Another week had passed since Arthur found the ruins, yet the pieces of the puzzle refused to fall into place. His days became routine, trudging through the snow to the ancient site at dawn and returning to Eamon's, the village leader's, house in the evening. The warmth of the fire and the occasional steaming bowl of stew that Eamon's wife made couldn't chase away the growing frustration clawing at his chest.
The room Eamon had lent him was small, crammed with old furniture that seemed to creak in disapproval every time Arthur moved. Apparently, it was a room the old man's son used to inhabit before he left to make a name for himself outside the village. His gear lay scattered around, a few dull knives, the battered scabbard of his sword, the blade was still in great shape though, and the enormous greatsword he had dragged from the ruins.
The blade had been taken from one of the golems he'd fought. It wasn't just any greatsword, its craftsmanship was breathtaking, the edges lined with faded runes that seemed to hum faintly under his touch. Nearly as tall as him, the sword was unnaturally light for its size. Arthur didn't yet know what all the runes did, but one of them had to be responsible for the weight. No way could a weapon that large feel so light in his hands; with its balance, he could almost wield it with one hand.
He stared at it now, leaning against the corner of the room, as he scratched notes into his journal.
"How did they even forge something like you?" he muttered, shaking his head. He couldn't even tell what kind of metal the thing was made of.
Arthur's obsession with the rune book only grew deeper by the day. Every spare moment was spent flipping through its ancient pages, squinting at the incomprehensible script. The only word he could make out—rune—had been his first clue to the book's purpose. The rest of the text was gibberish to him, the characters swirling together in an unhelpful mess.
The frustration was nearly unbearable.
But the book wasn't entirely useless. Its detailed illustrations showed runes etched onto objects, each one demonstrating the rune's effect. Arthur had figured out the purpose of a few, but understanding wasn't the same as mastery.
His first breakthrough came with Lux, the rune of light. The glow that lit the ruin's interior had stayed with him, an image he couldn't shake. When he found the matching rune in the book, accompanied by a drawing of a glowing object in a dark room, the pieces clicked together.
"Light," Arthur said aloud, staring at the rune sketched in his notebook. "It has to be." The damaged runes in the tower only gave the faintest glow, but he could imagine when the entire place was pristine the runes would light the whole place up.
It took him several tries to replicate it. With painstaking care, he etched the Lux rune onto a scrap of metal, just as the book had shown. His hands trembled as he finished the final stroke, and for a moment, he thought it hadn't worked.
Then the rune began to glow.
"Finally!" Arthur shouted, holding up the glowing scrap. It was weak at first, a faint flicker of light barely strong enough to illuminate his hand. But as he refined his etching over the next few days, he managed to create a steady glow.
Encouraged, he etched Lux onto two of his knives, testing them under the cover of darkness. The light wasn't strong enough to blind an enemy, but it could illuminate a pitch-black room or distract someone long enough to close the distance. He planned to only activate the glow before throwing the knives to serve as a distraction. If he could learn to channel his mana, he could overcharge the rune and create a much brighter, deadlier distraction.
Back and forth he went, between the ruins and the village. Each trip brought new discoveries, though they rarely came easy. Arthur collected scraps of broken armor, pieces of ancient tools, and even a handful of rusted weapons. None compared to the greatsword he had taken, but every piece felt like it held a story, and his consciousness wouldn't let him leave a weapon behind.
One day, while examining the debris around a collapsed wall, he found another rune carved into a shattered slab of stone. It was the same rune he'd seen on the golems' armor. He looked through his book and found the rune there.
"Protection," Arthur guessed, sketching it into his notebook. "Maybe... toughening?"
He decided to call it Aegis.
Arthur spent hours trying to replicate it on scraps of metal, but the rune refused to work. No matter how carefully he etched the lines, nothing happened. He slammed his chisel onto the table one night, the sound startling even him.
"Why won't you work?" he muttered, glaring at the piece of metal. His fingers ached from the effort, but he didn't stop.
Eamon walked in, carrying a steaming mug. "Still at it, lad?"
Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. "I thought I was making progress, but this one's being stubborn. I don't even know if I'm doing it right. For all I know, I could be missing something obvious."
Despite the setbacks, Arthur's determination only grew. Each successful rune felt like a small victory, proof that he was moving forward. He began to study the illustrations in the book more closely, looking for patterns or context he might have missed.
One of his most successful breakthroughs came when he discovered a hidden chamber within the ruins. On a whim, he had explored a narrow, snow-covered passage that wound its way deep into the earth. It led to a small, dust-covered room, its walls lined with forgotten relics.
At the center of the room was a chest, its lock rusted shut. Using his knife, Arthur pried it open and gasped. Inside, he found a trove of treasures: a delicate golden amulet, a small vial of shimmering liquid, and a stack of parchment.
The parchment was covered in the same ancient script as the rune book, but the illustrations caught his eye. They depicted several runes he hadn't seen before, along with what looked like diagrams of weapons. Arthur's heart raced as he carefully folded the parchment, tucking it into his bag.
"This is it," he whispered. "This is what I've been looking for."
Back at Eamon's house, Arthur spread the parchment on the floor, examining it under the flickering light of the fire. The runes on the page were unfamiliar, but their presence alongside the diagrams of weapons gave him an insight into their purpose. These weren't just symbols—they were tools, a key to unlocking more of the power he had felt in the ruins.
Eamon peeked in from the doorway, his eyes flicking to the parchment. "Find something interesting?"
Arthur looked up, grinning. "I think so. This could be it. It's got runes I haven't seen before, ones that match the weapons in the ruins. I think it's a guide."
"Looks like you're finally getting somewhere," Eamon said, leaning against the doorframe. "What will you do with it?"
Arthur paused, his hand resting on the parchment. He had spent so many days chasing after scraps of knowledge, hoping for a breakthrough, that the idea of finding something more tangible made his head spin. But he had to keep going. The book, the ruins, the runes—they were all pieces of a puzzle that demanded to be solved.
"I'll study it," he said, determination burning in his chest. "And then I'll go back to the ruins. There's still so much more to uncover."
The days grew longer, and as Arthur returned to the village each evening, the weight of his thoughts pressed harder on his chest. Each evening, his focus drifted not only toward the rune book and his exploration of the ruins but also to the larger horizon beyond the village. He knew his time was limited.
In eight months, the mages of the capital would begin accepting new students into their academies, a rite of passage for many. It was one of the few things that could finally get him closer to his dream. At 18, the schools would be open for enrollment, and Arthur would have no chance of getting in if he missed it. That meant he had only six more months to continue to study the ruins before he had to leave for the capital. His focus was now torn between learning as much as possible from the ruins and getting ready for his trip to the capital of Ashlynd, Luminara, a distant city where the skies were clear—clear, at least, above the city itself. The rest of Ashlynd was often blanketed by thick ash clouds, remnants of the countless conflicts that had scarred the land. But the mages of the capital worked tirelessly to keep their skies free of ash, using spells to clear the air as if to remind the world that they had conquered the skies themselves.
The winds carried the scent of the earth, of snow and cold metal, as he made his way down the road. And despite the heavy weight in his chest, the weight of the greatsword against his back, Arthur felt the fire of determination burn even hotter.
In six months, he could finally start the real pursuit of his dreams.