The underground chamber was silent except for the faint flickering of the torches. Aeron sat in front of Segirus, his mind still reeling from the revelation of the last conversation. The Runeborn—erased by the gods. The runes—too powerful to be left in mortal hands. And yet, here he was, a mere mortal, being taught what should not exist.
His fists clenched at the weight of it all. Why him?
He looked at Segirus, the man who had survived the destruction of his entire bloodline, the last of the Runeborn. His dark, ancient eyes studied Aeron with a gaze that felt as though it could pierce through his very soul.
Then, the old man spoke.
"You have talent, Aeron. More than you realize."
Aeron frowned. "How do you know?"
Segirus smirked slightly. "Because you're still here."
Aeron raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't explain anything."
Segirus chuckled. "Tell me, do you feel exhausted? Worn out? Like something in your very being is being drained away?"
Aeron blinked. Now that he thought about it, he didn't. The countless failures, the frustrating hours spent trying to grasp even a fraction of the runes' power—it had been mentally grueling, but physically? He felt fine.
Segirus nodded as if he had read his thoughts. "Anyone else would have collapsed long ago. Their mind would have shattered, their soul torn apart by the strain of trying to comprehend something beyond mortal understanding."
Aeron swallowed. "But I haven't."
"Exactly." Segirus leaned forward, his gaze sharper now. "It means you were born with something rare—a mind that can grasp the runes without breaking. That is why I agreed to teach you. It is why you, and only you, have a chance to wield them."
Aeron's mind raced. Did this mean he had some kind of special bloodline? Some inherited gift?
Segirus seemed to sense his thoughts. "Do not mistake this for fate, boy. You are not some chosen savior. The gods did not carve your destiny in stone. This is simply a matter of talent—a raw, natural ability, the same way some men are born with strength, speed, or intelligence. Nothing more, nothing less."
Aeron exhaled slowly. "So what does this mean?"
Segirus's smirk returned. "It means it's time to teach you your first rune."
---
The Nature of Runes
Segirus stood and motioned for Aeron to follow. He walked toward the far side of the chamber, where a massive stone slab lay covered in ancient carvings.
Aeron studied them. He had seen them before but had never truly understood their significance. The symbols glowed faintly, pulsating like a heartbeat.
Segirus placed a hand on the slab. "Before you can write, you must understand."
Aeron crossed his arms. "I thought you were going to teach me my first rune?"
Segirus gave him a sharp look. "Patience. The runes are not spells. They are not something you simply copy and expect to work. A single misplaced line, a single mistake in intent, and you will be consumed."
Aeron shivered. He knew Segirus wasn't exaggerating. He had already failed countless times trying to use runes, and each failure had ended with reality warping around him in terrifying ways.
Segirus gestured toward the carvings. "Runes are not commands. They are not words. They are laws. The moment you inscribe them, they become truth."
Aeron nodded. "I understand that."
"No. You think you do, but you don't." Segirus tapped the stone. "The gods erased the Runeborn because we did not cast magic—we rewrote reality itself. We did not command fire to burn; we inscribed why it burned. We did not summon water; we dictated the nature of water itself."
Aeron swallowed.
"That is why rune magic is dangerous. A single mistake in your inscription does not mean the spell 'fails.' It means reality accepts the mistake as truth."
Aeron felt a cold weight settle in his stomach.
"And that is why we start with the simplest rune."
---
The First Rune: Stability
Segirus held out his hand, and a faint light glowed at his fingertips. Slowly, he traced a rune in the air—one simple, curved line intersected by a horizontal stroke.
The moment it was completed, the chamber felt different.
The air became still. The faint flicker of the torches steadied, their flames standing unnaturally firm. The distant sounds of dripping water in the tunnels above ceased. It was as if the entire world had stopped moving.
Aeron inhaled sharply. "What... is this?"
Segirus's voice was calm. "The Rune of Stability."
Aeron stared at the glowing symbol. It was simple—deceptively so. But now, looking at it, he felt it.
This was not a spell. This was a law.
Segirus turned to him. "Your first lesson is this: Before you can alter reality, you must be able to stabilize it. If you cannot control stability, you will never control anything else."
Aeron frowned. "I don't understand. What exactly does it do?"
Segirus smirked. "Try breaking something."
Aeron hesitated, then picked up a nearby stone and clenched his fist. He squeezed, expecting it to crumble in his grip.
It didn't.
His fingers strained, but the stone held firm, harder than before. He slammed it against the ground. Nothing. Not even a crack.
His eyes widened.
Segirus nodded. "The Rune of Stability prevents change. It locks things in their current state. The flame does not flicker. The water does not drip. The stone does not break."
Aeron's mind raced. A rune that halts change? That prevents anything from shifting, cracking, or altering?
No wonder this was the first lesson.
Segirus clapped his hands, and the rune faded. The torches flickered again, the distant water dripped once more, and the stone in Aeron's hand became fragile once again.
The world returned to normal.
Segirus turned to Aeron, his voice firm. "Now, your task is to inscribe this rune yourself. Without error."
Aeron clenched his fists. He had expected something grander for his first rune. Something powerful. Something that could bend the world to his will.
But now, standing in the wake of true rune magic, he understood.
Before he could alter reality, he had to learn how to hold it still.
And he had a feeling this was going to be harder than he thought.