Draven Alaric de la Vega is my name.
But that wasn't the name I was given at birth.
Not the first life I lived, either.
I lived in a different time, long before this world, when Manila was full of revolution and gunpowder. A time when the Philippines was already a country. A time when monuments were built with the name José Rizal on them and history books were written about him.
A time when I wasn't anything special.
I was just another person reading about heroes who had passed away.
I remember classrooms with dusty books all over the place. I remember reading about revolutions and brave men who fought against impossible odds. I remember being proud and angry.
Because history always seemed to be missing something.
Too many heroes died too soon.
A lot of revolutions failed before they even started.
And one day, without any warning—
My life was over.
Everything was swallowed by darkness.
After that, I opened my eyes again.
Not in the modern world I once knew…
But in the Philippines of Spanish rule.
I thought it was a dream at first.
Until I felt hunger.
Until I felt pain.
Until I learned that this life was real.
I was born in a small village along the banks of the Pasig River, not far from Manila. My father was a teacher. He was a quiet, smart man who thought that learning was the key to freedom. My mother was a healer, and people in the nearby barrios knew her for her kindness.
They were nice people.
People that history doesn't usually remember.But even as a kid, I remembered everything from my past life.
I remembered what was going to happen.
I remembered the revolutions.
I remembered the blood.
And I remembered how much the Philippines would have to go through before it could be free.
I tried to ignore it at first.
I was only a kid.
What could I do?
But the Spanish Empire had a way of making you face the truth.
Things changed when I was ten years old.
The sun had barely risen that morning when the soldiers arrived.
Their horses made a loud noise as they rode through the village road, like a storm coming. Spanish voices yelled orders as people ran away in fear.
I can still hear the sound of boots kicking open our door.
My dad calmly stepped forward and stood between the soldiers and our house.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.
The officer sneered.
He asked, "What does this mean?"
The officer laughed.
He said in Spanish, "Rebel sympathizers."
I remember my dad shaking his head.
"We're teachers," he said. "That's it."
"To the Empire, that is sometimes worse."
The soldiers looked through the house.
Books.
Papers.
Letters.
My dad had been teaching the villagers how to read.
Telling them about their rights.
About freedom.
About dignity.
That was enough.
I remember my mom grabbing my shoulders and pushing me behind her.
"Run," she said softly.
But I couldn't move.
Because in that moment—
I knew exactly how this would end.
History had already told me.
The officer drew his pistol.
The gunshot echoed through the house.
My dad fell.
My mom yelled and ran toward him.
The second shot silenced her.
I still remember how quiet the world got after that.
The soldiers left soon after, happy that their message had been sent.
Rebels.
Traitors.
Anyone who dared to think differently would be crushed.
I sat there for hours.
Staring at the bodies of the two people who had given me this life.
"I'm sorry," I whispered hoarsely.
My voice felt small in the empty house.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
My fists slowly clenched.
"But I promise…"
My voice hardened.
"I will make sure this never happens again."
Something inside me broke that day.
But something else was born as well.
Because unlike the other villagers…
I knew the future.
I knew the Spanish Empire would fall.
I knew revolutions were coming.
And I knew that the Philippines would have to go through a lot of pain before they could finally be free.
Unless someone changed the story.
Unless someone prepared the nation before the storm arrived.
That was the day I made my decision.
I would not simply live in history.
I would rewrite it.
Years went by.
I learned as much as I could about medicine, languages, engineering, strategy, and philosophy.
Things we know about this world.
Things I learned in my past life.
I started to build something, piece by piece.
In a quiet way.
With care.
Filipinos who thought their country deserved more.
Researchers.
Fighters.
People who come up with new things.
Educators.
Men and women who are ready to fight not only with swords, but also with words.
That small circle grew into something bigger over time.
Something dangerous.
Something the Spanish Empire would never see coming.
We called it The Ember Society.
Because every revolution begins with a single spark.
And today…
That spark had changed history.
I saved a man who was supposed to die.
I saved José Rizal.
I saw him talking quietly with Sandro among the engineers and blueprints across the compound.
The man who would go down in history as a martyr.
The man whose death once brought out the Filipino spirit.
But now?
He would live now.
He would now lead minds instead of inspiring them through tragedy.
The past was already starting to change.
And this time...
The Philippines would be ready.
Behind me, footsteps approached quietly.
A familiar voice said, "You're thinking too much again."
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder.
With his arms folded, Lorenzo leaned against the wall and silently laughed as he observed the workshop.
"That's usually how plans succeed," I replied.
He chuckled.
"Or how men go insane."
Perhaps both.
My eyes drifted back toward Rizal.
I had read a ton of books about the Philippine Revolution in a past life. The Katipunan. the Empire of Spain. the bloody conflict that would ultimately result in the creation of a nation.
But books never told the full story.
They spoke of heroes.
Of martyrs.
Of battles.
What they rarely showed were the countless failures, the wasted lives, the missed opportunities.
The revolution had heart.
But it lacked preparation.
And history had punished the Philippines for that.
That… was why I was here.
Why fate—or something beyond it—had allowed me to be reborn.
A second chance.
Not just to live again.
But to change everything.
I straightened slightly and stepped away from the doorway.
Across the room, Rizal's gaze suddenly shifted toward me.
Sharp.
Observant.
Even now, he was studying me the same way he studied everything else in the world.
The man who had interrupted his execution.
The man everyone called Supremo.
His curiosity was inevitable.
Sooner or later, he would ask the question everyone eventually did.
Who are you?
And when that moment came… I would finally answer it.
Because despite all the secrecy, despite the shadows and the hidden war we were preparing—
I was not just a ghost in history.
I was a man.
A man with a name.
I stepped forward into the light of the workshop.
The conversations around the room quieted slightly as the engineers noticed my presence. Respectful nods followed, some bowing their heads briefly before returning to their work.
My gaze met Rizal's.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I said calmly,
"Allow me to introduce myself properly."
The room grew still.
"My name is Draven Alaric de la Vega."
I folded my hands behind my back.
"Founder of the Ember Society."
My eyes met Rizal's with quiet certainty.
"And the man who intends to change the fate of this nation."