Threads of a Shattered Legacy

In the heart of Kabunlawan, where the air hummed with distant whispers of magic and despair, a bard's voice rang out.

They stood atop an intricately carved wooden platform, a relic from a time when this land flourished unchallenged. The bard's song—a lament for Barangay Saliksik—flowed like a haunting river, weaving imagery of radiant days turned to ash, of villagers swallowed by despair, and of monstrous forms birthed by cursed emotions.

The crowd listened in silence, their faces betraying a mix of pity and unease. The song dug deep into the hearts of the listeners, but none felt it as keenly as the young man standing at the front of the crowd. His fists were clenched, eyes burning with an intensity that matched the fiery words of the bard.

Each verse seemed to ignite something within him—a fire fueled by grief and defiance. Saliksik was gone, and with it, everything he had known, everything he had loved. But this grief wasn't going to break him; it was going to strengthen his resolve.

Kabunlawan's streets stretched before him—bustling yet strangely hollow. The settlement thrived on the edge of despair, its towering golden obelisks casting a soft, protective glow.

These were the Weaver Pillars, part of the Loom System, standing firm as the foundation of safety for the inhabitants. They pulsed with a subtle energy that wove the settlement's emotional balance, keeping the monsters at bay. The air was thick with a constant hum, the remnants of that delicate harmony.

A curious inscription was etched at the base of the nearest obelisk:

"To weave harmony is to weave survival. All threads must align."

The young man stopped in his tracks, his hand brushing over the glowing sigils. It wasn't just the obelisks that ensured safety—it was the people themselves. Every individual in Kabunlawan contributed to the emotional harmony that kept the Loom intact.

Weavers, Anchors, and Conduits—these were the categories that defined their role. Those able to synchronize their emotions with the Loom's pulse formed the backbone of the settlement's protection.

Level 1 settlements like Kabunlawan thrived because their emotional web was tightly woven. Meanwhile, Level 0 areas—like Saliksik—had no such luxury. In those places, without the Loom's structure, despair twisted into the monsters that had consumed everything.

The young man's jaw tightened at the thought of Saliksik's tragedy. It wasn't just the monsters—it was the abandonment, the knowledge that they had been left to unravel alone, without the safeguards of the Loom to keep their emotions in check.

The bard's song came to an end, leaving a haunting silence in its wake. The audience shifted uneasily, murmuring among themselves. The young man moved through the crowd, his feet carrying him through the familiar streets of Kabunlawan. This was his life now: a life intertwined with the Loom, the last thread of stability in a world that seemed determined to unravel.

He passed by a stall hawking charms designed to amplify one's connection to the Loom and another selling rumors of a rogue faction seeking to bypass the Loom entirely—methods that were whispered to be forbidden.

The murmurs of danger were always there, a constant reminder that even in a settlement protected by magic, the very fabric of their society was being tested.

A commotion ahead drew his attention to the central plaza.

A figure dressed in tattered robes stood on a makeshift stage, addressing a small crowd. Their eyes glinted unnaturally, and their voice carried an eerie resonance, the kind that sent a chill down his spine.

"The threads of Auralis are frayed, stretched beyond mending," the seer intoned. "The Sovereign Weave, long forgotten, stirs once more.

The crowd hushed, a murmur of nervous anticipation rippling through them. The seer raised their trembling hand toward the heavens.

"Beware," they warned, their voice growing louder, almost echoing. "For a crest unseen by many will rise in light and shadow. It will break the silence of the ancients, unravelling both harmony and despair. Those who cling to their threads shall find them tested. Those who have no weave shall awaken a force far greater than the Loom itself."

The words hung in the air like an invisible weight. Some dismissed it as the ramblings of a mystic too long steeped in cryptic riddles. Others, however, exchanged uneasy glances, whispers of fear and hope swirling in the crowd.

The seer's gaze swept across the crowd before lingering on the young man. Their eyes, gleaming with an unsettling knowing, met his for the briefest moment. Without a word, the seer reached into their robes and pulled out a small, glowing crest. With deliberate slowness, they placed it into his hands.

"Keep it," the seer murmured. "It may be best for you to hold onto this for now."

Judio stood frozen, confusion swirling within him, just as it did for the others in the crowd. Why him? Why had the seer singled him out?

The seer's voice echoed again, almost lost in the whispers around them. "Only those who understand the broken threads will find the path forward."

With that, the seer disappeared into the shadows, leaving the crowd in stunned silence.

Judio's fingers tightened around the crest, its faint glow pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He didn't know why the seer had given it to him, nor what it meant. But there was something undeniably significant about the way it felt in his hands, a pull he couldn't quite explain.

As he turned the crest over, he caught sight of the book still clutched in his other hand—The Loom System: A Must for Students Before the Age of Awakening. The worn pages, heavy with use, now felt almost oppressive.

The diagrams inside seemed to mock him, a reminder of the pressure to master the emotional control the Loom demanded before the Age of Awakening. One year left—one year to perfect the synchronization with the Loom's complex web. But how could he, when the very threads of harmony seemed to be fraying?

A sigh escaped his lips. The Loom's rules had kept him safe thus far, but Saliksik had been a reminder of how fragile that safety was. The Loom, for all its power, couldn't save everyone.

He continued walking, his steps slow as his thoughts spiraled. When a voice broke through the haze of his contemplation, he startled.

"Judio!"

He turned to find Nena, her long hair bouncing with each step as she jogged toward him, her face lighting up with a rare, bright smile.

Despite the heavy weight of their shared grief, Nena's warmth always brought a flicker of light to his day.

"You're always so serious," she teased, noticing the book in his hands. "Still studying the Loom System?"

Judio gave a small smile, trying to push aside the unease gnawing at him. "Finals, Nena. You know how it is."

"Of course I do. That's why I'm already prepared!" she shot back with a grin, tapping the side of her head. "I'll leave the overstudying to you."

The school bell rang sharply, interrupting their conversation. Nena's eyes widened.

"Ah! I've got to run. Don't want to be late. Good luck with the exams!"

"Good luck to you too," Judio called after her, watching as she disappeared into the crowd of students.

With a deep breath, he tucked the book and notes under his arm and made his way inside. The classroom was modest, with wooden desks arranged neatly in rows. His seat, near the back, offered a view of the chalkboard, but his mind wasn't focused on the material. Instead, it wandered back to the seer's cryptic warning: "Those who have no weave shall awaken a force far greater than the Loom itself."

The thought sent a chill through him. What did it mean? And, more importantly, why did it feel so closely tied to him?

As the instructor arrived and the room settled into a hushed silence, Judio pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the exam before him. For now, the Loom's threads were all that mattered.