Three months had passed since the Eidran Awakening Ceremony, yet the buzz in Malinta Village hadn't entirely died down. The tale of Clark SanJose and Zorro Velazques—two children who awakened rare and powerful Avatars—still echoed among the villagers like whispers of a growing legend.
But while others still murmured about the ceremony, Clark had already moved on with purpose. a letter had arrived a few weeks ago, inviting both him and Zorro to enroll at Monumento Arcadian Elementary School in the heart of Caloocan City, a place Clark had never heard of but now clung to with determination.
The school promised both basic education and foundational Eidran instruction for awakened children.
it was accessible, reputable, and a fresh start for his journey in his new life.
Now, on the morning of his departure, the small wooden house was quiet.
Clark finished packing his meager belongings: a small satchel, a wooden toothbrush, a threadbare blanket, and the necklace his mother had left him—the only token of her memory. His sword Avatar remained sealed, dormant in his spirit, but its presence was always there, silent and watchful.
He glanced at the small fire where a pot of porridge simmered.
"That should be enough for him today," he murmured to himself.
Then, grabbing a pen and a sheet of rough paper, Clark sat down and wrote:
**********
Dear Father,
If you're reading this, it means I'm already gone to Monumento Arcadian Elementary School in Caloocan City.
I prepared porridge for you—just reheat it, please eat. You skip too many meals when you're drinking.
Don't worry, Father. I remember all your warnings and your teachings. I promise I'll study hard in school… and I'll grow stronger too, I swear.
As for the tuition fee… I'll find a job. Something good. I'll pay my way. You don't have to worry about me anymore.
Take care of yourself. Maybe next time, I'll come home taller and stronger than you.
—Clark
**********
He folded the letter and placed it on the table beside the pot of porridge, then stood and took one final glance around the house. His gaze lingered on the empty wine bottle in the corner, and he sighed.
"I'll come back one day," he whispered.
The early morning air outside was still cool as he stepped into the dirt roads of Malinta Village. The dew clung to the grass, and the mist hung low across the rooftops. With each step toward the town square, he felt a mixture of guilt, nervousness, and anticipation twist in his stomach.
When he arrived, Old Jack was already there, puffing on a wooden pipe and carrying a leather bag over one shoulder.
"Morning, lad," the old man said, eyes crinkling. "You ready for the big world?"
Clark nodded. "Yes, sir. Is Zorro here?"
"Over by the statue," Old Jack motioned.
Clark spotted Zorro standing beneath the large weathered statue of the unknown Eidran hero. The same statue that had nearly overwhelmed Clark's senses with its lingering aura during the ceremony. Now, its presence felt familiar—less intimidating, more like a reminder of the path he had chosen.
Zorro wore a small backpack slung over one shoulder. His katana was sealed away, but his confident stance spoke volumes. As always, his expression was cool and unreadable.
"You came," Zorro said.
"I wasn't about to stay behind," Clark replied with a smirk.
Old Jack clapped his hands. "Good! You boys have a long trip ahead. The bus to Caloocan's stopping by the market road. We'll take the cart there."
As they climbed aboard the rickety cart that would take them down the mountain trail to the stop, Clark looked back toward the village. The rooftops shimmered under the morning sun, and somewhere in one of those houses, his father was still asleep—or already reading the letter.
A part of Clark wished Jordan had come to see him off. But another part knew that this was something he had to do alone.
The cart rattled and shook as it moved forward, carrying them farther from home with each creaking wheel turn.
Hours later…
The bus rumbled down the highway, leaving the rural landscape behind and gradually being replaced by the metallic sprawl and gray haze of the city.
Caloocan was a world apart.
There were no misty mountains or spirit beast trails. No aura-rich fields or peaceful rivers. Only narrow streets, rusting rooftops, and towering concrete buildings. Yet amidst the chaos, the sprawling campus of Monumento Arcadian Elementary School stood proudly, with its arched gate and mossy stone walls.
At the gate, a modest crowd of children and guardians were lined up. Most were city kids—clean clothes, fresh bags, and nervous chatter. Clark and Zorro, by contrast, wore patched tunics and travel-worn shoes.
But the gate guard didn't look twice at their appearance. He had seen thousands of children over the years. He cared more about their eyes—and both boys carried the gaze of warriors in the making.
"Names?" the guard asked.
"Clark San Jose and Zorro Velazques ," Clark replied.
Chapter Ends.