Bloodline: Sovereign's Awakening - Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Threads of Scorn

The significance of names.

The chains of lineage.

The unspoken war in the halls of nobility.

Judio never cared for such things. He was born in the dust of a fallen village, raised in the harsh light of struggles for survival, and hardened by the echoes of screams that once filled the air.

Bloodline meant nothing when monsters tore through the land, when hunger clawed at your ribs, when death loomed over your shoulder like a silent specter.

But here, within the polished halls of the Union Academy of Sandigsal, blood was everything.

And the whispers spread like a plague.

Polished oak surrounded him. Thick tomes stacked around his table blurred before his eyes as he truly listened.

Between the rustling of pages and the scribbling of quills, the voices slithered through the air.

“I heard they grew up in a slum.”

“No, no—one of them might have noble blood, but the other? A bastard, through and through.”

“It’s disgraceful. They’re being granted access to things even we can’t touch. And for what? For being half-breeds?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if someone is influencing things for them. The question is—why?”

Judio turned a page, pretending to read, but his grip on the book tightened. The library was a place of knowledge, a temple of learning—but even here, poison dripped from lips that had never known hunger.

Rare inks, enchanted trinkets, and fine parchment from the northern regions. Judio had only come to buy a new set of quills, but the whispers followed him even here.

“It’s practically charity at this point.”

“They should just keep their heads down. If they were smart, they’d be grateful instead of acting like they belong here.”

“Have you seen them? Smiling like they don’t know what’s being said? Pathetic.”

Judio exhaled slowly. He had never been one for unnecessary conflict. But this? This was different.

He turned his head slightly, catching sight of a group of noble students in embroidered uniforms. Amusement showed on their faces; their lips curved into knowing smirks.

They weren’t just repeating rumors.

They were feeding them.

The Grand Auditorium, the vast space eerily silent.

And yet, the voices still echoed. Not spoken this time, but remembered.

“What do you think they’ll do when they find out?”

“Find out what?”

Something has already stained their names. It doesn’t matter what they do anymore. The world has already decided.”

Judio clenched his jaw. He could see it now—the invisible noose tightening around Nena and Amon, the weight of whispers digging into their backs, turning every friendly greeting into a double-edged sword.

And they didn’t even know.

Nena and Amon remained unaware of the rot growing around them.

They greeted students warmly, as if the world wasn’t actively conspiring against them.

One afternoon, as they walked through the Academy gardens, a group of students approached them—some hesitant, others curious.

A tall boy with ink-stained fingers gave them a nod. “You’re Amon and Nena, right? From—” He hesitated. “… the lower districts?”

Amon crossed his arms, raising a brow. “Yeah, and?”

The boy scratched his cheek. “Just… wondering if the rumors were true.”

Nena tilted her head. “Which ones?”

A girl beside him smirked. “That you two are pets of some noble sponsor. That your bloodline is impure, and yet you’re getting treated like royalty.”

Silence stretched between them.

Amon let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “And people believe that?”

The girl shrugged. “It’s spreading fast. You know how it is—where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Nena met her gaze, unflinching. “And have you ever seen this so-called fire, or are you just breathing in the smoke and calling it the truth?”

The girl blinked, momentarily surprised.

Amon added, his tone lighter but firm, “We’re here as students, same as you. Whatever nonsense people are spewing doesn’t change that.”

The group exchanged glances, some looking uncertain.

But as they walked away, Nena exhaled slowly.

“They don’t believe us,” she murmured.

Amon nudged her shoulder. “Let them talk. Words don’t shape who we are.”

She smiled faintly. “No, but they shape how the world sees us.”

The Academy pulsed with life—a symphony of murmurs, a dance of fleeting glances, a current of unseen malice woven into the very air.

At first, it had been nothing but stray words ghosting past the ears of the unwary. A passing comment in the corridors, a hushed exchange in the study halls, an amused scoff over afternoon tea.

But by the end of the week, the whispers had festered into accusations.

The scent of parchment and candle wax clung to the Grand Library, a place meant to foster knowledge but now steeped in half-truths and venom. The dust-laden air carried words sharper than any blade.

“I heard Amon isn’t just some commoner.”

“No, no—he’s a bastard. An illegitimate child of a high noble.”

“Which house?”

“No one knows. But look at his features—his bearing. Doesn’t he look just a little too refined for a nobody?”

The voices drifted past the bookshelves, slipping between the cracks of conversations like ink staining silk. Judio, pretending to skim a history tome, kept his gaze trained on the pages. But his ears? They caught everything.

And it didn’t stop at Amon.

“Nena’s scholarship is a farce.”

“Someone found research notes in her study space—stolen notes.”

“She must have cheated her way in.”

The stifling scent of wax mixed with the metallic tang of old paper, but Judio could only smell the stench of a setup.

And the worst part? The victims remained oblivious.

By the time Nena and Amon caught wind of the rumors, it was already too late to contain them.

They arrived at the Student Council chamber, a vast room filled with the scent of polished wood and faint traces of enchanted ink. The towering stained-glass windows behind the council members bathed the room in fractured light—shards of color scattered across the floor like broken illusions.

Amon crossed his arms as he stood before the Student Council President, his jaw clenched. “I assume you’ve heard the rumors?”

Council President Elias Velasco leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. He was a man of striking features—silver-threaded hair and sharp eyes that held the weight of authority. His deep red robes marked his station, the insignia of balance and justice embroidered into the fabric.

“Rumors,” Elias mused, his voice smooth yet weighted, “have a way of taking root when left unchecked.”

Nena’s voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it. “Then I hope we’re here to cut them down.”

The council members exchanged glances. Some looked uninterested, while others observed with measured curiosity. A few had the faintest hints of amusement curling at their lips.

Elias regarded them for a long moment before speaking. “People have made accusations.” But accusations alone do not make a crime.”

Amon exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his side. “So, we’re innocent?”

“Innocent,” Elias confirmed, “but not untouched.”

The weight of that statement settled over them.

Nena’s expression didn’t waver. “Then what happens next?”

Elias leaned forward, his silver eyes glinting in the filtered light. “We will investigate. Find the origins of these rumors. Those responsible will face consequences.”

Amon scoffed. “And until then? We walk these halls with knives at our backs?”

Elias’s lips quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That depends—on whether you let those knives cut deep… or dull against your resolve.”

But even with the Council’s promise, the whispers did not die. If anything, they multiplied.

Judio had seen them—the ones who kept the rumors alive.

The High Society students. Those who worshipped lineage, who saw blood as the only currency worth anything in this world.

The branch families of House Tala. They moved subtly, never speaking directly, always letting others do their dirty work.

Judio watched them from the shadows—saw someone flick a coin beneath a dinner table, heard deliberate muttering near a crowded hallway, and noted how people repeated certain names loudly enough to be overheard.

This was not simple gossip.

This was war. A slow, calculated poisoning of perception.

And Nena and Amon?

They were walking through the battlefield without knowing the arrows were already drawn.

Judio stood outside the Student Council chamber long after Amon and Nena had left.

The hallway smelled of polished stone and the faint, lingering scent of rain drifted in from the academy gardens.

He watched as a group of noble students passed by, their laughter too loud, too pointed.

“Did you see the way they begged?”

“Pathetic. Thinking the Council will help them.”

“The world has already decided what they are.”

Judio exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing over the worn leather binding of the book in his hands.

They were wrong.

The world had not decided yet.

And if no one else would cut through the thorns—then he would.

As the week drew to a close, the Academy settled into an uneasy quiet. The once-booming whispers had not died, but they had softened—folded into the background noise of lectures, the clatter of dining halls, and the scratching of quills on parchment.

For Nena and Amon, their days had been filled with wary glances, forced smiles, and whispered words that twisted like vines around their names. But even under the weight of suspicion, they had done what any student would—they studied, they trained, they adjusted.

Judio watched them from a distance, their voices low but steady. Despite everything, they had not wavered.

And neither would he.

The air of the Academy Market was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering stew, a rare moment of comfort after a week laced with tension. Judio let the warmth of the evening sun wash over him as he walked through the bustling stalls, watching students barter for enchanted inks, rare books, or simple necessities.

But his mind was elsewhere.

The laughter of noble students still rang in his ears. The smug looks. The unseen strings pulling are the rumors deeper into the Academy’s roots.

A week ago, Judio had walked these halls with no greater purpose than survival. A quiet observer never meant to stand in the light.

But now?

Now, he had something to fight for.

The Academy’s buzz faded as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths. The once-fiery tension of the first week had settled into embers, smoldering beneath the surface.

For tonight, the war could rest.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow, the battle would begin anew.

Night draped itself over the Academy, cool and weightless, carrying the faint hum of a world that never truly slept. The illuminated towers stood tall against the darkness, their light a beacon of knowledge, power, and—for some—ruthless ambition.

Inside their quarters, Nena and Amon shared a rare moment of peace, speaking in hushed tones about their plans for the coming days. The shadows of uncertainty loomed over them, but they refused to bow beneath them.

Elsewhere, Judio sat by a dimly lit window, watching the Academy breathe, its secrets shifting beneath the surface. His fingers tapped idly against the spine of a book, his thoughts already weaving a path forward.

The week had ended in whispers, but it would not stay that way.

Because the next move?

Would be his.