Runes hold unparalleled significance and power on the continent of Lutia, as they have become the foundation of any awakened innovation as well as the base for the fusion of magical energy and technology.

Runic theory.

Doctor Pever Ershing.

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As the Raventhorn sailed through the turbulent seas, a sense of impending doom filled Aodhán’s mind, and he looked around wildly.

“What’s wrong, Aodhán?” Daruk asked, but Aodhán couldn’t focus. The sense of doom overwhelmed him, and he stumbled forward, shouting. “You have to run; leave the boat.”

He screamed and shouted, but no one heard him. He turned to Daruk, clutching his shoulders hard enough to break them. “It’s coming, the —”

A boom of thunder cut him off, and the sky was suddenly torn apart. An inky darkness spread as roiling storm clouds poured into the world. From the gaping maw of the torn sky emerged a million bolts of lightning that brimmed with malevolence and a need for destruction.

“No!” Aodhán cried, but with a blood-curling shriek, a river of lightning descended on the ship as the storm unleashed its wrath.

“No. Not again.”

Jagged bolts of lightning lashed out, arcing through the ship and striking the sailors down in a blaze of searing agony. Unable to move, Aodhán was forced to watch as lightning tore through the deck and into the cabins. A piercing chorus of agony echoed out a second later, and it drilled through his skull like a knife.

“Stop, please; you’re killing them!” he yelled, but the howling wind was the only response he got. The storm disappeared almost as fast as it came, and when he was finally allowed to move, he stumbled down the deck, ignoring the mass of broken and burned bodies that filled the deck.

Blood entrails covered the walls and floor, like a monster had been the one to butcher these people. The blood flowed and pooled around his feet. He tried to move forward to see more, but the blood held him captive, and slowly, it grew until he began to drown in it.

The blood continued to grow, covering up to his neck, but no matter how much he struggled or cried for help, he couldn’t move.

Aodhán struggled, fighting to be released, but his efforts were futile, and the pool of blood grew until it reached his neck and slowly covered his chin.

“Help! No, Please.”

Blood flowed into his mouth and filled his lungs. It choked him, starving him of air as it grew, and when he finally drowned, a voice whispered to him. “This is all your fault, Aodhán; this is all your fault.”

….

Aodhán screamed as he sat up in bed, gasping as air rushed into his starved lungs. He was completely soaked with sweat, and he immediately flipped the bedside lamp on, dialing it upward until the entire room was bathed in light.

He took in deep breaths as terror slowly loosened its grip on him. It took a few minutes for him to calm down, and when he did, the tears finally came, pouring down from his eyes like someone had opened the floodgates.

He’d tried to convince himself that he wasn’t at fault and that the ship would have been destroyed with or without his actions, but a part of him refused to accept it. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a nightmare concerning the events that had happened that night, but this was the first time the details were so gory.

A knock resounded on his door, and Aodhán jerked fearfully. It took a moment for him to realize who it was, and after clearing his throat, he called out. “Thank you, Imani, but I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You were screaming so loudly.”

He hadn’t realized that. Still, he shook his head and replied. “I’m fine; I just need to be alone for a moment. Thank you, though.”

When no response came, he sighed and stood to his feet. There was no way he could go back to sleep, not after that. He walked to the bathroom and took a shower, letting the water slowly wash away the feeling of blood, but no matter how much he scrubbed, his guilt remained.

He stepped out of the bathroom a moment later, feeling only a tiny bit better as he put on fresh clothes, and made his way to the training room. He took a meditative pose at the center of the room and focused on taming and harnessing his will.

As the wild flames slowly condensed and melded with the glowing ball of molten flames floating in his core, Aodhán tried to focus, but scenes from the dream constantly flashed through his mind, disrupting his concentration and rendering his efforts useless.

He persevered for almost an hour, straining to focus his thoughts, but the screams of the dying rang out continuously, and with a weary sigh, he stood to his feet and made his way out of the room. There was a small kitchen carved out in the corner of the living room; perhaps he could find a snack or something.

He paused immediately he walked into the living room, surprised to see Imani reading on a couch, surrounded by a bunch of textbooks, all of them opened and marked with colored pens. She looked up and smiled awkwardly. “Reading ahead and all.”

“I can see that.” Aodhán muttered, and Imani turned back to her book. The fact that she had begun reading wasn’t too surprising. What surprised him was how far into each text she’d gone in only a few hours.

He felt a little bit of shame to see his housemate working so hard while he hadn’t even opened a single textbook. He pushed the annoying emotion aside as he made his way to the kitchen.

Unfortunately, after searching through the drawers and cabinets, he came up empty. There was nothing, not even a snack; apparently, the academy wouldn’t be providing that for them.

“You need a nightmare snack.” Imani suddenly called out, and Aodhán turned to stare at her in confusion.

She closed the textbook she was reading and repeated herself. “I said you need a nightmare snack—something to take your mind off the flashing scenes.”

Aodhán closed the empty cabinets and sighed. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“I’ve got some snacks; maybe I can—”

“I said I’m fine!” He snapped and immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, but I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Okay.” She replied before turning back to her text, and although Aodhán felt like a jerk, he’d already apologized once and wasn’t in the best of moods, so he quickly made his way towards the stairs, but as he walked past the couch, Imani asked. “Why do you hate me? I’ve been nothing but nice to you all day.”

Aodhán sighed.. “I don’t hate you; I just—I’m not in the best of moods at the moment; besides, you almost cut off my head this afternoon and failed to apologize.”

“That was an accident.” Imani pointed out, gesturing towards the now repaired scratch on the door. “But I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, I’ll just—”

“Stay.” She urged. “Please, it’s kind of lonely here.”

Aodhán sighed once more, frustrated and definitely not in the mood for polite conversation, but if he went back to his room, what would he do? He couldn’t train, nor could he sleep, and the thought of being alone with his thoughts filled him with dread.

After a short moment of contemplation, Aodhán decided to stay and sat on one of the larger couches scattered across the room.

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“So, nervous about the tournament?” Imani asked, and Aodhán shrugged. “A little; I can’t afford to miss an opportunity like this; I may never get another.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine; you placed quite high on the forge list.” She replied, and her expression darkened a little.

“It’s not just about that, though.” Aodhán replied as he tried to find a more comfortable position. “There’s control to worry about, skills, and several other boosts that others have over me.”

“Well, you’ve got a week to train, and I could help you.”

“How?” Aodhán asked with a smirk, and she glared at him playfully.

“I may not be the best at energy control, but many have called me a master swordswoman.”

“Who? Your squires? Guards?”

Imani quirked an eyebrow and asked. “You have a thing against nobles, don’t you?”

Aodhán shrugged. “Not particularly; I just find many of them distasteful.”

“Oh.” Imani replied, nodding slowly before she shrugged. “Well, we could spar in the morning, and you can tell me what you think.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Aodhán replied, and Imani smiled before turning back to her notes. Silence descended on the room, save for the quiet rustle of paper, and before too long, Aodhán fell asleep.

......

Aodhán awoke the next morning to the ding of a notification, and he groggily reviewed his status screen to find Daruk.

—I am coming over to your place. My apartment is as silent as a graveyard, and I can’t stand it.

—Get breakfast, please; I’m starving.

—Sure.

Aodhán turned to find Imani asleep with the textbook still open on her lap. He contemplated waking her, but decided against it.

He felt better, though, and although guilt still weighed on him, it wasn’t as heavy or terrifying as it had been after the dream. He climbed up the stairs to his room, brushed his teeth, and took another shower.

He was putting on one of the black t-shirts when Daruk arrived at the house. Another ding sounded in his mind, but he ignored it as he rushed downstairs to open the door.

Daruk stood with one hand poised to knock and the other holding a tray of steaming sandwiches, accompanied by the savory scent of crispy bacon and a jar of frosted milk.

“Daruk, you’re a life saver.” Aodhán sighed blissfully as he opened the door wide enough for Daruk to come in.

“Yeah, good morning to you too, and—oh, hi.”

“Hi.” Imani replied, hastily dusting and smoothing her clothes to make them presentable, even though her face was still swollen from sleep.

“You must be Imani.” Daruk replied as he cleared away a few books and dropped the tray on the wooden table before extending his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

Aodhán immediately stepped in. “Imani, meet my brother, Daruk.”

“Nice to meet you, Daruk. You don’t actually look like brothers.” She replied.

“We get that a lot; you wouldn’t believe.” Daruk replied with a playful smirk before gesturing towards the tray. “I doubt we could finish all this food; do you mind joining us?”

“I don’t mind.” She replied. “Thanks for saving me a trip to the cafeteria, but I’m in dire need of a bath, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

“Sure, we’ll wait for you.” Daruk replied as Imani practically raced out of the living room.

“Wait? Why are we waiting?” Aodhán asked.

“Because it’s polite, and she’s a noble, it’s only normal to accord them the respect befitting their stations, especially the ones who aren’t assholes because of it.”

Aodhán sighed as he took a seat and asked. “So, what are your plans for today?”

“Well, I doubt you’ll need my help to train, so I’ll go to the library instead. I still need to figure out who my patron is, and maybe I’ll research that tattoo whose meaning you’ve refused to tell me.”

Aodhán sighed once again. This wasn’t the first time Daruk had raised the topic of the tattoo. Ever since their first conversation on the matter, he’d been fishing for hints and asking subtle questions, his curious mind unable to let the topic go, and Aodhán was honestly tired of it.

“I’ve told you that you’re better off not knowing, but if it’s so important to you, then I can’t stop you from researching it. In fact, I would like to know what you find, so keep me posted.”

Daruk narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “That’s it? You’re not going to try and stop me from researching it?”

Aodhán snorted. “Like, I could stop you even if I tried. Just don’t ask anyone, people can’t know, Daruk, it’s dangerous for me if people find out.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” Daruk whispered, and Aodhán replied with a chuckle.

“Because I’m almost certain that you won’t find anything on the topic.”

“What topic?” Imani asked as she walked into the living room, dressed in a flowery yellow gown that seemed to shine with innate light. “Are you guys already choosing topics for the semester?”

“Yes.” Aodhán hastily replied. “Join us.”

As she sat on the couch opposite him, Aodhán created three storm plates for each of them as well as cups for the frozen milk. Imani took the plate and observed it with obvious amazement.

“Your control is impressive, much better than I’m currently capable of. How many weaves are you making?”

“What weaves?” Aodhán asked, chuckling at the compliment, while Daruk quietly groaned in frustration.

“You know, weaves that improve the movement of energy and willpower through the—you don’t know?”

“No, I’ve never heard of it.” Aodhán replied with a frown and asked. “What’s it about?”

Imani stared at him in shock before returning her gaze to the plate constructed in her palms. “Are you telling me that you made this construct with raw energy control?”

Daruk shook his head wearily as he stuffed a sandwich into his mouth. “I should have known; you’re the freak.”

Aodhán ignored him and replied. “I don’t know what you mean by raw energy control, but I’m not weaving anything either.”

“Wow, you’re amazing.” She muttered, staring intently at the plate, until Aodhán asked.

“What is a weave? You said it could improve control.”

“Y-yes.” Imani replied, and a second later she added. “A weave is like a braid or twine of energy and willpower that basically increases the power of skills, which makes them materialize faster and consume less energy.”

“How does it increase control, though?” Daruk asked, literally drooling with interest.

“The process of weaving energy and willpower together is hard, but the more you can weave at a time, the better your control becomes.”

“How many weaves can you create?” Daruk asked again, but Aodhán was barely listening. His mind spun wildly. He’d been thinking of a way to get an edge over the competition, but if he could somehow double or triple his energy control before next week, then he wouldn’t need anything else to win the tournament.

His mind returned to the conversation, and he suddenly asked. “Can you teach us?”

His question cut through their conversation, and although Daruk frowned in annoyance, Imani simply shook her head.

“I’m still learning the technique myself, but I can show you a book that explains it.”

“I would really appreciate it.” Aodhán replied, and Imani excused herself to get the book. Excitement bubbled within him as he waited for Imani to return, and when she did, he rushed to get out.

The book was a slim one about the size of his palms and only seemed to contain about a dozen pages. The first, second, and third pages simply explained the concepts of energy and willpower, but he’d already read about them in Alderman’s library.

The fourth page, though, caught his attention as it was a simple drawing that simply described the process of manipulating and twining both energy and willpower together. As Aodhán observed the picture, though, he realized that the process was very similar to the taming of wild willpower as it involved the intermingling of wild gaseous energy with molten will.

Already, Aodhán was sure he could successfully create two of these weaves without issue.

“As you can see, it’s a very hard process. I can successfully create about five weaves simultaneously, and that’s considered really good for my age group.” Imani stated as she flipped to the last page, but Aodhán was smiling so hard that his cheeks ached.

He forced himself to finish his breakfast and wish Daruk the best of luck in his research before rushing up the stairs. A bit before he even got halfway, Imani called out to him.

“What about that spar we agreed on?”

Aodhán paused and replied in the most apologetic tone he could manage. “I’m very sorry, Imani; maybe after the tournament.”

Before she could say anything else, he raced up the stairs and into his room, where he immediately made his way to the training room. He breathed in deeply as the dense amount of energy embraced him, and without hesitation, he took up a meditative pose in the center of the room.

He focused on his core, feeling the movement of energy as it flowed through his pathways, and returned to his core. He focused his entire attention on the core, observing the energy’s free state as it interacted with his pathways and core.

An hour later, he shifted his attention to the molten black flame floating within his core. Unlike the last time his consciousness had dived this deep, there was no burning or blistering sensation; instead, it felt like a warm bath. Aodhán submerged his consciousness into the ball of molten will, studying and observing it.

He noticed that the tamed will had no interaction with his core, or at least none that he could discern, but with a single thought, the flame moved, eager and earnest in its need to please.

After a few more minutes of observation, Aodhán felt ready, and with a quick mental effort, he pulled a strand of molten will out of his core and placed it beside a similar strand of energy.

Without his input, the two remained dormant, and even when he willed them to merge, they resisted. Aodhán had not noticed the resistance before because he hadn’t been trying to mix them together; he’d simply been pouring both energy and willpower into his skills.

Now, using the technique he’d read in the book, he imagined his consciousness as hands that took hold of both strands and delicately began to braid them together. The energy resisted, but he simply imagined it as untamed willpower, and almost immediately, the resistance disappeared.

Energy melded seamlessly with the strand of willpower, but rather than forming the weave he’d been going for, it was like he’d imbued his willpower with energy. The molten black strand glowed brightly to his senses. And Aodhán decided to test it with a skill.

He summoned a bolt of lightning into his hands, and the molten strand rushed into and through his pathways too fast for him to follow. When he opened his eyes, a jagged bolt of lightning twice the size and length of his usual summons floated above his palms.

Rather than the erratic movements of electricity, this bolt remained stable, almost as if it were a construct, and in a fit of insanity, he shot the bolt at the opposite wall.

The explosion that occurred next threw him several feet backward, even as runes shimmered into existence to contain the barrage of energy. Nothing left the room, not even the sound of the explosion, but Aodhán was shocked at the amount of damage a single bolt of lightning could have caused. But the most amazing thing was that he’d only imbued the skill with a strand of energy; how much more damage could he cause if he imbued his willpower with a dozen strands instead?