The Weight of the Arcane
Aeron sat before the ancient stone slab, his fingers gripping the engraving tool so tightly his knuckles had turned white. In front of him, Segirus watched in silence, his golden eyes flickering with a mixture of expectation and amusement.
"The first rune you will carve is Stability," Segirus said, his voice like the echo of a long-lost era. "It is the simplest in concept but the hardest to execute. Without Stability, no other rune can be formed correctly."
Aeron swallowed hard. The rune itself was deceptively simple—one curved line intersected by a horizontal stroke—but Segirus had warned him that even a single imperfection would result in failure. And failure, when it came to runes, was never gentle.
He pressed the tip of the engraving tool against the stone.
The moment he did, a force pushed back.
It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It wasn't physical resistance, like carving into tough material, but something deeper, something woven into the very fabric of reality. It felt like the world itself was resisting the change he was about to make.
His heartbeat quickened.
"You feel it, don't you?" Segirus said with a knowing smirk. "The world does not accept new laws lightly."
Aeron gritted his teeth. "Why?"
"Because inscribing a rune is not just carving symbols. It is an act of defiance against the natural order. Every stroke forces reality to change, to accommodate something that was not there before. The world does not like to change."
Aeron nodded slowly, adjusting his grip.
He took a deep breath.
And began carving.
---
The Price of Failure
His first attempt ended in disaster.
Aeron traced the curved line successfully, but when he moved to inscribe the horizontal stroke, his hand trembled slightly—just enough to make the line uneven.
Instantly, the air warped.
A crushing force descended upon him, like an invisible weight pressing down on his shoulders. His lungs froze, his limbs locked in place, and for a horrifying moment, his mind felt like it was sinking into absolute stillness.
Then—
A sharp crack echoed through the chamber.
The rune collapsed, and a violent backlash lashed out.
Aeron was flung backward, slamming into the cold stone floor. His skull rattled from the impact, his vision blurring with stars. The moment the rune failed, the crushing weight vanished, leaving behind only an overwhelming emptiness.
Segirus chuckled. "Not bad. You lasted longer than most."
Aeron groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "That was—what the hell was that?"
"A rejection," Segirus replied. "Your inscription was flawed. The world did not accept it, so it shattered. And when a rune collapses, the energy has to go somewhere."
Aeron sat up, shaking his head. The stone slab in front of him bore a deep, jagged scar where the rune had been attempted. The sheer force of the backlash had damaged the material itself.
"Again."
---
The second attempt was worse.
This time, he tried to steady his breathing, to carve the strokes precisely—but the moment his engraving tool slipped by even a fraction of an inch, he felt it.
The rune reacted.
The air froze. The torches lining the chamber flickered, then locked in place, unmoving.
A deep, resonating hum filled the room. The stone beneath his feet fractured.
Segirus moved instantly.
He reached out, his fingers glowing with a faint golden light, and pressed them against the rune. It shattered into dust.
The world lurched.
The torches burst back into motion, the stone rippled as if it were liquid, and Aeron felt as if invisible chains had been removed from his body. He gasped, dropping his engraving tool, his hands shaking.
"You inscribed it with too much force," Segirus explained. "The rune tried to stabilize everything—including yourself. If I hadn't stopped it, you would have been trapped in that moment forever."
Aeron's stomach twisted. "You mean... I would have been frozen?"
"No." Segirus gave him a grim look. "Worse. You would have continued existing in a single moment, eternally aware but never moving forward. Your mind would have been locked in that instant, unable to think beyond that frozen point in time.
Aeron felt a chill run down his spine.
This was only the Stability Rune, and it was already this dangerous.
"Again."
---
A Battle Against Reality
Hours passed.
He failed again. And again. And again.
Each attempt ended in backlash—sometimes subtle, sometimes violent. A gust of force knocking him back. A moment of suffocating stillness. A fracture in the stone.
His hands ached. His mind was exhausted. His entire body screamed for rest.
But he refused to stop.
Segirus remained silent, offering no further guidance. This was Aeron's battle.
It was not just about carving lines. It was about bending reality itself.
At attempt thirty-seven, something clicked.
Aeron adjusted his grip, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Instead of focusing on the physical act of carving, he reached for the concept.
Not just the shape of the rune. Not just the technique.
But its meaning.
Stability. Halt. Stillness.
A rune was not a drawing—it was a law.
The moment he grasped that truth, the unseen resistance lessened. The pressure pushing against his hand softened, as if the world itself was hesitating.
And this time, when he carved the final stroke—
The rune held.
A deep, resonating hum filled the chamber.
The air settled.
The torches froze mid-flicker.
The dust in the air stopped drifting.
Everything halted.
Aeron felt it. True Stability.
Segirus exhaled, a flicker of approval in his ancient eyes. "Finally."
Aeron collapsed, sweat dripping from his forehead. His vision blurred, his body trembling from exhaustion.
But despite the overwhelming fatigue, he smiled.
Because for the first time since entering this cursed training…
He had succeeded.