I sit on a creaking chair behind a cluttered wide table. A lone candle stands small among them illuminating the stone room and apart of me wonders about ventilation, I leave it for later to ponder.
Now I concentrate.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the parchment Flint handed me. It felt rough, elastic, and nothing like paper from home. The brush in my other hand twitched nervously, its bristles soaked in a dark ink that shimmered faintly.
Flint leaned over my shoulder, his wild eyes focused on the glyph taking shape under my trembling hand. His face carved in the low light. I dragged the brush slowly, trying to mimic the smooth, confident strokes Flint had show me earlier. I chant the process he would make a point of me remembering in my mind. The ink resisted as my mana flowed, the brush snagged on the parchment, and the curve I intended came out jagged.
Flint grunted. "Tighter on the arcs," he muttered, not giving me much more than that. He stepped back, crossing his arms, and watched. Tighter arcs, sure. But how?
I exhaled and dipped the brush. This time, I tried steadying my wrist, letting my arm do the work. The brush glided a little easier, and the line held. Not perfect, but better. The parchment hummed under my fingers, barely noticeable, but it was there. I almost hold my breathe.
Flint's silence was his approval.
I glanced at him, hoping for something more, but he only gave a slight nod. So, I went back to it, my breath syncing with each stroke. There was something rhythmic to it, something calming.
Suddenly, the glyph snapped into place, a soft glow radiating from the symbols. I felt a chill like a puzzle in reality click in place. I blinked, almost startled at my own success. Flint scratched his chin, an amused grin tugging at his lips.
"Well, it ain't half bad after 2 days," he said.
I wanted to laugh, but all I could do was stare at the faint glow on the parchment, "Finally..."
I took a fresh peice and with more confident strokes completed my second. I grinned at my work and I knew Flint grinned at his. I breathe and trigger it in my hand, the symbols burns, the page rips itself apart and poping into a burst of expanding air.
Flint claps, "Good job. Don't forget to fold it and chuck it next time."
I nods thoughtlessly, "Teach me fire glyphs next."
Flint shook his head, "Ah, ah, ahh... That lesson was for these pants." He gestured to the dirty camo pants.
"I've got more." Hopefully, I replied quickly, a little too eagerly. Flint raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.
"Already got these. What'll I do with more-"
"Sell it."
"More pants for me then." He walked over to a cluttered shelf, pulling down a jar filled with a strange red powder. "Fire glyphs, though... you're asking for a bit of trouble with those." He tossed the jar in the air, catching it casually. The glyph symbols stuck to jar "This stuff? You mess it up, and fwoom, your eyes are on fire."
I swallowed hard but didn't back down. "I can handle it."
Flint snorted. "Sure, kid. But remember, fire doesn't forgive mistakes."
He set the jar down with a thud, and I eyed it warily. The air in the room felt heavier, the low candle flame flickering as if sensing the tension. I grabbed another piece of parchment, smoothing it out on the table. The brush felt steadier in my hand now, and I could almost hear the rhythm in my head as I began to draw again. Slow, deliberate strokes, just like before.
Flint hovered nearby but didn't say much. His presence was a mix of amusement and anticipation, like he was waiting to see if I'd surprise him again or blow something up.
The glyph was almost complete, the lines sharp and clean. I could feel the potential energy coiling in the parchment, the hum of magic barely contained. As I reached the final stroke, I hesitated. That click in the universe didn't come. This was it,either it would work, or it would fail spectacularly.
I finished the glyph, folded the parchment carefully like Flint had shown me, and flicked it off toward the far end of the room. Where a only a line stone wall holds. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft puff, a small burp of smoke erupted from the glyph.
I stared at it, dumbfounded at the inky smoke gall and dissipate.
Flint blinked, then broke into laughter, "A puff of smoke? That's a new one." He clapped me on the back, "You've got a knack for this, even if it ain't quite what we were going for."
I frowned, feeling a mix of disappointment and curiosity. I hadn't meant to create smoke-but still, it worked. Just... not in the way I expected. Maybe there was something to this world's craft that I hadn't fully grasped yet?
Flint was still chuckling. "Urd brain's got you all mixed up." He likes saying that now.
I forced a grin, my mind already racing. I need to figure something out, a powerful spell and I need to learn it fast. I teach for another parchment and open it to see it already written on with glyph practice. I looked around the table at all the clutter of pages and bottles.
"Is that all?" I ask to Flint in his own thoughts, "Huh... yeah seems so. 'Why I wanted to end the lesson here."
I look around again hoping for one more scrap of parchment anywhere, "I'll go buy more."
Flint looked at me with an amused laugh, "Got any money boy?" I shook my head and Flint replied, "Me neither." He wraps his arm around my neck, "I lick some parch' off the deliveries from this quiant place that makes them down here."
"You stole all these?" I look around the room seeing the paper pile high on the desk, shelves and far corners of the room.
"I wouldn't say that..." he shrugs, "Call it- an unknowing academic investment." He pushes of me and leaves the room gesturing me to do the same.
I stay seated thinking for a moment wondering if I would steal to learn magic.
"Hmm, man are you coming?" Flint asked peaking through the door.
"Yes."
-
The canyon city was in some ways just like The Spine. Buildings claw their wall up the walls of the canyon like a festering sore, interconnected by creaky brides. There's a dead smell that fills the air I needed to get used to, I always wondered where it came from.
A river that runs at the bottom is swimming with crap and actual dead bodies. Some fall in and die, some were already dead and thrown in.
I wish Flint never told me.
I'm in a perpetual state of 'about to puke' and not being able. The tired cobbled streets that stretch from the walls are bustling surprisingly and I can almost see the deseases these people have. I wonder if teaching the world about hygiene is a better way to impress her.
How would I prove it.
I shake my head and concentrate, infront of me is Flint and infront of him is a hand-held cart piled with parchment I need. No one gaurds it, anyone could steel one but don't for some reason. Pulling it is an old man as weathered as the wood here.
I look at the faces around me, wondering if they know, suspecting me. If they know I'm going to steal from this man's parchment.
It's fine, I just need it to practice, and get a good spell and... not gettin' my head cut off.
The cart turns into an alley. The driver was now stretching his back before heading into the side door into a cabin house leaving the cart behind. Flint burst out first and unloading the parchment into his leather bag. I do the same after him looking over my shoulder as I do so and at the door.
"Hey, concentrate. In and out." Flint snapped his fingers.
I quickly went back to work until we filled the bags leaving a third missing from the cart. The door bursts open and out came 2 men.
Flint spat curses pulling me along to run out the alley and 3 more other men filled the other end.
It wasn't so much an alley way, more like a narrow wooden catwalk, either way we were trapped.
"What are you guys doing here." Flint asked.
"Whachu you mean, 'what we doing here'?" One asked sounding offended, "This is our order."
"Like patriotic citizens." Another adds, "But here we are, getting robbed in broad daylight." Another shakes his head, "Can't have nice things in Bram, looks it."
Flint's shoulders sagged. I swallowed hard, glancing at the sacks of parchment weighing us down. My heart hammered in my chest, and I cursed under my breath. Of course, this would happen.
One of the men stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Look at you, robbing us like rats," he sneered, his teeth yellowed and jagged. "Now, you're gonna pay."
"Robbing?" Flint said, flashing his easy grin. "This is quality control. Gotta make sure your goods aren't, you know... defective. Let's see now." He started taking out his small brush, and put it between his teeth.
The man's fist tightened, and before I could blink, he lunged forward. Flint, bursted to life, sidestepping with a fluidity that made it look almost a lazy boxer. He slipped under the punch and brought his fist up hard, slamming it into the man's sternum robbing him of air. The man gasped, doubling over. Flint shook his wrist, sucking his teeth.
"That's enough chit-chat," he said, his voice sharp now. He glanced back at me, eyes flashing with wild glee. "Get your glyphs ready, kid. You're about to learn on the job." He mumbled over the brush.
My stomach dropped. I reached into my pocket for a scrap of parchment, fumbling with the brush and ink. My hands were trembling so badly I almost dropped the damn thing. Flint, on the other hand, had already started sketching glyphs on the wall with one hand and folded it in 3 motions, while juggling the brush between it all. His fingers moved in quick, decisive arcs, trailing lines of glowing energy that hovered like spider silk, forming a sigil before me faster than I could even focus.
The rest of the men charged us. Flint barely flinched, pivoting smoothly as he finished his glyph. His lips curled into a grin, and he whispered a word under his breath. The sigil snapped into reality with a brilliant flash.
A wall of force exploded from his glyph, slamming into the nearest attacker. The man was lifted off his feet and hurled backward into the others, crashing into them like bowling pins. The narrow walkway creaked and swayed under the weight of their impact, groaning dangerously.
Flint didn't wait. He leapt forward, closing the gap between him and the remaining men, already conjuring another glyph as he moved using his forearm as a table. He finished it before they could recover from the pile and didn't even bother folding it. He dropped the heavy parchment and ran to me with his hands on hia ears and a deafening pop rushed through the air.
Meanwhile, I was still wrestling with my one parchment. The ink on my brush was dripping, and the glyph I was trying to create was- well, I wasn't sure what it was anymore. The lines weren't straight, and the arcs were definitely not tight. The parchment barely hummed under my fingers.
"Any time now, Urd boy!" Flint called.
Sweat dripped down my face. I focused, trying to steady my breath, but my mind was a mess of panic. The glyph I'd drawn looked more like a child's scribble than the precise symbols Flint had shown me earlier. Still, I poured my mana into it, feeling the resistance in the ink.
Just as another thug rushed at me, I threw my parchment at him forgetting to trigger it but activated it by mistake anyways. My glyph flared to life. Sort of. A small burst of light shot out from my parchment, like a weak gust of wind, knocking the man off balance for a second. But that was it. He blinked, confused as if eypecting more, before regaining his footing and snarling at me.
Great. A puff of wind. I'm dead.
I barely had time to think before Flint was suddenly there, sliding between us, skidding to a halt as he blocked the man's kick with his shin. He stepped in, elbowing the thug in the face, and finished him with a glyph smothered in his face throwing him back. He snapped his fingers and the glyph erruptee into flames The man crumpled, groaning in pain.
"That was... cute," Flint muttered, eyes darting between me and the now-sizzling parchment in my hand. "Maybe next time, try something that actually works."
My cheeks burned, but I couldn't respond. The remaining men, seeing how easily Flint dispatched their friends, hesitated. Flint, still calm, drew another glyph this time in the air. It was quicker, messier than before. He folded it once and threw it in he air. He snapped his fingers, and the glyph shot toward them like a bolt of lightning.
No, it was and it crackled dispersing like tree roots.
They jolted and spasmed for a moment. It didn't knock them out, but it did more than my pathetic puff of wind, it sent them scrambling, clutching their heads, disoriented. One of them stumbled backward, tripping overa fallen body. The others turned tail and ran, shouting curses as they disappeared down the catwalk.
Flint sighed, rolling his shoulders as if he'd just finished a warm-up. He turned to me, his smirk evil and proud as if asking, 'did you see that?'. I looked closer and I saw the burns on the left side of his face crawling to his neck.
When did the lightning hit him?
"See that?" He gestured to the fading glyphs burned into the air. "Craft ain't just about power. It's about control. If you don't master the basics, you'll end up dead, or worse- looking like an idiot."
I stared at him. My heart pounded in my ears, and I could feel the adrenaline still coursing through me. I nodded, unable to argue. Flint was right, I had a long way to go. He didn't need to say it outright, the gap between us was painfully obvious.
Flint clapped me on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of here before more of 'em show up. And try not to puff them to death next time, yeah?"
I forced a laugh, but it came out hollow. There was no denying it, I was far from where I needed to be. And time was running out.