Bloodline: Sovereign's Awakening - Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Threads of Silence: The Unseen Struggles

The Union Academy of Sandigsal was vast—larger than anything Judio had ever imagined.

For five days, he had walked its marble corridors, observed its towering spires, and traced the labyrinthine paths of its courtyards and libraries. There was order here—strict schedules, rigid social structures, a hierarchy woven into the very air. It was a world built on status and legacy, where one’s bloodline carried more weight than their merits.

Judio had spent those five days alone, not by force but by choice.

For Judio, the days had been quiet.

He had spent them observing, moving through the academy like a ghost, slipping between lecture halls and the vast archives of the Grand Library.

Listening, he remained silent. He learned. He studied alone, absorbing every bit of knowledge available, keeping his head down, letting his presence fade into the background.

Not once had he sought out Nena or Amon, though it wasn’t because he had forgotten them. Far from it. He preoccupied himself, pouring himself into study, absorbing everything he could about the Academy’s expectations and the complex web of power that governed it.

They’ll be fine without me, he had told himself. They always have been.

It was easier that way.

That was until yesterday—when he overheard their names.

Nena. Amon.

The words had struck him like a blade, unexpected and sharp, spoken in passing by a pair of noble-born students as they strolled past one of the many balconies overlooking the lower courtyards.

“The Academy has fallen to shame, allowing a pair of mongrels to be treated as low nobles.”

“It’s disgraceful. The House of Tala must be livid—taking in filth under their name. Mid-rank nobility should never have tolerated such a stain.”

Judio had paused, hidden just beyond the archway. The voices were unfamiliar, yet their tone carried an unmistakable sense of entitlement, disdain woven into every syllable.

“The Academy calls it ‘sponsorship.’ As if dressing a pig in silk makes it worthy of a seat at the banquet.”

“More like a charity case,” the other scoffed. Are they under the impression that we cannot perceive the truth? They’re nothing more than exiles. They have already defiled the bloodline. Letting them sit with Low Nobles only drags the others down.”

“That much is true. The Academy should know its place—elevating the unworthy only cheapens the value of those truly bred for greatness.”

Judio’s grip on his book tightened.

Judio had always known.

He had known that Nena and Amon carried noble blood in their veins—not because they flaunted it, but because they never did.

Both Nena and Amon bore the blood of nobility—descendants of House Tala, one of the fallen branches of a once-great line. Their fathers had been cousins, but their choices had cast them into exile—choosing love over lineage, marrying women of common birth.

The nobility had forsaken them., exiled from their once-proud lineage.

Yet despite that, despite being cast aside and forced into a life of struggle, Nena and Amon never let bitterness define them. They had carried their names with quiet pride, not as a banner, but as a memory of what could have been.

Now, someone had given them a chance to rise above their exile, a chance to reclaim what someone had stolen from them, a better opportunity.

Judio’s chest tightened—not with anger, not with jealousy, but with something else entirely.

Pride. Relief. Happiness.

They deserved this. They deserved more than this.

He should have been happy for them.

And he was. Truly.

But at that moment, standing in the shadows of the academy’s grand halls, listening to the disgust in those nobles’ voices—he also felt something else. The noble voices around him spoke as if it were a crime.

A hollow weight settled in his chest, something cold pressing against his ribs.

Another pair of well-dressed noble students stood near a pile of books, their coats embroidered with the insignia of their houses. At their feet knelt a boy—no older than Judio, his hands trembling as he reached for the fallen tomes.

Judio recognized the crest on the nobles’ coats.

Students from one of the branch families of House Tala, bearing status as high society students.

“The main family of House Tala must be fuming,” one voice chuckled. “They spent years erasing those mongrels from their records, and now, they went beyond to make it seem like direct sponsorship of the Academy and give them prestige? ”

“Embarrassing,” another sneered. “If they had any dignity, they’d just disappear.”

Judio’s fingers dug into the cover of his book.

I should walk away.

But then—an unfamiliar voice. Not noble. Meeker. Fearful.

“P-please… I finished sorting the texts like you asked—”

“And yet, you’re still speaking,” one of the noble voices interrupted as if irritated by the mere existence of the one addressing them. “Did I give you permission to stop working?”

There was a sound—a book hitting the floor.

Judio turned the corner before he could think twice. The shuffling of feet against marble.

Judio slowed his steps.

“Pick it up.”

The voice was cool, detached—familiar in its arrogance.

Judio turned the corner.

One noble nudged a tome with the toe of his polished shoes, sending it skidding further away.

“We gave you an order, didn’t we?”

The boy flinched, biting his lip.

“I—yes, sir.” He reached for the book again, only for the other noble to step forward, planting a firm hand on his shoulder.

Judio watched, his fingertips brushing the edges of his book, but he did not move.

The nobles chuckled amongst themselves, as if this was nothing more than a game, as if the boy’s dignity was just another piece to be stripped away. A servant. No—a student.

“You’re so slow,” one noble muttered, nudging one book with his soles just as the boy reached for it. “Pathetic. If you’re this incompetent at picking up books, I can’t imagine how useless you’d be in actual classes.”

The boy said nothing. He only lowered his head, shoulders curling inward.

The silence was suffocating.

Judio had never been one for grand gestures or loud declarations. He had always been quiet, always observant. He had always chosen to stay in the background, knowing that drawing attention to himself only invited trouble.

But as he watched, as the words of Nobles slithered into the air like poison, something inside him twisted.

The weight of silence pressed down on him.

“Honestly, why do they even let them in?” one of them mused.

“To make us feel superior.”

Judio took a step forward. He had seen enough.

The nobles turned. Their eyes narrowed in recognition.

“Oh? Another Threadless dog dares to show himself?” one sneered.

Judio did not answer.

Instead, he reached down, picked up the fallen book, and placed it into the student’s hands.

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable passed through the boy’s expression before he bowed his head, clutching the book as if it were a lifeline.

The nobles scoffed.

“How noble of you,” one of them drawled, rolling his eyes. “Enjoy your time among the filth, beggar. It suits you.”

With that, they turned and walked away.

Judio exhaled, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the spine of his book.

A quiet voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Thank you.”

The boy’s voice was barely above a whisper, but there was something in it—a quiet, unspoken understanding.

Judio gave a small nod, then turned and walked away, his mind heavy with the echoes of what he had just learned.

For all its grandeur, the Academy was rotten beneath its polished surface.

It was not merely a place of learning—it was a battlefield, where names carried more weight than skill, and status dictated who stood and who knelt.

Judio had no noble name nor wealthy people backing him. He had no status.

He was neither a guild’s promising talent, nor noble, nor an exile given a second chance.

He was simply Judio.

And that meant, in the eyes of this Academy, he was nothing at all.

With quiet steps, he left the library behind.

For now, silence was his weapon. But one day, he would wield something far greater.”

He would not be blind forever.

That night, alone in his dormitory, Judio stared at the ceiling, the words of the nobles still lingering in his mind.

Nena and Amon were still noble-born.

They received a chance to reclaim their standing. But the Academy was watching. The purebloods were watching.

Judio had stayed away to avoid burdening them with his presence. But now he realized—something was already burdening them.

Pretending otherwise would not change a damn thing.

Judio lay on his cot, staring up at the dim ceiling of his dormitory. The flickering glow of the lantern by his bedside cast soft shadows across the room, but his mind was far from the quiet solitude he had chosen for himself.

The nobles’ words still echoed in his ears, dripping with disdain, sharpened by arrogance. Mongrels. Filth. A stain upon their name. It wasn’t just the cruelty of it that unsettled him—it was how easily it had been said as if it were the most natural truth in the world.

Judio turned onto his side, arms folded beneath his head, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

How are they doing?

He had avoided them these past days, busying himself with study, pretending that he didn’t care—that it didn’t matter. But deep down, it did.

Had Amon laughed his usual easygoing laugh, brushing off the weight of those words? Had Nena stood firm, eyes unwavering, unwilling to let them see her hurt?

Or had they heard those words alone, with no one to remind them that they were more than the names the Academy sought to bury?

Judio shut his eyes, inhaling deeply.

The Academy was a battlefield. But not everyone fought battles with swords and spells. Some were waved in whispered halls, in exclusion, in the slow erosion of dignity. He was powerless here. But if the gods still listened to those without status, without power—

Judio clasped his hands together beneath the thin blanket, his lips parting in a quiet prayer.

“If you are watching—whoever you are, whatever you are—shield them. Guard them from this wretched place. Let their names hold firm against those who wish to erase them. Let them walk with heads unbowed, untouched by the venom of those who would see them fall. And if they must struggle, if they must endure, then let them never be alone in it.”

A slow exhale left his lips.

Perhaps the gods would not listen. Perhaps prayers meant nothing in a world ruled by power. But it was all he could do.

The weight of exhaustion pressed against him, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. His thoughts drifted, unfocused, wandering between worry and resolve.

Somewhere in the quiet, in the heavy hush of his small dormitory, Judio felt sleep pulling at him, drawing him into its depths.

His last thought before darkness claimed him was not of himself, nor the Academy’s ruthless ways. It was of Nena and Amon.

And the unshakable promise that, no matter how long he remained in the background, he would not be blind forever.