Weaving Dreams, Thread by Thread IV

The Kabunlawan Small Academy was no grand institution. Its stone walls, weathered by time, bore the weight of forgotten ambitions. The wooden beams that framed its archways creaked under the afternoon heat, the scent of old parchment mixing with the faint, lingering smell of incense from the morning blessings.

A long line of students stretched across the courtyard, voices a murmur of anticipation and nerves. Today was the beginning of their journey—one that would take them beyond this modest academy to the towering halls of the Union Academy, where the true trials would begin.

Judio stood among them, hands in his pockets, his heart steady yet unquiet.

This moment should have felt like progress. It should have been the first step toward something greater. And yet, as he looked ahead, toward the registration booth, it felt like stepping through a doorway that had been sealed for years.

A doorway that led back to a past he had never seen, yet carried with him like a scar.

The wooden counter where the scribes sat was littered with ink stains and frayed parchment edges, the smell of drying ink thick in the air. A scribe, middle-aged with deep-set eyes, barely glanced up as Judio stepped forward. He dipped his quill into ink, flipping open the registration ledger.

"Name," the man said, voice dry with disinterest.

Judio hesitated.

He had never known Barangay Saliksik. He had never walked its paths, never stood beneath the trees where his ancestors once gathered. He had never seen the sunrise over its fields or felt the ground shake when the monsters came.

He had not been born when it fell.

And yet, he carried its weight, its loss etched into his mother's voice, in the quiet grief she carried like a ghost at her side.

"Your father, Lakan, stood his ground when the monsters came," she had told him once, when he was old enough to ask. "He died so you could be born. He died before he ever held you."

The quill scratched against the parchment, waiting.

Judio swallowed the tightness in his throat.

"Judio," he said, voice steady. "Of Barangay Saliksik."

The quill stopped mid-stroke.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, like ripples on still water, murmurs stirred through the students in line. Someone exhaled sharply. A name long buried had been spoken again.

The scribe's face remained unreadable. After a pause, he resumed writing.

"Registered as a common student. Take your enlistment letter."

A sealed parchment slid across the counter. Judio took it, the wax insignia pressing against his palm like a silent decree.

He turned away, but he could still feel the weight of eyes on him.

The bulletin board stood beneath the shade of an ancient narra tree, its wooden surface pinned with fresh lists, names scrawled in crisp lettering. A crowd had gathered, reading over their classifications, eyes darting back and forth as if hoping their futures would be written with a flick of a finger.

Six divisions. Six fates.

Commoner Students—The majority, those without noble status or backing. They were the ones who scraped by, depending on their own resolve and hard work. The dormitories for these students were modest, and the learning guides, though helpful, were often outdated or basic. They were given no special treatment, no lavish comforts. Their success was solely determined by their own efforts, and the value of their talent often had to speak louder than their origins. Their futures were uncertain, and few ever rose above their station.

Middle Commoner Students—A step above the typical commoner, but not quite into the realm of high society. These students had some familial wealth, typically through trade, skilled work, or local influence. Their accommodations were slightly more comfortable, with access to better learning materials, though they were still far from the luxury of the noble or high-society students. They worked hard to make sure their names could be heard above the din, often relying on their ambition and determination to secure a future for themselves and their families.

High-Society Students—Children of merchants, landowners, and influential figures, granted access through sponsorship. Their dorms were more comfortable, and their learning guides were richer in information. These students could afford tutors, extra lessons, and the luxury of time spent honing their skills. Their presence here was a mark of their family's wealth and influence, and often, their future in the Union was already secured before they even entered. Their titles and connections were a guarantee of privilege, and their lives were often cushioned from the struggles of the lower classes.

Low Nobles—The lesser nobility, often those who owned small lands or had local influence but were not part of the high circles of aristocracy. Their status came with privileges—spacious dormitories, access to high-quality learning materials, and regular interaction with the mid and high noble classes. However, they were still at the mercy of the greater houses, with their futures depending on the outcomes of family politics and alliances. To be a lower house noble meant that you had a seat at the table, but it was not the most coveted one. Still, they had far more opportunities than any commoner, and their prospects, while limited, were secure enough.

Mid Nobles—The middle class of the aristocracy, influential families with land, wealth, and titles that granted them a respected place in society. These students received the highest quality education, the most opulent dormitories, and a level of guidance that prepared them for leadership positions in government, military, and commerce. The mid-nobles were often the power brokers, the individuals who could sway decisions with their connections and resources. They were the ones who would become the advisors, commanders, and architects of society. Their futures were not just guaranteed—they were preordained for greatness.

High Nobles—The elite, the aristocracy's upper echelons. The descendants of ancient families, whose names were etched into the history of the Union and who held vast lands, immense wealth, and unmatched political power. These students received the best accommodations, private tutors, and access to all the finest resources the Academy had to offer. The high nobles were destined to lead the Union, control its military, guide its economy, and maintain its traditions. They were the ones who were expected to rule, whether through marriage, politics, or sheer force of will. No effort was spared in ensuring their success; their future, as with the Talented, was already written.

The Talented—A title given only after the final assessment at the Union Academy, reserved for those whose skill or potential transcended their origins. This division was the most coveted by all, for it didn't care about lineage or wealth—it cared only for raw, unbridled talent. Only those who excelled beyond expectations were chosen for this honor, and they were immediately provided with elite resources, from private training grounds to cutting-edge learning guides. To be Talented was to have the doors of the Union Academy—and beyond—open wide in front of you, no matter your birth.

A single month would determine who among them would rise and who would fall back into obscurity. It was a month of trial, a month where each student would prove their worth.

Judio stood in the crowd, his heart thudding in his chest as his eyes scanned the list one more time. He hadn't expected to find his name near the top of any prestigious section, but his gaze betrayed him, drawn to the names of the commoner students. And there it was—Judio. His name, among the few commoners listed, was the only one with a single sponsor, yet their identity remained undisclosed.

The other names were marked with powerful merchants, influential landowners, or the well-connected, all boasting private backing. But for Judio, there was only the name "Fili" beside his—an alias. No grand donations or wealthy patrons, just an unassuming, simple sponsor. He couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and wonder. Who could this Fili be?

A tinge of warmth spread through his chest. They had given him a chance, a lifeline when he had none. Perhaps they see something in me, something I can't yet grasp.

Gratefulness filled him, though he couldn't suppress the feeling of mystery around this benevolent stranger. What kind of person would do this for me?

In that moment, as his mind buzzed with possibilities, Judio silently thanked the gods. Whoever this good soul was, whoever had chosen to back him, he promised he would not squander their faith. This small but significant gesture had lit a spark within him—a spark that he would carry through the trials ahead.

This was no mere stroke of luck; this was a door that had just cracked open, offering him a path forward, one he hadn't expected. And though his journey was far from assured, the stone that had always weighed him down felt just a little lighter. His resolve hardened in that moment, knowing he had no choice but to rise to the occasion.

One month. One chance.

The weight of the decision seemed to settle on his chest, heavier than he had expected.

A slow clap echoed through the crowd.

Judio turned, his heart skipping a beat.

Standing before him was a young man dressed in dark blue robes embroidered with golden threads. He was tall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp with amusement, as though he were observing something beneath the surface.

The insignia of House Velmora—a powerful family in Kabunlawan and one of the few noble houses with significant influence in the region—was displayed prominently on his sleeve.

Despite the grandeur of the family name, the young man before Judio was not among the top-tier nobles. He was merely a distant younger of House Velmora, with no direct recommendation from the main family. He had earned his classification as a high society student, a status granted by his family's wealth and influence, but not by its formal support. Even with House Velmora's name, Dain had not been given the special endorsement that would elevate him further.

His presence here, though still prestigious, was a reminder of the hierarchy that even the nobility had to contend with.

Behind Dain stood two other noble students, their expressions mirroring his amusement, as if they were all part of a single, silent performance. The air between them thickened with the weight of superiority they carried.

"So, the rumors were true," the noble mused, his voice smooth and calculated, as if savoring the moment. "A commoner claiming to be from a fallen village. How quaint."

Judio's eyes narrowed, but he held his gaze steady, unflinching.

"Strange that someone from the shambles of the past still clings to a name long buried," Dain continued, his words dripping with condescension.

He tilted his head, his smirk widening, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was sowing. "But I suppose that's why you're here—grasping for something beyond your reach. Though, I do wonder..."

He raised a hand, drawing out a sealed enlistment letter with a flourish. The emblem was marked with silvered ink—a sign of special recognition, given only to those with exceptional prospects, those whom the academy had deemed worthy of greater expectations.

"Is your so-called genius even enough to remain a common student after the assessment?" Dain's voice was thick with mockery, his challenge hanging in the air like an accusation.

Judio let the words pass over him. He had learned long ago that anger was a weapon that dulled too easily, and he was determined not to give Dain the satisfaction of seeing him riled. Instead, he exhaled slowly, calming his nerves, and shifted his posture to match the noble's ease.

"What's your name?" Judio asked, his voice calm but firm.

Dain's smirk widened, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. "Dain Velmora," he replied, as if the name itself should have carried weight and respect.

Judio nodded, committing the name to memory, but it was the only acknowledgment he offered. With deliberate calm, he stepped forward, his movements measured. "Then I'll remember it," he said, his voice steady and resolute.

Dain's smirk faltered for a split second, the lack of reaction from Judio clearly unexpected. A flicker of something passed through his gaze, but it vanished before Judio could fully place it—was it irritation? Disbelief? Whatever it was, it didn't linger.

"Try to keep up, commoner," Dain Velmora said dismissively, before turning away. His tone was one of finality, the challenge left hanging in the air between them, unspoken but palpable.

Judio exhaled once more, his resolve solidifying. The road ahead was clear.

One month. One test.

Beyond the academy walls, nestled within the shade of a nearby alley, a figure observed in silence. The crowd continued to bustle, unaware of the cloaked individual who seemed to disappear into the shadows, as if they were part of the very air around them.

In their hands, a single parchment lay, its edges worn, its ink slightly faded but still legible as they traced the words with a gloved finger.

"Survivors of Saliksik—no relation to the..."

The rest of the sentence was barely legible, hastily scribbled over in dark ink as if the writer's thoughts had been disturbed mid-sentence. The figure stared at it, brow furrowed for a moment before their gaze shifted.

There was something in their expression, a shift that marked a moment of silent contemplation.

The name from the list had captured their attention, but it was not the text that held their focus. No, it was the figure now standing amidst the crowd—young, unremarkable, a commoner by all appearances, but unease swells over him. The man felt an unsettling need to watch him.

"Judio of Barangay Saliksik..."

The figure tucked the parchment away into their cloak, their hand lingering for a moment as if ensuring the contents remained safe. A sigh escaped their lips, barely audible, as they felt the weight of something beyond just duty. Their robes billowing softly as they moved. The fabric shimmered with an almost otherworldly glow, the hem of the cloak embroidered with an ancient and sanctified emblem—radiating an ethereal light as it shifted.

In their right hand, a Bible rested, its cover embossed with the image of a sword crossing the pages—a symbol of something both sacred and unyielding. The figure's movements were smooth and unhurried, yet there was a certain grace that felt unsettling, as if they were not entirely of this world.

As quickly as they had appeared, the figure slipped deeper into the shadows, leaving only the faintest trace of their presence. Their words lingered in the air, vanishing as easily as they had come.

"The Order will be watching closely."

The sun had begun to sink beneath the horizon as Judio made his way home, the streets of Kabunlawan alive with the hum of evening markets and the laughter of children darting between vendors. The scent of roasting fish and fresh bread wove through the air, a contrast to the storm of thoughts brewing in his mind.

His mother would be waiting. She would ask how it went. He would tell her he was accepted. And he would not mention the weight in his chest.

As he passed through the quieter part of the district, a sudden prickle ran down his spine.

A presence.

It was not just the idle gaze of a passing stranger. It was focused. Heavy.

Judio slowed his steps, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He turned his head slightly, casting his gaze toward the rooftops, the alleyways, and the shifting bodies of the evening crowd.

Nothing.

The plaza's distant bustle snapped him back to reality. The feeling was gone, leaving only the faint echo of unease in its wake.

Judio exhaled, shaking his head. He had enough to worry about.

He took the final turn toward home, his mother's door waiting just ahead.