The sky over the Azure Shore is orange by the time the dwarf puts down the last piece of rock and steps away. The previously sparsely placed bombs are now so numerous as the stars above our heads yet I still can’t get enough of it.

[Labourer lvl ???]

Huh, not a Mage? Not his main Class at least.

Only when he walks past me do I realize we’re about the same height despite all the nasty things they say about dwarves. Val is a little over a head taller but both of us are firmly above average in height, although in my case not exactly compared to our age. Stupid elven blood.

He leaves me behind without another word before stepping through the sea of bombs as graceful as an elf, without even looking down. I won’t lie, I expected some kind of explanation or small lesson about this whole shebang after silently waiting for hours.

For a few moments, I contemplate whether to follow him or return to the others before my body decides for me. I’m cold, still wearing the same barely clothing I went into the water with, not to mention I haven't eaten since noon. Fascination is a scary thing, it bested even my stomach.

I scamper back to where our campfire is already lit, hopping through the field of death, and plop down next to the others.

“You looked like you were possessed.” Valka remarks just as I reach out for roasted meat over the fire.

I just grunt and bite because arguing would be meaningless. I did feel possessed. I don’t know how to explain but something about the dwarf’s work seemed so simple yet fulfilling. It was magical and... I wanna know more.

As it is a family tradition they hold back on remarks and questions while I stuff my face and then just a little for me to change back into normal clothes. Valka counts too, not family but I forced our rules onto her time and time again until she adapted.

The food despite being just some simple meat with minimal seasoning over arguably basic fire is incomparable to the stuff I made during my forest-dwelling days. There’s little difference between the method and material yet the taste is… Dear Gods, how did they do it?

As always swallowing the last bite signals the free for all question time. “What did the dwarf do?” Valka is the first to speak, having learned the timing of my eating habits by the second.

“He drew some weird symbols onto the rocks that turned them into bombs somehow.” I shrug. “I hoped it’d make a little more sense than whatever that bi- I mean, the blacksmith did to your collar. Just simple questions like how it works, like, what exactly is it that makes simple lines into magical effects…”

“And?”

“You think I would’ve spent hours standing there if I got my answer?” I shot Val an unimpressed look.

My eyes turn towards my parents, demanding answers and also suspicious of why they’re so quiet. Turns out the two of them are sitting over a piece of paper with some weird doodling on it and having a heated yet hushed discussion.

“Khm!” I cough pointedly. “Care to share?”

While inscriptionist isn’t actually a rare occupation finding books detailing the ins and outs is almost impossible. Knowledge is usually passed down within the family or from master to apprentice. The juicy bits, the best symbols, or whatever they are…

Mom looks at Dad and nods towards me so he just rolls his eyes and picks up the paper. “So… neither of us is too knowledgeable when it comes to the Inscriptions despite having seen and held enchanted equipment before. What you saw was most likely Runecraft. An art of enchantment created and mainly used by the dwarves.” Then he shows me the… thing on the paper that stylistically resembles the symbols on the rocks, even if just by the smallest margin.

So it's called Runecraft… That’s cool and all but doesn’t exactly answer any of my actual questions.

As it turns out their wisdom about enchantments doesn’t extend beyond the basic names and the fact that there are around four main methods of inscription. I could go and ask, however, the dwarf, whom I know nothing about and just met today, didn’t seem like the kind of person to waste words on others.

I glance over to where he and the irritating young Bennett-looking dude are sitting around a campfire somewhat more shabby-looking than ours with a few other people. He’s still better than nothing, even if just barely, sp wreck my brain, looking for an angle of approach.

This is where mom comes in clutch. She pulls out a reddish-purple-colored bottle from her bag with theatrical elegance before presenting me with the key to all secrets. I don’t have to be a genius or any older to know what I just received.

“Some booze might help loosen his mouth,” She grins. “especially when it comes to dwarves. They have a habit of poisoning themselves with things that might kill us, just because their bodies are more resilient and they like the taste. Spices are also a type of poison believe it or not but alcohol is only understood by the most distinguished ones.”

Dozen of alcoholics lying in their own piss while sleeping in alleys flash through my mind…

“So if I gave a dwarf a vial of snake poison he’d simply down it without second thought?” I ask skeptically.

“You’re oversimplifying it but… Well, it was almost a decade ago, and we had a healer around. Stubborn bastard just couldn’t bear to lose that bet.” Mom shakes her.

Weirdos.

I chirp a quick Thanks! and carefully, hiding my excitement and nervousness approach the target.

Before I got too far I heard Dad ask. “Valka, could you go with her? You know how she is…”

I’m really starting to feel like public enemy number one on this trip. I know I do have a tendency to get into trouble because I like to explore and understand things and I won’t ever apologize for not being boring. But this is just pure prejudice I swear.

Before even arriving at the group of people they already have their eyes on me, following my every step with uncomfortable scrutiny. When at the edge of their campfire I stop everything just stops as they stare at me for an explanation while I debate in my head on how to approach this awkward situation.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

But the answer is quite simple really.

I present the gift I’ve been hiding behind my back until now and ask. “How do inscriptions work?” I try to sound confident.

Yes, just like that. If there’s one thing I learned about dwarves is that they are honest to the bone and stubborn as stone. That’s two. Anyway, cutting straight to the chase is the best move.

The others around the fire chuckle and cheer for the offering but the old dwarf remains stoic. He eyes me for a good few seconds before turning back to the fire and picking up a rock.

“Sit!” He grunts and I don’t have to be told twice. To be precise, Valka joined in for some reason. “You were persistent despite being a pointy-eared.”

“Half.” I correct him as the bottle is snatched from my hand.

“Same thing.” He mutters with that constant crusty attitude of his. “What did you see? I don’t want to waste breath on explaining what you already have a grasp on.”

I tell him my theory about the lines, the symbols, and the behavior of the mana. The bottle of what should be wine, if my nose is right, starts its fourth round by the time I recount my observations.

“So a little over nothing?” The dwarf rudely assesses my tale. “I should’ve settled for two bottles...” He chugs deep and sighs. “In short the symbols you saw are Runes and when they’re fed with power they give instructions to the surrounding mana to produce a result. This…” He takes the rock and draws a few simple lines that look like letters stacked on top. “Is a simple ball of fire.”

The Rune lights up and indeed a small ball of fire appears above it. Then the glow fades and the flames get snuffed out a moment later.

“As you saw it didn’t move because it lacked that piece of the command. If I do this…” And he makes the symbol a bit more complicated. “Now it's useful.”

And as to demonstrate it, a fireball is launched into the water when he next pours mana into the pebble. Just as the magic launches off the piece of rock cracks and crumbles.

“The ‘lines’ as you called them are reinforced by a Skill to endure the corroding effect of mana. I made them weak and etched them into pathetic material to demonstrate why even proper enchanted equipment does not last forever. Every symbol is a command as if saying words or sentences to the mana itself. Satisfied?”

Am I satisfied? Is my curiosity satiated? What a joke.

Shedding all my anxiety I start speedrunning through my questions. “What do you mean mana erodes? What other inscription types are there besides Runecraft? Can I do that? And most importantly what are the limits?”

Another round of laughter rolls across the audience but the dwarf just facepalms with a twitching eye. “Oh ancestors why punish me…”

Just as the dwarf is throwing curses at the high sky that Alex dude I dislike for some inexplicable reason takes over. “Eroding means that the pathway, or canal through which the mana flow is slowly destroyed over time. Akin to water in quite a number of aspects really.”

“But we also use mana.” I point out just to irritate the guy the same way his resemblance to Bennett irritates me.

“And it corrodes us all the same, we just heal from it day by day. You’d know what I mean if you ever experienced mana poisoning.” He shakes his head.

Oh. Yeah, that sucks. I don’t feel like boasting about that particular achievement.

“The most common methods of enchanting are called Runes, The Grand String, Song of Mana, and the Flow. Each and every one of them has its advantages and disadvantages so none of them is truly superior. With that said, every craftsman has a little bias towards one or the other.”

“What are you babbling about?” The dwarf huffs. “Runes are clearly superior!”

Bias, got it.

“Can you draw Runes? Sure. Will they work? Maybe, for a second or two before collapsing because it lacks any structure. I still advise you to try, as it's a requirement for any Inscriptionist Class.” Alex throws a rock into my lap. “To answer your last question-”

“There are only three limits to the effect of inscriptions.” The dwarf whose name I still don't know and won't even bother asking speaks up. “The symbols themselves, the abilities of the craftsman, and of course the size of the inscriptions.” Wait, that means- “Any element, any size, any direction, and any outcome is possible with the right words of power.” He sighs towards the sky. “This is our only tool to truly control mana.”

Well, I can already use plenty of elements in a plethora of cool ways so that part of the deal is not all too enticing. And how would I even have the time to sit and doodle while beasties are trying to bite my head off? Or worse if I’m up against people. Also, I bet anything crafting-related gives a bunch of Dexterity which I have little use of…

But then why… why do I see so many answers in the simple pebbles and those mysterious lines on them? Decoys, shields, illusions, weapons, armor, bombs, and whatever marvels the mind can conjure. Not to mention my magic has limits. My knowledge is limited, as is my power and possibilities. I could learn, a lot, observe how these Runes the dwarf mentioned coerce the mana to do their bidding…

My heart likes it… my mind on the other hand revolts.

“Don’t overthink it!” Murmurs the dwarf beside me. “You have your entire life ahead of you and maybe some more as a pointy-eared.” His mouth curls into a tiny smile. “You are a Mage and the fact that you’re here of all places instead of a library makes you unique enough to consider even the calling of the craft... Don’t trample on dreams with facts! Believe me, I’ve lived long enough to know.”

Dreams, huh? That’s funny. The dream I had when that fruit messed with my head… was that not a coincidence after all?

“It’s getting late.” The dwarf remarks. I’ve been raised well so a social cue this obvious does not need to be spelled out.

We thank their time and patience before returning to our camp. I stay mostly silent for the rest of the night. The conflict in me ravages all other thoughts and needs mercilessly, leaving me as a husk of uncertainty.

Some small talk ensues about how the crabs can vary in size and tricks, how we should avoid getting swept away by their numbers, and something about me specifically. Although my mind is somewhere else.

“Eli, because there are a bit too many people around could you just stick to two elements tomorrow?” Mom asks. Not exactly a question, more like a polite instruction. “Since you already had your fun with water I think it’ll do fine for one and lightning would pair well with it, right?

“Uhum.” I nod, still curled up on my bedroll.

The crabs are swarm creatures. Mostly. I was always told that the higher the number the lesser the quality. They don’t need to be strong individually if they multiply like halflings around a heavy coin pouch and can overwhelm you with numbers. Just two elements are fine, besides I don’t even use about half of them most of the time.

Finding what works best against certain opponents is more efficient.

***

Despite being comfortably far from the nearest forest and having plenty of other groups around we still scheduled nightwatch. Or as Mom pointed out it is especially because there are other people around,

For a change, I got paired up with Mom, who can be a lot more… difficult company than Dad when alone in the darkness of the night.

“You know sweetie, if you spread yourself too thin it’ll backfire on you.” Mom strikes up a conversation after about an hour-long lull. “When you were little you asked me why I didn’t take a support or an artisan Class.” I remember that. “That’s because you’re either good at one thing or the other but never everything. Just like the arcane element.”

That’s not exactly fair. I might not be as good at throwing flames as an actual fire mage but if we’re talking about just doing magic altogether I can’t think of anyone stronger at my age. Also…

“Wouldn’t being average at two things twice make me pretty good if we add them up?” I present my witty reply.

“Or twice as average.” Mom flicks me in the forehead. “Did the dwarf say anything enlightening?”

“Yeah, inscriptions can do almost-” I start to recount the wisdom.

“Not that!” Mom tries to flick again but this time I’m prepared and dodge.

We fool around a little more, quietly of course, before sitting back to the fire and watching the waves wash the beach beneath the light of the moons.

“Is it really a bad idea?” I ask after a great sigh.

“That’s the question everyone asks before making a decision Eli. A question only you and time can answer.” She ruffles my hair now that I have my guard down, just because I hate it.

I can’t wait for the others to take over the shift. I like sleeping a little too much.