The slate's energy lingered in the air, crackling like an ember refusing to fade. Ryn's breath came in short, ragged bursts, his body still reeling from the strain of engraving his will onto the ancient inscription. His fingertips tingled, a phantom sensation of the energy that had surged through them moments ago.
The masked figure stood motionless, watching him in silence. Then, after a long pause, he spoke. "You carved a new path into an inscription that has remained unchanged for centuries. Do you understand what that means?"
Ryn wiped the sweat from his brow and swallowed. "That I altered history?"
A chuckle, low and amused, echoed through the chamber. "Not history. You imposed your existence upon the will of those who came before."
Ryn's gaze fell to the slate once more. The engraved battle had ceased. Where once two conflicting forces had clashed, now a new flow had emerged, one dictated by his intervention. The realization struck him like a hammer to the chest. This was more than just understanding inscriptions—this was rewriting the very foundation of power.
The masked figure stepped closer. "This is the essence of engraving. Not merely crafting effects, but seizing control. The stronger the will, the greater the engraving."
Ryn clenched his fists. He had struggled for years to refine his skills, but this… this was a new level entirely. A realization dawned upon him.
"If someone's will is weak… their engravings will never be strong."
"Precisely." The masked figure gestured to the slate. "And the inverse is also true. The greatest engravers are those who impose themselves most completely."
Ryn exhaled slowly. He had seen countless masters of inscription craft before, but he had never understood this truth so deeply. It wasn't about precision alone—it was about dominance.
The masked figure turned, walking toward the chamber's exit. "Come. There is still much more to learn."
Ryn followed, his mind racing. As they passed through the corridor, the air around them seemed heavier. The walls bore inscriptions that pulsed faintly with suppressed power. He could feel them—layers upon layers of marks left by generations of engravers, each imprinting their presence upon these stones. It was overwhelming.
The corridor opened into a vast underground hall. At its center, an obsidian monolith stood, its surface shimmering with countless engravings, shifting and rearranging like a living entity. It exuded an aura of profound mystery, as though something resided within, watching them.
Ryn hesitated. "What… is this?"
The masked figure stopped before the monolith. "This is the Archive of the Engraved. Every inscription left behind by those who sought mastery is stored here."
Ryn took a cautious step forward. The engravings on the monolith moved in response, forming fleeting symbols that vanished before he could fully comprehend them. It was an overwhelming surge of knowledge, compressed into an indecipherable puzzle.
"You will leave your mark here," the masked figure said, his voice calm but firm. "To become a true engraver, you must carve your will into this monolith."
Ryn's eyes widened. He had only just begun to grasp the fundamentals of imposing his will upon inscriptions, and now he was expected to engrave something here—among the marks of countless past masters?
He swallowed hard. "And if I fail?"
The masked figure tilted his head slightly. "Then the monolith will erase you."
A chill ran down Ryn's spine. He could feel it now—the oppressive presence within the monolith. It wasn't just a storage of knowledge; it was a test. A trial by fire.
He stared at the monolith, his pulse hammering in his ears. He had altered an ancient inscription. He had imposed his will. But was that enough?
No. It had to be more than that.
With a deep breath, Ryn stepped forward and placed his hands on the monolith's surface.
The moment he did, a force surged through him, pulling at his very essence.
The test had begun.
A tidal wave of force surged through Ryn's arms the moment his hands met the monolith's surface. It wasn't merely energy—it was intent, will, history. He could feel the presence of past engravers pressing against him, their imprints whispering in a language beyond words.
His knees buckled, his vision swam. The weight of countless engravings bore down upon him, each a fragment of some forgotten struggle, a testament to ambition and failure alike.
He gritted his teeth and pushed forward.
The monolith reacted.
Symbols flared to life across its obsidian surface, spiraling in chaotic patterns. Some were ancient, their origins lost to time, while others bore eerie similarities to the marks he had studied in the past. They twisted and writhed, as if challenging him to comprehend them.
A voice echoed in his mind, distant and cryptic.
"Engrave your will. Leave your mark, or be erased."
Cold sweat ran down Ryn's back. This was no simple test—it was a battle of dominance. The monolith recognized nothing but absolute conviction.
He steadied himself, reaching deep into his core. He had learned to impose his will upon engravings, to rewrite their structure, but this was different. Here, he wasn't altering an existing inscription; he was forging one from nothing.
Drawing on his experiences, he focused inward. The principles of engraving refinement pulsed within him. Inscription wasn't just knowledge—it was assertion. It was the engraver imposing their reality onto the world.
The first stroke emerged.
A single line, thin and wavering, carved itself into the monolith's shifting surface. The moment it appeared, the chaotic symbols reacted violently. They clashed against it, trying to smother it, to erase his presence. The force of it sent a shockwave through Ryn's body, nearly throwing him backward.
But he held firm.
With gritted teeth, he pushed forward, reinforcing the stroke. It thickened, stabilizing under his will. His breath grew ragged, but he continued.
A second stroke.
A third.
Lines curved and intersected, forming the foundation of an inscription unlike any he had attempted before. It pulsed with an unstable energy, raw and unrefined, but undeniably his.
The monolith resisted, its existing engravings lashing out, trying to drown his mark in the weight of the past.
But Ryn refused to yield.
He could feel it now—the core truth of the monolith. It wasn't merely testing him. It was trying to reject him, to erase any mark that wasn't strong enough to persist.
Then, a spark ignited in his mind.
The Mysterious Engraving.
His breathing steadied, his grip on the monolith tightening. He had discovered something before—an inscription that absorbed and altered others, consuming their essence. If he could apply that here…
A new approach took form in his mind. Instead of fighting against the past engravings, he would merge with them.
His strokes shifted. He reached into the symbols clashing against his mark, threading their essence into his own inscription. Where they resisted, he absorbed. Where they attacked, he reshaped.
The effect was immediate.
The chaotic symbols ceased their resistance. Instead of rejecting him, they flowed into his engraving, feeding it. His mark expanded, stabilizing, intertwining with the vast history contained within the monolith.
Then, silence.
The monolith's shifting engravings slowed. The pulsing energy around him dimmed.
And his inscription remained.
Ryn staggered back, gasping for breath. He had done it. He had imposed his will upon the Archive of the Engraved—and it had accepted him.
The masked figure, who had been watching from the shadows, finally stepped forward. His voice was unreadable. "Interesting. You did not merely engrave—you integrated."
Ryn wiped the sweat from his brow. His limbs trembled, but he managed to stand tall. "Is that… not the point of engraving refinement?"
The masked figure chuckled, a dry, knowing sound. "Perhaps. But very few think to take that approach. Most seek only to dominate."
He gestured toward the monolith. "Your mark will remain. But remember this—just as you have inscribed yourself upon it, it has inscribed itself upon you."
Ryn blinked, his mind still reeling from the ordeal. He glanced at the monolith, feeling an unfamiliar sensation deep within his core.
Something had changed.
But whether it was for better or worse… he had yet to discover.