The air in the dimly lit house was heavy with tension. Shadows flickered across the faces of the gathered villagers—men and women who had lived under the iron fist of General Esteban for years. Carlos, Solomon, Carlos’s father, and his father-in-law—the village doctor—stood at the center of the room, facing the small crowd of family, close friends, and trusted villagers.

Carlos’s father-in-law, a man respected for his wisdom and experience, had spent the last hour trying to convince them of the necessity of rebellion. He used the same logic Carlos had once used to convince himself—that there was no future under Esteban's rule, that their only chance at freedom was to strike before the general returned.

But fear ran deep in the hearts of the people.

Many in the room had suffered at the hands of Esteban’s men. They bore scars, both seen and unseen. Yet, despite their suffering, none had dared to rise up against him before. And now, even with the promise of freedom dangling in front of them, hesitation clouded their eyes.

“What if we fail?” an older man muttered. “If we fight and lose, it won’t just be us. Our families will be butchered.”

“He has too much power,” another added. “Even if we kill the ones he left behind, what happens when he returns? He’ll burn this village to the ground.”

Carlos clenched his fists. This was what he had feared. He had expected hesitation, but not this level of submission.

And then, a thought crept into his mind—a dark, ruthless thought.

What if we can't afford to let them leave?

If even one person here betrayed their plan, the entire rebellion would be crushed before it even began. Carlos slowly turned his head, locking eyes with his father. He didn’t need to speak. The old man’s sharp gaze told him that he was thinking the same thing.

No leaks. No risks.

Carlos looked back at the crowd. The weight of his decision pressed against his chest. If they refuse to join, do we silence them?

The tension in the room was thick, a bomb waiting for a single spark.

And then, a voice—soft but firm—cut through the silence.

"If you all wait passively, thinking Esteban won't come for you, then you couldn't be more wrong."

All eyes turned toward the speaker.

Jamie.

The young woman stood beside Solomon, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her face was pale, but her dark eyes burned with determination. She could feel Solomon’s steady presence beside her, his silent support giving her courage.

"Today, it's us," Jamie continued, her voice stronger now. "Tomorrow, it will be you. If we don't stand up and resist Esteban, we won't have a future."

The villagers remained still, uncertainty lingering on their faces.

"You've spent your entire lives in fear. Do you want your children to live the same way?" Jamie’s voice rose with emotion. "Do you want them to grow up as nothing more than trembling slaves?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some lowered their heads, ashamed. Others looked at their children, realization dawning on them.

But not everyone was convinced.

"You stupid girl!" a young man snarled, stepping forward. He was no older than twenty, with a hardened face and wild eyes. "You think words will change anything? You're going to get us all killed!"

He raised his hand, his palm swinging toward Jamie’s face.

She froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she instinctively closed her eyes, bracing for the impact—

—but it never came.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Solomon standing in front of her, his fingers wrapped tightly around the young man's wrist.

A second later, Carlos moved, his massive frame lunging forward like a bear. He grabbed the young man in a vice-like hold, squeezing hard enough to make him groan in pain.

Jamie’s heart pounded in her chest. For a moment, she thought she had failed.

And then, a voice rang out from the crowd.

"I'll fight!"

A boy—no older than thirteen—stepped forward, his fists clenched. His eyes burned with defiance.

"I'll fight," he repeated, louder this time. "I won't be a coward."

His words ignited something in the room.

Another boy stepped forward. Then a man. Then a woman. One by one, more and more villagers stood, their fear giving way to something new—determination.

Solomon watched in silence, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

Carlos, still holding the struggling young man, leaned down and whispered in his ear, “What about you? You still Esteban’s dog?”

The young man hesitated, then spat, “I'm no dog. And I sure as hell ain't gonna let a bunch of cowards decide my fate.”

He looked around the room, then smirked. “Besides, you old men are too slow. If there’s a rebellion, we’ll need someone young to lead the charge.”

Carlos laughed—a deep, booming sound—and released him.

"Then I guess we have ourselves a rebellion," he said.

A hushed silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of the village doctor’s voice.

"If we do this," he said, his tone grave, "there’s no turning back."

Carlos stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the villagers. “Then we make sure we win.”

And with those words, the rebellion of the village began.

---

Us

The young man who had previously raised his hand against Jamie slowly approached her with lowered eyes and a guilty expression. He hesitated as he got closer, until Solomon’s cold gaze forced him to stop.

The young man raised his head, looking into Jamie’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed before, but now that he saw her up close, he was mesmerized by her beauty. Unlike the prettiest village girls or the charming widows who loved to tease young men, Jamie had a scholarly charm, a quiet elegance that made her stand out.

For a moment, he forgot why he had even approached her.

A short cough from Solomon snapped him back to reality, and his face turned red with embarrassment. Jamie, watching his struggle, couldn’t help but laugh.

The young man quickly composed himself and introduced himself, apologizing for his earlier outburst.

Jamie, still amused, raised an eyebrow. “Why did you react like that before?”

The young man looked conflicted, unsure if he should tell the truth. But then, as if trying to impress her—or perhaps because of something deeper—he blurted out, “It was an act.”

Jamie frowned. “An act?”

The young man nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to see if you were serious about fighting Esteban… like us.”

Solomon, who had remained silent, suddenly intervened. His voice was cold and sharp.

“Who is ‘us’?’”

The young man’s smirk faded.

And just like that, a new mystery was born within the rebellion.