Antonio Luna arrived without ceremony.
He was thirteen—two years older than Alejandro—and already carried himself like someone accustomed to command. His posture was rigid, his eyes sharp, his movements impatient. He spoke quickly, argued faster, and seemed perpetually dissatisfied with the world around him.
Alejandro watched him from across the room as introductions were made.
"This is my cousin's son," Rosalia said. "Alejandro."
Antonio glanced at him briefly. "From Mindanao?"
"Yes."
Antonio's eyebrow rose. "That explains the silence."
Alejandro did not react. Instead, he studied Antonio—his stance, his breathing, the tension in his shoulders. Brilliant, Alejandro concluded. But tightly wound. Dangerous when provoked.
Their first real conversation came during a lesson. Antonio challenged a tutor openly, pointing out a flaw in the explanation of artillery theory. The tutor bristled.
Alejandro spoke quietly. "The principle is correct," he said, "but the example lacks terrain context."
The room stilled.
Antonio turned sharply. "Explain."
Alejandro did—briefly, clearly, without arrogance. He described elevation, supply limits, and movement constraints using language appropriate to the era, but grounded in timeless logic.
Antonio stared at him.
"You think like a soldier," he said slowly.
Alejandro met his gaze. "Soldiers must think."
From that moment, something shifted.
Antonio began testing him—posing questions, arguing positions, pushing for reactions. Alejandro never rose to the bait. He countered only when necessary, and when he did, his logic was unassailable.
What unsettled Antonio was not that Alejandro disagreed—but that he did so without emotion.
One afternoon, Antonio snapped. "You never show anger. Do you even care?"
Alejandro answered honestly. "Anger clouds judgment. Judgment saves lives."
Antonio fell silent.
That night, Alejandro reflected carefully. In his past life, Antonio Luna's temper had alienated allies and fueled internal conflict. Alejandro knew that confronting it directly would fail.
So instead, he resolved to anchor it.
Over the following weeks, Alejandro became a quiet constant—offering perspective, not correction. Strategy, not ego. Over time, Antonio's arguments sharpened. His discipline improved.
Unknowingly, history began to bend.
Two boys stood at the edge of greatness—one driven by fire, the other by foresight.
This time, they would not burn alone.