Echoes of Fallen Stars

As the first light of dawn caressed the horizon, a harmonious bell resonated throughout the Union Academy, its melodious chime gently rousing students from slumber.

The sound was both commanding and comforting, as if a gentle hand were patting each shoulder, urging the young scholars to embrace the new day.

In his dormitory, Judio stirred as the early glow of the sun filtered through the large window. The window blinds, seemingly animated by an unseen force, gracefully parted to welcome the morning light.

The warm rays illuminated the room, casting a golden hue that danced upon the walls.

Rising from his bed, Judio meticulously smoothed the sheets, ensuring every corner was perfectly aligned. With his morning routine complete, he approached the window, drawn by the allure of the awakening world outside. As he gazed upon the rising sun, a sense of anticipation welled within him, the promise of new beginnings and untold adventures awaiting in the day ahead.

Across the vast expanse of Bathalumea, other branches of the Union Academy were equally abuzz with activity.

In the Sovereign Kingdom, at the heart of the Kaluwagan Region, the capital city of Maylikha basked in the soft morning light. The grand spires of the academy reached towards the heavens, their silhouettes etched against the pastel sky. Students clad in crisp uniforms hurried along cobblestone paths, their laughter and chatter filling the air.

The scent of blooming flora from the meticulously maintained gardens mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread from nearby bakeries, creating a symphony of sensory delights.

Meanwhile, in the Enlightened Domain of Layagkaw, nestled within the heart of the Haranawa Region, the city of Valmorca stirred to life. The Union Academy here was renowned for its architectural marvels, seamlessly blending with the lush greenery that surrounded it. As the sun's rays pierced through the dense canopy, they illuminated the intricate carvings and mosaics that adorned the academy's facades.

Students engaged in morning meditations by tranquil ponds, the serene atmosphere fostering introspection and scholarly pursuits.

Throughout Bathalumea, the Union Academies thrummed with energy, each institution a beacon of knowledge and growth. As students across the regions embraced the dawn, the collective spirit of learning and discovery wove an intricate tapestry, heralding the start of another chapter in their academic journey.

Atop the wooden desk in Judio's room, an ornate hourglass stood, its golden grains slipping away silently, marking the dwindling moments before the commencement of classes.

The soft whisper of sand was the only sound accompanying Judio as he remained by the window, entranced by the unfolding dawn.

With a sudden resolve, he turned from the window and approached his bed, where a large woven bayong lay waiting. He carefully unpacked its contents: neatly folded garments and an assortment of preserved foods. Selecting a portion of cured beef, he moved to the small kitchenette beside the window. The sizzle of meat met the gentle hum of the morning, releasing a savory aroma that mingled with the crisp air.

Leaving the beef to warm, Judio freshened up, the cool water invigorating his senses. He then donned a traditional barong, its delicate fabric adorned with intricate embroidery, paired with simple trousers and wooden bakya sandals.

As a commoner student, he had no official uniform until after the first month's trial. Standing before the full-length mirror beside his bed, he meticulously adjusted his attire, ensuring every detail was in place. He secured his bali-og necklace, a leather belt around his waist, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Gathering a notebook and pen, Judio approached the circular platform in the corner of his room. As he stepped onto it, ethereal threads enveloped him, transporting him outside the building in a cascade of shimmering light. The campus was bathed in the soft glow of morning, and he followed the luminous paths that guided his way.

Ahead, a towering structure loomed, its halls alive with swirling patterns of light. The building buzzed with activity as students navigated its corridors.

As Judio approached his designated classroom, the door swung open in anticipation, welcoming him into the next chapter of his journey. He took his seat, the polished wooden desk cool beneath his fingertips.

The room was filled with the soft rustle of pages turning and the muted whispers of fellow students. As the instructor entered, a hush fell over the class, and the day's lessons began.

Inside, the classroom buzzed with anticipation. At the front stood their homeroom teacher, Maestra Luningning, a 25-year-old woman of kind nature and slim posture. Her finely woven dress complemented her graceful demeanor. Her face was a study in delicate contrasts: high cheekbones accentuated her almond-shaped eyes, which sparkled with warmth and intelligence.

A gentle slope defined her nose, leading down to full lips that curved naturally into a welcoming smile. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow, hinting at time spent outdoors, and a few wisps of ebony hair escaped from a neat bun, framing her face softly.

She exuded an air of humility, instantly putting her students at ease.

"Good morning, everyone," Maestra Luningning greeted, her voice melodious and calming. "Welcome to the beginning of your journey at the Union Academy. Let's make this year a memorable one."

Maestra Luningning stepped forward, her presence as light as the morning breeze yet commanding in its grace. She clasped her hands together, and the air around her shimmered. A warm, golden glow pulsed from her fingertips, threads of ethereal light weaving through the space. The classroom hushed, captivated by the silent artistry of her magic.

As the luminous strands entwined, they activated an unseen mechanism in the ceiling. With a soft hum, a grand holographic board emerged before them, its form materializing like mist catching the first rays of dawn. The radiant glow settled into elegant script, revealing her name in flowing, golden letters:

Luningning

Beneath it, in smaller yet equally graceful script, more words began to appear as if written by an unseen hand:

"Of the Central Plains of Davaara, in the heart of Luntian."

The board pulsed once, the golden threads momentarily taking the shape of lush fields, vibrant rivers, and towering ancestral trees swaying in an unseen breeze—a fleeting glimpse of her homeland. Then, as quickly as it had come, the vision dissolved into motes of soft light.

Luningning turned to the class, her almond-shaped eyes gleaming with warmth and curiosity. "Davaara," she began, her voice carrying the lilt of storytelling, "is a land where the wind sings through endless fields of emerald, where rivers carve stories into the earth, and where the scent of morning blooms lingers long after dawn has passed. It is where I took my first steps as a weaver of the Loom, where my heart first danced with the threads of magic."

She paused, letting the imagery settle into their minds, a land where the mighty eagle soars, symbolizing strength and freedom, before she clasped her hands again. The golden glow retreated, fading into the air like fireflies at dusk. She beamed, radiating a quiet energy that made the students lean in, eager for what was to come.

"And now," she said, eyes twinkling with excitement, "I stand here, with all of you. A new thread in your journey, just as you are in mine. Let us weave something remarkable together."

A ripple of hushed excitement passed through the classroom. Some students exchanged glances, others straightened their posture, and Judio, still absorbing the scene before him, felt a familiar flicker of something deep inside—a yearning, a whisper of destiny in the air.

"Now," she said, her voice smooth and inviting, "let us weave our introductions into this grand tapestry."

The room stirred with a mix of excitement and tension.

Some students straightened their backs, while others fidgeted with their garments or cast furtive glances at the glowing display. The air carried an electric charge, anticipation curling through the space like the mist of dawn.

The first to rise was Steban—a sturdy, broad-shouldered young man with the quiet confidence of someone shaped by the rhythm of labor and tradition. He stepped forward, his feet firm, his stance unwavering.

"I am Steban," he declared, his voice steady yet rich with pride. "From the Central Plains of Tagumara, a city where the festivals never cease, where the river glows at night as if carrying the dreams of those who walk its banks."

As he spoke, the display flared to life. The shimmering strands twisted, forming an aerial view of Tagumara, its sprawling streets lined with colorful banners and flickering lanterns. A majestic river ran through the city like a silver vein, reflecting hues of gold and violet from the countless floating candles that adorned its waters.

The class watched, enraptured, as the image zoomed into Batorang, his hometown—a Level 2 town, less bustling than the city core, but rich with laughter, sturdy homes, and the warmth of community.

A few students murmured in appreciation.

"Not bad," one whispered. "Festivals every day? Must be a lively place."

Steban smirked, but his gaze carried the weight of someone who knew that joy was often the mask of hardship.

Next was Lando. He strode forward, his movements sharp, precise—each step carrying the weight of something untamed. His skin bore the bronze hue of someone who had battled the sun, his arms carved with the definition of labor and survival.

"Lando," he said simply, voice firm like a hammer striking iron. "From Agusanara, the Eastern Realms. A land where the rivers breathe, where the earth's pulse is strongest."

The holographic board flickered, but something was off.

Unlike Steban's display, which formed in vivid detail, Lando's village—Dinalia—remained a blank void. Instead, the view hovered over Agusanara's famed rivers, twisting and curling like serpents of liquid sapphire, mist hovering above their sacred depths. But where Dinalia should be—there was nothing.

A shadow, an absence.

A murmur of confusion rippled through the class.

"It's… not registered?" someone muttered.

Lando's jaw tensed, but his eyes held defiance. He said nothing more, returning to his seat, but there was no mistaking the fire in his gaze. A fire shaped by struggle, by a land unseen and unrecognized.

Then came Lara—and the atmosphere shifted. A hush fell as she stepped forward, her presence commanding in a way that was neither forceful nor deliberate. It was as if the wind itself carried her forward, an unseen force weaving grace into her every motion.

"I am Lara," she said, voice like the first notes of a song, "from the Northern Highlands of Bukidnara."

The board shimmered, unveiling a land of rolling highlands bathed in morning mist, peaks crowned with golden terraces. The valleys bloomed with life, rivers carving their way through the land like intricate embroidery upon the earth's fabric. The image held a quiet dignity—much like the girl before them.

Though she was a commoner, there was an unspoken nobility in her presence. Her fellow students in the room regarded her with a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

"Her beauty could stand among the highborn," a voice whispered.

Yet Lara remained unfazed, her expression serene as she returned to her seat.

Then, it was Judio's turn.

He rose slowly, his heart steady yet weighed down by an unshakable sense of uncertainty. He had never thought much about his lineage, nor had his mother ever told him more than fragments—words laced with warmth and reverence whenever she spoke of his father. A great man, she would say, nothing more. Not a warrior, not a leader, just a great man.

So when he stepped forward and spoke his name, he did so with quiet simplicity.

"Judio," he said. "From the farthest edges, Central Plains of Davaara, though I currently reside in Kabunlawan."

The board flickered to life, displaying the structured roads and glowing barriers of Kabunlawan, a settlement fortified by the Loom System. But as he continued, the display glitched—the threads of light unraveling for a moment before reweaving into something else.

The image shifted, moving beyond Kabunlawan's safe borders to a land that no longer bore its name.

Barangay Saliksik.

The class collectively stilled.

Where there should have been a developing town—perhaps even a city—there was only a vast, dark expanse.

The land writhed like an open wound, twisted by corruption. Shadows slithered between the remnants of shattered homes. What should have been a thriving settlement had instead become a monster-infested wasteland.

A hush fell over the room, broken only by the murmurs of students leaning toward one another.

"Wasn't Barangay Saliksik supposed to be officially registered?"

"I heard it was supposed to be a rising stronghold… but instead…"

"What happened there?"

Judio caught pieces of their words, but the meaning slipped through his fingers like mist. His brows furrowed—Saliksik had always been a tragedy in his mind, but the whispers carried something deeper. Something he hadn't known.

"Instead of development, it collapsed. Why?"

"Wasn't it under that famed man, Lakan's influence?"

Judio tensed at the name. Lakan.

It was spoken like a ghost, like a name half-buried in history.

The murmurs carried fragments of recognition, yet none of them looked his way.

He had never truly known his father—not beyond the way his mother spoke of him. A great man. Nothing more. And yet, here they were, whispering his name as if it was something important.

"Lakan vanished before the downfall. No one knows where he went."

"Some say his disappearance was the first sign."

Judio's mind swirled with questions, but he did not let them surface. He did not ask. Did not react. He simply returned to his seat, his expression carefully neutral.

Yet, in his chest, something unspoken began to stir.

Something waiting to be unraveled.

Silence hung heavy in the room. Even Maestra Luningning's usual warmth seemed to dim, her brows knitting in quiet contemplation.

Then, softly, she spoke.

"Every thread in the loom carries a story," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "And every story shapes the world in its own way."

None knew of her relation to Lakan, nor did they have to.

She turned to the class, eyes gleaming with meaning.

"Here, in this Academy, your stories will intertwine. You will learn, you will grow, and perhaps, you will uncover truths yet unknown."

As the final students stepped forward, the room pulsed with quiet anticipation. Their names, villages, and origins illuminated the holographic board—each a reflection of the diverse landscapes of the Durandaya Region. From the rice-laden fields of Kanlata to the coastal winds of Pantaraya, each carried a fragment of their homeland in their voice.

Finally, with a knowing smile, Maestra Luningning brought her hands together, sending a ripple of light across the room.

"Ah, what a rich weave of stories we have gathered today! Each of you stands at the beginning of something far greater than where you came from. Remember, your past may shape you, but it does not define you. What you weave from here will be yours alone."

With a graceful sweep of her fingers, the introductions came to an end.

The first threads of their journey had been spun.

But some knots, once tangled, would take far longer to unravel.

While Judio wrestled with the strange murmurs of the past, elsewhere in the academy, Nena and Amon were experiencing a far lighter day.

Their classrooms had been filled with laughter, lively discussions, and the playful teasing of students who had already begun forming early bonds. Unlike Judio, their records were officially tied to Kabunlawan, meaning they did not face the same questioning glances or hushed conversations.

Nena, ever the curious one, had spent her first session eagerly absorbing every lesson, asking questions that even the instructor had to pause and think about. At one point, she had boldly challenged a theory about Diwa manifestations, sparking an entire classroom debate that left both students and teacher impressed.

Amon, on the other hand, had fallen right into the rhythm of things, making fast friends with a few students from the fishing regions of Sablayan.

They had spent part of the afternoon sharing tales of sea creatures and storm-chasing warriors, their animated voices filling the halls.

The two had not met Judio again that day, unaware of the strange murmurs that had swirled around his name.

For now, their world remained untouched by the whispers of Saliksik's past.

But the threads of fate had already begun to weave their intricate design.

And soon, they too would find themselves entangled in the unknown.