"Ashes of Crestfall: The Rise of Aaron San Agustin"

After the call ended, Aaron sat still for a moment, phone resting in his palm, the quiet hum of the electric fan brushing against his sweat-dampened skin. Outside, the sun had risen higher, casting long shadows from the old wooden fence across the dusty yard. A rooster crowed in the distance, echoing through the rice fields shimmering like a sea of gold.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, steadying the thundering in his chest. Then, with a final flick of his thumb, he sent his current location pin to Daniel Hayes.

Almost immediately, a confirmation message arrived:

"Thank you, Mr. San Agustin. Your pickup will arrive within ninety minutes. Kindly prepare your identification documents for smooth verification at the Velmont City branch."

Aaron stood and began to move quietly around the room, gathering his worn duffel bag, rolling up a set of clean fatigues, his few casual shirts, and his old leather wallet. His military dog tags clinked softly against each other as he picked them up from the small table and slipped them around his neck.

He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The man staring back at him seemed both familiar and foreign—his face sharper now, tanned from years under desert suns and tropical rains, his shoulders broader, posture straighter, and his eyes… colder. Harder. But deeper, too, like dark wells carved out by years of silent storms.

Are you ready for this? he asked his reflection.

He didn't need to answer. Because he knew—ready or not, his life was already shifting.

Outside, Aunt Colleen was washing vegetables by the cement sink. She looked up, startled, as Aaron stepped out with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Where are you going, Aaron?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

He hesitated, feeling the words thick in his throat. "To Velmont City, Auntie. For… business."

She studied him with those tired, loving eyes that seemed to see far beyond what others could. "Business," she repeated softly. "You're different now, Aaron. When the boy who left Crestfall… he's become a man."

He swallowed hard, chest tightening at her gentle pride. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling the thinness of her shoulders, the softness of her hair against his cheek.

"Thank you for everything, Auntie. Don't worry, I'll be back soon," he whispered.

She patted his back, her hands trembling slightly. "Go, Aaron. Go and find the life you were meant for. But never forget where you came from."

"I won't," he promised, releasing her gently.

They stood together for a moment in silence, listening to the cicadas and distant barking dogs. Then, a low rumble shook the ground beneath them. Aunt Colleen frowned and turned toward the rice fields beyond their yard.

"What's that sound?" she asked.

Aaron squinted into the bright horizon. Dust rose in thick plumes from the main dirt road leading into Crestfall. At first, he thought it was just another convoy of farm trucks carrying sugarcane and rice sacks to the city markets.

But as the roaring grew louder, the shape became clearer—a convoy of armored black SUVs, their tinted windows glinting under the sun, flanked by four dark military-style escort vehicles with armed personnel visible through open side doors.

Gasps rose from neighbors nearby as children ran to the roadside, eyes wide with awe. Women carrying woven baskets paused mid-step, their mouths falling open.

Then, overhead, a deafening hum swept across the fields.

Aaron looked up and felt his breath catch in his chest.

Descending toward the flattened grass clearing beside the old community hall was a sleek corporate private jet, its silver body gleaming against the blue sky. The engines roared with a power that vibrated through the soil, bending the thin stalks of rice as it slowed to a gentle landing.

People screamed in astonishment, rushing from nearby houses. Farmers abandoned their plows, and old men on benches stood shakily, shading their eyes with calloused hands.

"Is that… is that for a senator?" someone whispered.

"No… I heard a convoy picked up a wealthy foreign investor this morning. Some say… royalty," another murmured.

"The Americans must be here for investment deals," an old woman speculated, crossing herself.

But as the hatch opened and an elegant stair ramp lowered, all eyes turned to the convoy stopping in front of Aunt Colleen's yard.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark gray suit stepped out of the lead SUV, flanked by four black-suited security escorts. His silver tie clip gleamed under the sun as he walked toward Aaron with a purposeful stride, hand extended.

"Mr. San Agustin?" he called, his voice cutting cleanly through the murmuring crowd.

Aaron stepped forward, feeling dozens of eyes burning into him. "Yes," he said calmly.

The man smiled warmly. "Daniel Hayes, Senior Account Manager, World Financial Bank. It's an honor to finally meet you in person, sir." He gestured toward the waiting jet. "Your flight is ready. Please allow us to assist with your belongings."

Aaron blinked, the surreal magnitude of the moment pounding through him in slow, heavy waves. He handed over his duffel bag, feeling its worn strap slip from his calloused hand into the white-gloved grip of an attendant.

"Depart." Glanced back to her auntie, noticing her approval. He replied.

As he walked with Daniel toward the convoy, children shouted his name, some screaming excitedly:

"Is he a movie star?"

"Is he a soldier general?"

"Maybe he's the President's son!"

But Aaron's face remained unreadable, his gaze locked forward, scanning each vehicle, each armed escort, each tinted window with silent calculation. The cicadas screamed louder in the shimmering heat as he climbed the jet's steps, feeling the air-conditioned cold brush against his sunburned skin.

Inside, the leather seats gleamed under recessed lights. Polished wood panels lined the aisle, and a faint scent of fresh lavender drifted from hidden vents. He sank into the cushioned seat by the window, his heart hammering in a controlled, deliberate rhythm.

Daniel sat opposite him, tablet in hand. "We'll arrive at Velmont City's international executive terminal within forty-five minutes, sir. From there, our bank motorcade will escort you directly to the branch for your biometric verification and private consultation."

Aaron didn't respond. He stared out the small oval window as the engines roared to life, feeling the jet begin to roll across the clearing. Outside, hundreds of villagers gathered, phones raised, their faces blurred by distance but clear in their awe.

As the wheels lifted off the ground, he felt Crestfall fall away beneath him—its narrow roads, weathered rooftops, rice fields, and wooden fences shrinking into a patchwork of greens and browns. The place that birthed him now seemed like another world entirely.

And within him, beyond the steady rush of engines, beyond the muted conversation of Daniel's team, rose a single, silent thought:

This is only the beginning.

Because the boy they ignored had become the man they would never forget.