Ryn sat in silence, staring at the faintly glowing inscription he had just carved. His breath was steady, but his heart pounded in his chest. Something within him had awakened, something that had responded to the engraving in a way he had never felt before.
The masked figure remained quiet for a long moment before finally speaking. "That reaction… it was different from before."
Ryn nodded, gripping his wrist absentmindedly. "I don't know what happened, but when I carved the glyph, I felt something shift—inside me."
The figure tilted his head slightly. "What did you hear?"
"A whisper," Ryn admitted. "It was faint, but… it felt like it was speaking directly to me."
The masked figure's posture stiffened ever so slightly. "You are beginning to glimpse the deeper layers of engraving. The inscriptions we create do not merely mark the surface—they resonate with the essence of the one who carves them."
Ryn frowned. "You mean, my engraving is reflecting something inside of me?"
"Not just reflecting," the figure corrected. "It is shaping."
Ryn felt a chill crawl up his spine. He had been so focused on mastering the techniques of engraving, on refining his skills, that he had never considered the possibility that the process itself could change him in return.
He turned back to the glowing glyph on the wall. It pulsed gently, the light within shifting as if responding to his thoughts. Carefully, he reached out, pressing his fingertips against the surface.
A sudden shock ran through his arm.
His vision blurred, and for an instant, he wasn't in the chamber anymore.
He saw fractured images—a sprawling city of towering monoliths, engravings covering every inch of stone. Figures walked the streets, their bodies laced with shifting glyphs, inscriptions that glowed with eerie intensity. Some moved with ease, their engravings stable and refined. Others trembled, their inscriptions flickering, unstable—dangerous.
Then, a figure appeared before him. Its face was obscured, but its voice rang in his mind.
Who are you?
Ryn gasped as he was yanked back into reality, stumbling away from the wall. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling.
The masked figure observed him carefully. "You saw something, didn't you?"
Ryn hesitated, then nodded. "A city. People… their bodies covered in engravings."
The masked figure was silent for a moment before murmuring, "The echoes of the past remain within the engravings. Sometimes, when one carves with true resonance, those echoes answer."
Ryn swallowed hard. This was no longer just about mastering inscriptions for power. Something deeper was at play, something ancient and vast. And he had only scratched the surface.
His fingers curled into a fist. If the engravings held knowledge—held history—then he would uncover it.
No matter the cost.
The air in the chamber was thick with tension. Ryn's breathing had slowed, but his pulse still pounded in his ears. The vision of the city and its inscribed inhabitants clung to his mind like a lingering shadow.
The masked figure watched him, unreadable as always. Then, finally, the figure spoke. "You have glimpsed something few ever do. And yet, this is merely the beginning."
Ryn clenched his fists. He had been thrown into this world of engravings, of mysteries layered upon mysteries, and with each answer he found, a dozen more questions arose. But if this was only the beginning, then what lay beyond?
Before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber's entrance. Ryn's body tensed, instinctively shifting into a defensive stance.
From the dimly lit corridor, a figure emerged.
A man, tall and draped in a flowing robe lined with delicate inscriptions. His eyes, sharp and calculating, landed on Ryn immediately. He exuded an air of quiet authority, though his presence was as still as the surface of a lake.
The masked figure turned toward the newcomer. "I expected you sooner."
The robed man gave a faint smile. "Time moves differently for those who observe."
Ryn frowned, glancing between them. "Who is he?"
The masked figure inclined his head slightly. "He is one of the Silent Observers."
Ryn narrowed his eyes. He had heard whispers of them before—enigmatic individuals who studied the deeper layers of engraving, rarely intervening in the affairs of others. But their mere presence was said to alter the course of events.
The Silent Observer stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Ryn's own. "You saw the city, didn't you?"
Ryn hesitated. The memory of the vision still burned fresh. "Yes."
A brief silence stretched between them before the Observer spoke again. "Then the past has acknowledged you."
Ryn felt a cold weight settle in his gut. Acknowledged him? What did that even mean?
The Observer seemed to sense his thoughts. "What you saw was a fragment of history, an imprint left behind by those who came before. But such visions do not appear without reason."
Ryn's fingers twitched. "Are you saying… that something is guiding this?"
The Observer smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you are simply standing at the crossroads of fate."
Ryn had no patience for riddles, but he held his tongue. He was beginning to understand that knowledge in this world was rarely given freely.
The Observer turned his gaze toward the inscription Ryn had carved. He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers lightly over its surface. For a brief moment, the glyph pulsed, reacting to his touch. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
Then, without another word, he turned back to Ryn. "You should prepare yourself. If the engravings have begun to speak to you, then the path ahead will be unlike anything you have faced before."
Ryn exhaled slowly. He had come far, but this was only another step in a journey that stretched beyond his sight.
And yet, something deep within him whispered: Keep going.