The engraving pulsed before him, the glow ebbing like the slow breath of a sleeping beast. Ryn's fingers twitched at his side, his body tense from the lingering sensation of connection. It was as if the symbols had embedded themselves not just in the stone, but within him as well.
The masked figure watched in silence, then took a measured step forward. "You have carved something real this time. But intent alone is not enough—you must refine it."
Ryn's breath was steady, his thoughts sharper than before. He could still hear the faint resonance of his engraving, a hum that danced at the edge of his perception. He reached out, his fingertips grazing the surface of the stone.
The moment he made contact, the hum shifted.
A sharp pressure pressed against his mind—subtle, yet impossible to ignore. It was not a voice, not the same cryptic whispers as before, but rather an impression, a formless acknowledgment. His engraving was not simply reacting to him. It was recognizing him.
His grip tightened. This… was different.
The masked figure observed him closely. "Do you feel it?"
Ryn exhaled, nodding. "It's like it knows me."
"Good," the figure said. "This is your first resonance."
"Resonance?"
The masked figure gestured at the glowing inscription. "When an engraving is shaped by true intent, it does not remain a passive mark. It becomes a reflection of its creator, carrying a trace of your will." He tilted his head slightly. "But this also means it is tied to you. Its strength will be yours to wield… and its flaws will be yours to suffer."
Ryn's jaw tightened. The weight of the words was not lost on him. If his engravings were an extension of himself, then any weakness in them was a weakness in him.
He turned back to his work, studying the intricate lines and glowing glyphs. The hum of resonance still pulsed against his skin, faint yet unwavering. He could feel the depth within it now, the potential waiting to be tapped.
Instinctively, he focused on the energy threading through the inscription. He reached inward, summoning his will, and then—
He pushed.
The air in the chamber rippled. The symbols flared in response, their glow intensifying. A wave of force radiated outward, distorting the surroundings for a brief moment before settling once more.
Ryn stumbled back, breathing hard. The resonance had answered him, but it had also resisted. It was not something he could simply command—it had a nature of its own.
The masked figure nodded. "You begin to understand. Inscriptions are not mere tools. They are forces given form, and force does not yield easily."
Ryn's heart pounded, his mind racing with possibilities. If inscriptions were more than just markings, if they could carry will, then that meant—
A slow smile crept across his lips. Then that meant he could carve something beyond mere symbols.
The first resonance had awoken. Now, he had to master it.
The air in the chamber was thick with residual force, the stone bearing Ryn's engraving still pulsing faintly. The resonance had acknowledged him, but it had also pushed back, reminding him that it was no mindless tool. It had its own nature, its own weight.
Ryn flexed his fingers, his pulse still racing. The sensation of connection lingered, not just in his mind but in his very bones. He exhaled, steadying himself. He had barely scratched the surface of this power.
The masked figure regarded him. "Now, you understand."
Ryn nodded. "Inscriptions have intent. But they also have resistance."
"Exactly." The figure stepped forward, his presence calm yet heavy. "That resistance is the measure of your mastery. A shallow engraving will break under pressure, while a refined one will bend and endure. You must learn to wield resonance, not simply invoke it."
Ryn frowned, his gaze shifting to the glowing inscription. If it truly reflected him, then was its resistance a reflection of his own inadequacy? Was this power warning him of his own shortcomings?
He reached out again, this time more cautiously. As his fingertips brushed against the stone, the resonance stirred once more, its hum reverberating deep within his chest. But this time, he did not force his will upon it. He listened.i
A rhythmic pulse. A steady flow. It was neither rejecting him nor bending completely—it was simply existing, waiting for direction.
The masked figure's voice cut through the quiet. "Good. You are beginning to see."
Ryn turned to him. "Then how do I shape it? How do I make it stronger?"
The figure lifted a hand, tracing a single line in the air. The motion was slow, deliberate, yet filled with undeniable force. "Control is not a battle. It is a dialogue. Do not impose your will—align with the engraving's essence. Guide it, refine it, make it an extension of yourself."
Ryn furrowed his brows. Align with the engraving? He had always thought of power as something to be seized, something to be controlled through force. But this… this was different.
He turned back to the stone. This time, he moved with intent, not to command but to synchronize. He focused on the hum, letting it settle within him, feeling its rhythm. Slowly, his own breath matched its pulse.
Then, he carved again.
The tool in his hand felt lighter. The resistance was still there, but now, it wasn't fighting him—it was guiding him. The lines of his engraving deepened, the glyphs flowing more seamlessly. Each stroke carried a weight beyond mere physical effort; it carried his understanding.
When he stepped back, the inscription shone.
The masked figure studied it for a long moment, then gave a slight nod. "Now you are beginning to inscribe true power."
Ryn exhaled, his fingers tingling with residual energy. He had only taken a small step, but it was enough to send a thrill of realization through him.
If he could refine this… if he could wield this resonance fully…
Then his path forward had never been clearer.