The chamber's stillness was deceptive, a silence laced with the remnants of power lingering in the air. Ryn stood unmoving, his mind racing as he absorbed the weight of his trial. The inscriptions carved into his flesh no longer merely marked him; they pulsed with an eerie sentience, whispering of untapped potential.
The masked figure studied him, those void-like eyes reflecting an inscrutable expression. "You resisted, but resistance is not control," he said, his voice measured. "To command engravings, you must first understand the will imbued within them."
Ryn clenched his fists, recalling the glyphs' pull, their oppressive weight. It had not been a battle of strength but of will. He had pushed back instinctively, but instinct alone was not mastery.
"How do I understand them?" Ryn asked, his voice steady.
The figure gestured toward the chamber's far wall. A massive inscription lay dormant, etched into the stone, its meaning veiled in the depths of history. With a flick of his wrist, the figure activated the glyph. Light bloomed from the lines, filling the room with an ancient, rhythmic hum.
"By listening," the figure said simply. "Each engraving carries an intention. Some hold knowledge, others power, and some…" He paused, stepping aside as the glow intensified, revealing shifting symbols within the glyph. "Some whisper of things long forgotten."
Ryn took a step forward, his breath steady. The glyph's radiance did not overwhelm him this time. Instead, he felt an undeniable pull, as though something within it recognized his existence. The whispers grew louder, threading into his mind like half-formed thoughts.
He closed his eyes.
A vision unfolded before him—blurry at first, then sharpening with terrifying clarity. A battlefield stretched before him, littered with the remains of those who had sought mastery over inscriptions. Symbols flickered across the sky like dying stars, their power unraveled by forces unseen. And at the center of it all stood a lone figure, his engravings burning with an intensity that threatened to consume him whole.
Ryn gasped, staggering back as the vision shattered. The chamber returned to focus, the glow of the glyph dimming once more.
"You saw something," the masked figure stated, though it was not a question.
Ryn exhaled. "A battle… and a man at its center."
The figure inclined his head. "Good. Then you are beginning to hear."
Ryn did not know what it all meant yet, but one thing was certain—this path, this power, was far greater than he had ever imagined. And if he was to carve his own fate, he would have to uncover the truth hidden within the whispers of the past.
No matter the cost.
Ryn's breathing steadied as the vision faded, but the sensation of that burning figure lingered in his mind. The battlefield he had seen—it was no ordinary war. It was a clash of engravings, a struggle of inscriptions beyond his current comprehension. The whispers of the glyph still coiled around his thoughts, half-formed words slipping through his grasp like mist.
The masked figure watched him, unreadable as ever. "You are beginning to perceive the truth," he said, stepping closer. "But perception alone is not enough. If you cannot decipher what you have seen, then you are still blind."
Ryn straightened. "Then tell me. What was that battlefield?"
The figure was silent for a moment, as if weighing the answer. Then, in a voice as smooth as polished stone, he replied, "A remnant of the past. A lesson, if you can understand it."
A lesson? Ryn clenched his jaw. He had seen destruction, inscriptions tearing through the sky, symbols unraveling as if existence itself had been challenged. And at the center of it all was a man consumed by his own engravings.
He glanced down at his arms. His own engravings had started to stir the moment the vision took hold. Were they reacting to the glyph? Or… was there something deeper?
"I will not let my engravings control me," Ryn said, his voice firm.
The masked figure chuckled, though there was no warmth in the sound. "Many have said the same. Most failed."
Ryn refused to look away. "Then I will be different."
The figure observed him for a moment longer before nodding. "Perhaps. But for now, you must continue." He stepped aside, gesturing toward another section of the chamber. More engravings adorned the stone, their presence thrumming with untapped knowledge. "These are not meant for the uninitiated. But you have already seen beyond the surface."
Ryn approached cautiously. The symbols did not glow like the previous glyph, but he could feel something within them. A presence. He reached out, brushing his fingers across the cold surface.
A surge of force slammed into his mind.
He staggered, his vision blurring as whispers erupted—no longer distant but deafening, each one demanding his attention. Words, languages unknown, symbols shifting too fast to comprehend. It was overwhelming, suffocating, dragging him into a sea of ancient knowledge without an anchor.
And then—
Silence.
A single voice cut through the chaos, low and deliberate.
"Will you become the engraved, or the engraver?"
Ryn gasped, wrenching his hand away from the stone. His pulse pounded against his ribs. He staggered back, shaking, his head heavy with lingering echoes. The masked figure had not moved, only watching with that same piercing gaze.
"Well?" the figure asked.
Ryn swallowed hard. He had been given a choice, one not spoken in words but carved into existence itself.
Would he let these inscriptions define him?
Or would he be the one to carve his own path?
The answer came without hesitation.
"I will engrave my own fate."
The masked figure nodded, and for the first time, there was a hint of approval in his stance.
"Then we begin the true lessons."