back to their work with renewed concentration.
Sandro's mouth curled slightly.
"All of this was built by him," he declared.
Rizal scowled a little. "That doesn't address my query."
Sandro laughed quietly, but his expression was one of respect.
He acknowledged, "Most of us don't know everything about him." Some claim he is from overseas. Some claim he just showed up when the revolution started to veer off course.
After a brief period of silence, Rizal asked the same question once more.
"And what is his name?"
Sandro paused.
He glanced briefly at the man everyone referred to as Supremo, who was now studying one of the weapon prototypes and having a quiet conversation with an engineer.
Sandro then faced Rizal once more.
He said calmly, "You will learn it soon enough."