The wind howled across the hills of Cebu, not with monsoon fury, but with the rustle of banners. Red ones.
From the hills near Toledo, peasants marched. Not with torches and pitchforks—but with stolen rifles, machetes, and flags bearing a crude sun pierced by a crown. The banner of the so-called "Free Cebu Movement."
At their head rode Domingo Reyes, a former landowner turned revolutionary, with a scar down his cheek and a polished Aragonese rifle slung across his back. His words echoed in every barrio:
"Aragon promised autonomy. What we got were their rules, their taxes, their teachers telling our children to speak Kareyan instead of Binisaya. We fought off one empire before. We'll do it again."
