November 16, 1814. Intramuros
Andres was walking down the streets of Intramuros. He needed to walk around so that he could gather his thoughts about the future of the Philippines under his term. He still hasn't used the system that was granted to him by the Goddess of Fate as he believed the Spanish might interfere with it due to the progressive nature of some of the technologies.
If he wants to use the system, he must get rid of Spain first.
And then, unexpectedly, he saw a familiar figure.
Sarah Whitmore.
She was standing near a fabric stall, her posture elegant despite the bustle of the market. She wore Spanish clothing this time an ivory dress trimmed with soft lace, modest yet refined, her figure framed by the flowing cut. A silk shawl, pale blue, draped lightly over her shoulders. Her platinum-blonde hair caught the sunlight like strands of gold, and her bright blue eyes, sharp yet gentle, stood out all the more against her fair complexion.
Andres's steps faltered. For a moment, the noise of the street dulled, as if the world itself had bent inward around her. Even among the mestizas and criolla women who filled Intramuros, Sarah was different and beautiful.
She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping across the crowd—and then their eyes met.
Her lips parted faintly in surprise, before softening into a smile.
"Lieutenant Novales," she greeted. "We meet again!"
Andres inclined his head politely, though his chest tightened at the sight of her smile. "Señorita Whitmore. I did not expect to find you here."
Sarah tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "And where else would I be? Even we foreigners must buy our silks and threads somewhere." She gestured lightly at the stallkeeper who was wrapping fabric in neat bundles. Then, lowering her voice just a touch, she added, "Or perhaps it is simply coincidence… fate allowing us another meeting?"
The corner of Andres's lips tugged faintly. "If it is fate, then I cannot say I mind its hand."
Sarah blinked, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. She looked away briefly, pretending to inspect the fabric in her hand, though her fingers fumbled slightly with the lace.
Andres took a step closer, lowering his tone so only she could hear. "Forgive me if I am forward, Señorita… but seeing you here is not something I wish to let pass. Would you care to walk with me?"
Sarah's lashes lifted, her blue eyes meeting his again. There was hesitation—she was, after all, a sheltered girl, watched over by her family's expectations. But then, a small, bashful smile curved her lips.
"I… suppose I could spare some time," Sarah murmured, her fingers brushing against the folded fabric in her arms.
Andres offered his hand lightly, not to touch, but to guide her into the moving crowd. "Then allow me the honor."
They fell into step together, moving through the bustling heart of Intramuros. Carriages rattled by on the cobblestones, mestizo clerks carried ledgers beneath their arms, and criolla women haggled loudly with fishmongers near the gate. Above it all, the bells of San Agustin tolled softly.
Sarah glanced at him as they walked, her shawl fluttering with the breeze. "Don't you have work today, Lieutenant? I would think the army would keep you very busy."
Andres gave a small chuckle. "I do. But garrison duty is not so strict that I cannot walk through the city when time allows. I am, after all, an officer." He looked at her sidelong. "And sometimes, an officer must learn the art of diplomacy—walking with a lady, for instance."
Sarah's cheeks tinged pink, and she looked ahead quickly, hiding the small smile tugging at her lips. "You tease, Señor… I mean, Andres."
He let the sound of his name linger between them, more pleasant in her voice than in any officer's.
They passed beneath the stone archways, and Sarah began speaking again, her voice lighter now, touched with enthusiasm.
"You know, these streets are far older than they appear. When Intramuros was first built, some of the walls were raised with stones from the very churches the Spaniards destroyed. And the corners of the bastions—you can still see the marks where cannons once stood during the British occupation."
Andres blinked, surprised. "You've studied the city?"
"Of course!" she said brightly, her blue eyes sparkling as she turned to him. "When my family returned from Macau, I thought—if this is to be my home, I must learn its stories. Every stone, every gate, every church has one." She pointed as they passed a row of houses. "There, the old Ayuntamiento. Did you know officials once argued for days about the taxes on imported silks? And over there—the cathedral. Rebuilt so many times, yet it always rises again."
She spoke quickly, her hands moving as she described each landmark, her words bubbling with energy. Her voice carried the rhythm of someone who found joy in sharing what she knew, and the way she lit up as she spoke was enough to soften the harshest of days.
Andres found himself falling silent—not because he wasn't interested, but because he was simply watching her. The way her shawl slipped a little as she gestured, the way the sunlight caught the gold in her hair, the way her eyes shone when she laughed lightly at her own stories.
At one point, Sarah noticed. She had turned mid-sentence, ready to point at the Plaza de Roma, only to see Andres's gaze fixed squarely on her. His expression was calm, but there was something in his eyes—focused, intent, almost mesmerized.
Her steps faltered, her words caught. "W-Why are you looking at me like that?"
Andres didn't flinch. "Because you look… happy."
Her breath hitched, and a flush spread quickly across her cheeks. She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders, suddenly very aware of the crowd around them.
"Y-You shouldn't say such things so plainly," she stammered, her voice dropping into a softer, embarrassed tone.
But the small smile that betrayed her gave her away—she was pleased, even if she could barely admit it.
Andres let the corner of his lips curve faintly. "I only spoke the truth."
Sarah bit her lip, trying to suppress the flutter in her chest as they continued their walk.