The inscription still pulsed with a soft glow, its resonance subtly intertwining with Ryn's breath. He felt it now—not as an external force resisting him, but as something woven into his very being. The sensation sent a thrill through his veins. He had taken his first step toward true control.
But the masked figure's voice quickly pulled him from his thoughts. "Understanding resonance is only the beginning."
Ryn turned, meeting the hidden gaze beneath the mask. "Then what comes next?"
The figure extended a hand. "You must refine not only the engraving, but yourself."
With a single step, the masked figure swept his palm across the air. In an instant, the surrounding inscriptions shifted. The chamber trembled as unseen energy rippled through the space. Symbols twisted, rearranging themselves as if obeying an unseen law. Ryn's heartbeat quickened.
This… this was mastery.
The masked figure's tone remained calm. "Engraving is not a static art. It is alive. It must evolve with its wielder."
Ryn clenched his fists, trying to suppress the growing hunger inside him. If this was what lay ahead, then he had no choice but to push further. To refine his resonance, his control, his power—
Suddenly, the inscriptions on the walls flared, casting deep shadows across the chamber. A whisper, faint yet chilling, slithered into Ryn's mind.
*He walks the path of those before him…*
His breath hitched. He turned sharply, scanning the room, but there was no one else. Just the masked figure, still watching him in silence.
The whisper coiled around his thoughts once more.
*Will he carve his own fate, or merely follow the echoes?*
A shudder passed through him. This wasn't the first time he had felt something… watching him. Ever since he began engraving, there had been moments—brief, fleeting—where it seemed as if something ancient, something buried, was stirring beneath the surface of reality.
The masked figure finally spoke again. "You heard it, didn't you?"
Ryn hesitated, then nodded. "What was that?"
The figure tilted his head. "A reminder."
"Of what?"
The masked figure turned away, his voice unreadable. "That the past never truly fades. And that every engraving leaves an imprint far deeper than stone."
Ryn swallowed. His resonance had deepened, his understanding sharpened. But with it came an unsettling realization—
Power was never without consequence.
And something, somewhere, was watching his every step.
Ryn's mind buzzed with the lingering whisper, its presence a phantom weight on his thoughts. The chamber around him no longer felt like a mere training ground—it was something older, something layered with forgotten echoes.
But he forced himself to focus. The masked figure had said that power left an imprint beyond stone. If that was true, then every engraving he carved was not just a mark, but a thread weaving into something larger.
The masked figure turned back to him. "We continue."
Ryn nodded, suppressing his unease. The lessons here were invaluable—he could not allow himself to be distracted. He stepped forward, raising his engraving tool once more.
This time, he did not simply carve. He listened.
The resonance within the stone pulsed beneath his fingers, its frequency shifting as his intent deepened. Each stroke was a dialogue, an attempt to guide rather than force. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat synchronizing with the rhythm of the inscription.
A flicker of light pulsed from the engraving, brighter than before.
The masked figure watched intently. "Your synchronization is improving. But you have yet to understand the weight of what you carve."
Ryn frowned. "The weight?"
The figure gestured to the inscription. "Power is not merely a tool. It is a history. Every engraving you create carries intent, carries presence. And sometimes, it carries… shadows."
A chill ran down Ryn's spine. The whispers, the lingering presence—was this what he meant?
The masked figure turned, and with a flick of his wrist, he activated one of the older inscriptions on the wall. The glyphs pulsed and twisted, unveiling a vision—
A battlefield, ancient and worn. Warriors clashed, their weapons not steel, but engravings burning across their flesh and armor. Some inscriptions blazed with untamed power, while others crumbled mid-combat, their users falling lifeless to the ground.
Ryn's breath caught in his throat. This was no ordinary battle—this was a war fought through inscriptions, through the very force he was just beginning to grasp.
The vision faded, and the chamber returned to silence.
The masked figure faced him again. "Engraving is not just about creation. It is about consequence."
Ryn swallowed. The weight of his path had never felt heavier. And yet, despite the warning, a fire burned in his chest.
If power carried history, then he would carve his own.
Ryn stood motionless, the echoes of the vision still burning in his mind. The battlefield of engravings—warriors inscribed with power, their very existence tied to the glyphs they bore. It was unlike anything he had ever imagined.
The masked figure studied him for a moment before speaking. "You see now. Every engraving is more than just a tool—it is a burden."
Ryn exhaled, his hands clenching at his sides. "Then what about me? I've already begun down this path. What is my burden?"
The figure was silent for a moment, then turned away. "That is something only you can uncover."
A cryptic answer. It did little to quell the turmoil in Ryn's mind. But questions would not strengthen him. Only progress would. He forced himself to refocus, stepping closer to the wall of engravings.
His fingers brushed against the ancient symbols, feeling their lingering resonance. Some pulsed faintly, as if the energy within them still breathed. Others were cold, lifeless.
"How do I know if an engraving is complete?" he asked.
The masked figure gestured toward the symbols before him. "An engraving is never truly complete. It only reaches a state where it resonates in harmony with its creator."
Ryn frowned. "So it's alive?"
"In a way," the figure murmured. "And like anything alive, it changes. If you impose your will upon an engraving too forcefully, it will reject you. But if you carve with understanding, with patience, it will grow with you."
Ryn nodded slowly, letting the words settle. He had been carving inscriptions like an artisan shaping stone. But it was more than that—it was communication.
He took a breath and placed his palm against an unmarked portion of the chamber's wall. Closing his eyes, he reached out—not just with his hands, but with his mind.
The resonance was faint at first, like the distant sound of waves against a shore. But as he focused, it sharpened. He felt the material beneath his fingers hum, its structure waiting, yearning for shape.
His engraving tool slid against the surface, carving slow, deliberate lines. With each stroke, the resonance deepened, vibrating in his bones. The glyph took form, a pattern unlike the others.
Then—
A pulse. Not from the wall, but from within him.
His breath hitched as something stirred inside his chest, responding to the inscription's call. A whisper, barely audible, brushed the edges of his consciousness.
*This is only the beginning.*
His vision blurred for a moment, the chamber around him shifting, as if reality itself was trembling.
Then, just as suddenly, it ceased. The glyph before him glowed faintly, its resonance stabilizing. But something had changed. Not just in the inscription—but in him.
The masked figure watched in silence before finally speaking. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Ryn's pulse raced. He looked down at his own hands, uncertain. "What… what was that?"
The figure's voice was unreadable. "Your engraving has reached beyond the surface."
Ryn swallowed hard. He didn't fully understand what had just happened. But one thing was clear—
He had stepped into something far greater than he had imagined.
And there was no turning back.