Nic emerged back into the desert in time for sunset. ‘Night’ didn’t really fall anymore. The storm of rifts in the distance, crackling with portals to other skies, let through enough sun that the desert stayed in a perpetual half-light.

But in that time the heat of the burning sands cooled, and the life hidden beneath the rocks emerged. Owls called in the distance. There was a wetness to the air that was absent in the arid, heavy-handed days.

Things were beginning to feel familiar to Nic.

Like this land was becoming part of him.

He sailed slowly up the dunes, keeping an eye out for sails and watchtowers. His next goal, the second-to-last location on his map, was edging closer and closer to the sand devil’s territory. But it was the only way to complete his goals.

When the way to the Heartstone opened, Nic wanted to not just complete his set of dao-markings, but acquire the last Plate of the Sun God’s Dictate. That meant completing his quest to gather the lore fragments- but it would allow him to finally gain a true cultivation method.

A technique that would regulate and strengthen all of his other techniques.

On a more developed world, Nic could have easily gained a lesser method by now, maybe even a passable one with a bit of luck. They were valuable, but knowledge had a way of spreading out.

But on a backwater like Earth, the only way was to follow the System’s trail of breadcrumbs…

And hope something worthwhile lay at the end.

The last location was a temple surrounded by snakes. After a few hours of sailing past strange, weather-worn idols, Nic was confident he’d found what they meant.

The earth was littered with the bones of serpents. Massive ribcages extended from the sands, half-buried, glinting in yellow tones. They reminded Nic of home, somehow…

He sailed carefully, avoiding the smaller snakes that writhed in their ancestor’s shadows. There were pools of water here, but Nic could smell the poison within. Anyone without his spectacular tolerance would be lured in by the small oases that sprouted up among the boneyard, only to drink the venom of ancient serpents as they slurped in the clear, sweet water.

In the center there was a small, square temple. It was easily the smallest of any of the structures Nic had seen, the size of a middling house, with a drab appearance of gray stone and unadorned granite pillars. The doors were split down the middle, one made of black iron and the other from white steel. A golden sun, the only ornament, hung above them.

It gave Nic the sense of a tomb.

As he laid his hands against the doors, they swung open easily. A stale breath of air washed against his face.

Within was an empty hallway leading to three open doors.

Nothing more.

But the walls, and even the ceiling, were covered in hieroglyphic designs. The usual rot and decay was nowhere to be found. The paints were clear and bright, with deep oranges and sky blues decorated by bits of gold leaf.

He looked up and broke into a delighted laugh.

Printed across the ceiling were six enormous runes he’d never seen before, and the hieroglyphs that surrounded them depicted, step by step, how to create them.

There were huge portions Nic couldn’t read, of course. Some of the hieroglyphs were clear pictures showing how to grind the ink, which line to begin with, and so forth- others were tightly packed scripts in a language Nic didn’t read, forcing him to write them off as losses.

But as he walked under the massive mural, he felt like he had wandered into a secret heaven.

These weren’t the common, rather unimpressive runes he’d been allowed to study. So far Nic had made do with combining simple effects like storing aura or strengthening a weapon, alongside the slightly larger array he’d gained from his Hunter-Gatherer Petroglyphs. Each time he upgraded that shard, his knowledge had grown slightly…

But these runic designs were treasures unto themselves. They combined multiple individual characters into complex circuits, meant to create grand effects. They stepped past simple science and became something that could simply be called… magic.

Nic turned to the left-hand wall, examining it hungrily for more…

And indeed, the pictures on the wall were instructions. But not for runecrafting. They depicted cutting herbs along a riverside and carefully cutting, preparing, and boiling them, combining different elements in a wicked green flame that burned in the mouth of a brass crocodile.

Alchemy.

This must have been some kind of training hall. A repository of all the fallen empire’s great techniques.

He glanced to the right. The final mural depicted the preparation of corpses with runes and holy herbs, making them into undead warriors. Corpse puppeteering. A grisly art that Nic, to be honest, didn’t have much use for…

If someone was dead, they had already lost.

The living would always have the upper hand.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Still, he studied it well enough to be able to relay the basic gist to someone else. In fact, digging into his pack, Nic took out pen and paper. Kneeling on the floor he sketched out the basics of each wall, alongside bits of text that looked particularly important, so he could translate them later…

This place was a treasure trove of knowledge, and writing it down in his own hand allowed Nic to fix that precious treasure into his memory.

Satisfied, he rose and went to the end of the hall. The three doors were side by side, but each led to a different spacious room…

Over one was a runic character.

The next, the symbol of reeds bound in a bundle.

Over the last, a canopic jar.

Nic chose the first, stepping into a room filled with animal-headed statues. Their gazes poured down onto a central dias, where strips of reed paper and a simple feather quill had been laid. He could feel himself being watched as he stepped up to the plate.

INSCRIBE THE FIRST SIGIL. A stony voice demanded. YOU ARE GIVEN TWO HOURS TO COMPLETE ALL TASKS.

Nic nodded to himself. So it was a test.

And if he had to guess, there would be six tasks, one for each rune.

He examined his tools. There was an inkstone and a grinding plate provided, but Nic preferred his own reserve via Inkspur, just as he preferred his Theoretical Quill, which let him make false ‘practice’ runes before attempting the real thing.

He began to draw, taking a dry run with the quill’s power.

His first attempt left sweat hanging from his stubby muzzle of a nose, but he preserved, completing a massive circular seal with seven individual runes running along its edges in smaller circles, like planets orbiting a sun.

It wasn’t perfect. In fact, Nic was sure he could do better with a bit of practice…

But he wanted to save time for the later, harder parts of the test. So he began to etch over his theoretical designs with real ink, filling them with a continuous stream of his spiritual will and concentrated Essence to carry that strength of mind.

Crude Sigil of the Zenith

(87% Complete)

Allows one to draw strength and healing from the sun, storing it within the inscribed object to be unleashed.

Nic licked his lips, satisfied.

ADEQUATE. The statues boomed.

A ripple of light covered the altar, replacing the papyrus scroll with a fresh blank. This time, several stone bowls of herbs and crushed insects appeared by the grinding stone. Nic was expected to make his own sacred inks.

Taking up the mortal and pestle, he began to work, quickly rendering down what he needed based on his memory. Nic had always had a good memory- it had been filled with grudges and regrets, once, but each time his Mental and Spiritual rankings increased, he found new clarity.

Preparing blue and dark green inks, he began on the next inscription. This one was shaped like a six-fingered hand, with two conjoined runes in the palm and at the tip of each finger. It was far more complicated, not just because of the runes themselves, but because of the delicate way they interlocked.

But Nic preserved. This time it took him three dry runs before he was confident enough to cease warming up…

Sigil of the Divine Palm

(102% Complete)

Guides the bearer in acts of craftsmanship, setting aside the sacred arts. Imbues metal and stone worked by them with an inner strength.

WORTH MERIT. The statues declared.

He paused, panting slightly. Drawing so many runes in such tight succession…

He wished he had another one of those Esper pills Nylea had made for him. That cold, clear feeling was increasingly scarce as he buried himself in the work, laboring in stifling heat to make delicate adjustments…

The altar rippled again. New ingredients for inks, and a new slab of papyrus to work with.

The whole process began anew.

Crude Sigil of the Slaying Hawk

(99% Complete)

Grants a massive burst of speed for a single moment, during which the bearer can fly through the air.

ADEQUATE.

Nic’s heart broke a little when he saw he’d come a hair shy from perfection. Lifting his quill, he steeled his heart for the next trial. In that moment he decided on a strategy.

He’d push through the next two as fast as he could. So long as he achieved adequate marks, he’d be content, rather than reaching for perfection.

That would give him time to rest before attempting the final, most difficult sigil.

Crude Sigil of the River-Mother

(94% Complete)

Creates a protective shield in the form of sacred river water, protecting the bearer and cleansing the world of evil forces by sweeping them away.

Sigil of the Scarab

(101% Complete)

Dispels and returns evil energies, returning curses to their creators. Grants the attention of the gods.

He gasped as the last one was complete, and pushed himself back from the altar. He went to sit on the steps to the doorway, slowly breathing in and out as sweat trickled over his face, slipping into his mouth and painting his tongue with salt.

This was a trial of raw endurance, no less vicious than battle.

He became aware of the sound of sand falling. There was no hourglass he could see, but the steady trickle helped him keep time. Who knows how long he’d spent in a daze, working through the designs…

But he gave himself ten whole minutes before returning to the altar.

There, he found the final task. There were no tricks with ink, and the sigil only contained a single rune.

That was the problem.

The final sigil was a single rune every bit as complex as whole arrays. It was so vastly complicated, Nic had almost mistaken it for a strange drawing when he’d seen it on the ceiling, spending long moments admiring it before slowly realizing how it channeled energy.

It was the only rune Nic had seen that could strengthen a soul.