The Journey Begins
Aeron adjusted the straps of his satchel, his body still aching from the grueling rune training. He had barely recovered when Segirus gave him the news.
"We are leaving."
The words carried weight—something deeper than mere travel. Aeron had spent his whole life within the confines of the ruined halls where Segirus had trained him, but now they were stepping into the unknown.
The Dead Lands of Vathis.
A place spoken of only in whispers. A place where no life thrived, where the land itself bore the scars of a forgotten war between gods and rune mages.
Aeron stood at the edge of the threshold, gazing at the endless expanse of blackened earth and skeletal ruins. The sky above was a perpetual twilight, cast in hues of gray and deep violet, as if the sun had abandoned this place long ago.
The air was thick with something unnatural—not death, but the absence of life.
Segirus stepped forward, his boots crunching against the cracked ground. "This is where the gods waged war against the first rune mages," he said. "This land is their grave."
Aeron exhaled slowly. This was where his ancestors had fallen.
And now, it was where he would begin his true journey.
Echoes of the Past
They walked for hours in silence, the vast emptiness stretching endlessly before them. Ruins of ancient temples jutted from the earth, their stonework still etched with forgotten runes. Some were shattered, their inscriptions burned away by divine wrath. Others remained eerily intact, untouched by time.
Aeron felt the weight of history pressing down on him.
"Segirus," he finally spoke, "why are we here?"
The old rune master didn't stop walking. "Because knowledge is not confined to books or training halls. If you wish to master the runes, you must witness the truth of their power—and the price that power demands."
Aeron's hands clenched into fists. He had seen the destruction a single rune could bring. He had nearly been crushed under its weight. But this—this was on a different scale.
Here, entire civilizations had been erased.
"Who built these?" Aeron gestured to the ruins.
"The First Rune Mages," Segirus said. "Your ancestors."
Aeron stopped in his tracks. His ancestors?
Segirus turned to face him. "The blood of the rune mages runs through your veins, Aeron. That is why you have the talent to wield them."
Aeron's chest tightened. He had always wondered why he could see runes when others could not, why his mind grasped their meanings instinctively.
It was in his blood.
But if that was true… then that meant his family had been part of this war.
"They were killed, weren't they?" Aeron asked, voice quiet.
Segirus nodded. "The gods could not allow the rune mages to exist. Their power threatened the divine order. And so, the old and new gods joined forces to erase them."
Aeron's breath came slow and unsteady. He had read fragments of history, learned of the "fall of the heretics" in religious texts, but he had never known that the so-called heretics were his own ancestors.
The gods had wiped them out.
And now, he was walking through the remnants of their legacy.
The City of Ash
As night fell, they reached what remained of a once-great city. Towering stone structures, now half-buried in the dust of ages, stood like skeletal remains against the dying sky.
The air was colder here. Thicker.
Aeron felt it immediately.
Something lingered.
Not life, but echoes—remnants of the past imprinted upon the world.
Segirus knelt, brushing his fingers across the stone ground. "This was Vathis-Ra, one of the last strongholds of the rune mages. When the gods descended upon this city, its people did not flee. They fought."
Aeron swallowed. "And they lost."
Segirus looked up at him. "No one wins against gods."
Aeron clenched his fists. "Then why did they fight?"
"Because they believed in something greater than fear," Segirus said. He stood, motioning for Aeron to follow. "Come. I will show you what remains."
The Black Monolith
At the center of the ruins stood a monolith of obsidian stone, untouched by time. It was massive, stretching high into the sky, its surface covered in intricate rune inscriptions that pulsed faintly with lingering power.
Aeron approached it cautiously. "This survived?"
Segirus nodded. "Because the gods could not destroy it."
Aeron frowned. "But I thought the gods erased everything."
"They did," Segirus said. "But this was not made by man."
Aeron hesitated. "Then… who made it?"
Segirus's eyes darkened. "No one knows. It was here long before the rune mages. Some believe it was left behind by an even older civilization—one that mastered runes beyond anything we can comprehend."
Aeron touched the surface of the monolith. It was warm.
And then—
A voice whispered in his mind.
Not words. Not language.
But knowledge.
Images flashed before his eyes—figures clad in robes, inscribing runes in the air with mere gestures. A city of light, floating above the heavens. A war that tore the sky apart.
A final act of defiance—a rune inscribed into the very fabric of reality.
And then—silence.
Aeron stumbled back, his breath ragged.
"What was that?" he gasped.
Segirus watched him carefully. "The past."
Aeron's mind reeled. That knowledge—it had been placed there, waiting.
And he had just touched it.
He turned to Segirus, voice shaking. "What are we really here to find?"
Segirus exhaled, glancing up at the monolith. "The gods destroyed every record of the rune mages. Every scroll, every inscription, every trace of their existence."
He looked at Aeron.
"But knowledge is not so easily erased. It lingers in places even the gods cannot reach."
He gestured at the ruins around them.
"This land still remembers. And if you are willing, you will uncover what was lost."
Aeron took a deep breath, steadying himself.
For the first time, he understood.
This journey was not just about learning runes.
It was about reclaiming a history that had been stolen.
And if the gods had tried so hard to erase it…
Then what terrible power had they been so desperate to hide?