Setting: Intramuros, Manila, 1800. The Spanish colonial capital, teeming with life.
The fiesta mood is starkly at odds with the simmering political tensions.
Hawkers peddle their wares in the boisterous market, and the smell of roasting lechón wafts through the air.
Horses trot by, their hooves pounding on cobblestone streets,
as the sound of kundiman drifts through the market.
The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the streets as the vibrant celebration begins.
Colorful papel de hapon (thin paper lanterns) adorn the buildings, swaying gently in the breeze.

Miguel Alcantara, a tall, broad-shouldered fisherman in his late twenties,
walks through the crowded market carrying a basket of freshly caught fish.
His sun-kissed skin and calloused hands speak of a life spent under the tropical sun,
working at sea. His face is warm and gentle, framed by a wild tangle of black hair,
but his brown eyes are keen, showing a determination that's been long cultivated. Though he wears the humblest of clothes,
Miguel has an easy confidence about him, commanding respect from everyone he passes.

As he walks up to the flower stand of Tía Margarita,
an old woman with silver hair and warm, creased eyes, he beams at her.

Miguel: (grinning)
Tía Margarita, the best flowers for the most beautiful woman in Manila.

Tía Margarita: (laughs)
Ah, Miguel, you always say that. But you're right—Isabela deserves the best.

Miguel's smile falters slightly at the mention of Isabela. He looks across the market,
where a young woman stands, radiant and elegant. Isabela Rivera, in her early twenties,
has an air of grace and beauty that captivates everyone around her. Her long,
dark hair down her back, tied at the nape with a very simple comb
She is all in a neatly modestly embroidery-dress made for every beautiful movement.
With friends, they are chatting her, and at times, bursts of laughter was like music heard by Miguel.


Miguel: (whisper to himself)
I will marry that girl. Already.
Miguel chooses several of the largest, most beautifully colored flowers as he walks into Isabela's house.
Large, well maintained Spanish-style of house.
The garden is trimmed to perfection and features beautiful intricate ironwork. Isabela stands waiting at the gate, smiling upon seeing Miguel's approach.
Isabela: (teasing)
Miguel, you pamper me.
Miguel: (presenting the flowers)
For you, Isabela. You make every day a celebration.
As she reaches for the flowers, their fingers brush against each other; the moment speaks volumes about them.
They share a sweet kiss. Suddenly, stern voices interrupt their sweet moment when they hear the words of Don Miguel Rivera, Isabela's father:.
He stands on the balcony above, his expression a mix of affection and caution. A man in his late fifties, Don Rivera is tall and imposing, with silver-streaked hair combed neatly over his head.
His finely tailored clothes reflect his wealth and status as a successful merchant.

Don Rivera:
Miguel, a moment.

Miguel exchanges a worried glance with Isabela before stepping inside, the heavy wooden doors closing softly behind him.

The grand study is filled with the scent of polished wood and lanterns softly burning.
On the walls line rows of books, and over in one corner, a massive, ornate desk dominates. Don Rivera nods for Miguel to sit, then pours two glasses of wine. He studies Miguel intently, his brow furrowed in concern.

Don Rivera: (studying Miguel)
Miguel, I have been hearing some rumors. regarding you and Lorenzo.

Miguel: (surprised)
Lorenzo? He’s a blacksmith, Señor, a good man. What rumors?

Don Rivera: (lowering his voice)
They say he’s a member of the rebellion. You’ve been seen speaking to him late at night.
You must be careful, my son. The Spanish authorities are always watching.

Miguel: (defensive)
I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve only helped him fix his tools. Lorenzo is no traitor.

Don Rivera: (sighing deeply)
Miguel, I know your heart, and I know you want to do good. But sometimes good intentions are not enough.
If the authorities suspect you're involved with rebels, you'll be guilty by association. If that happens.
(he pauses, looking directly at Miguel) Isabela cannot marry a man marked as a traitor.

Miguel's chest tightens, the weight of his love for Isabela and loyalty to his friends crashing down on him.

Miguel: (gritting his teeth)
I would never betray you or Isabela. You have my word.

Don Rivera: (seriously)
I pray you're right. But take care, Miguel. If you're caught in the wrong company, it will be your ruin.

The local tavern is dimly lit, the air heavy with the smell of tobacco and spilled alcohol.
Rafael Salcedo, Miguel's oldest and closest friend, sits alone in a dark corner.
In his early thirties, Rafael is lean and dark-haired, with a sharp, angular face that often betrays his ambition.
His sharp eyes scan the room as he waits for Miguel.

When Miguel arrives, his carefree grin lights up the tavern.

Miguel: (clapping Rafael on the back)
I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me, old friend.

Rafael: (with a tight smile)
You're the one always disappearing on me, Miguel. You've become a man of high honor. (He raises a mocking eyebrow.)

Miguel laughs, ordering two drinks, unaware of Rafael's simmering jealousy.

Miguel:
Isabela and I are planning to speak with her father tomorrow.
I'll ask for her hand.

Rafael: (bitterly)
Isabela. Yes, she deserves a fine man like you.

Miguel pauses, sensing something off in Rafael's tone, but dismisses it.
They drink, oblivious to the betrayal forming in Rafael’s heart.

Later that night, Rafael sneaks through the dark streets of Intramuros.
He arrives at Capitán Morales’s office, knocking quietly. The Spanish officer,
a man with a cruel smile and air of entitlement, ushers him in.

Rafael: (in hushed tones)
Miguel Alcantara is meeting with the rebels. I’ve seen him with Lorenzo.
He plans to rise against the Spanish Crown.

Capitán Morales: (smiling coldly)
You have done a good job, Señor Salcedo. Your loyalty will not be forgotten.

Rafael's eyes sparkle with excitement, but his smile is hollow as he departs from the office.
The betrayal is complete.

Next morning, Miguel is out fishing in his tiny boat, throwing his net across the peaceful water.
The constant lapping of waves calms his thoughts, and he thinks only of Isabela. Then suddenly,
The galloping of horses cuts through the air.
On the shore, Spanish soldiers dismount, their boots pounding on cobblestones.

Capitán Morales steps forward, his face cold and unyielding.

Capitán Morales:
Miguel Alcantara, you are under arrest for conspiring against the Spanish Crown.

Miguel: (stunned, standing up in shock)
What are you talking about? I've done nothing!

The soldiers grab Miguel, pulling him toward the waiting cart.
He struggles, shouting in protest, but it's to no avail.
Miguel: (struggling)
Rafael! Tell them this is a mistake!
But Rafael is nowhere to be found. From afar, Isabela watches,
her face pale with fear and confusion, tears streaming as Miguel is dragged away.
Isabela: (whispering, as tears fall)
Miguel. no.
Closing Scene: The Prison Ship
Miguel sits in chains aboard a prison ship bound for a distant island.
The wind howls as the ship sails further from Manila.
His face is set with grim determination, his heart heavy with betrayal but burning with resolve.

Miguel: (whispering, to himself)
This is not the end. It's only the beginning.

The ship sails on, disappearing into the vast horizon, as the screen fades to black.