The eastern outskirts of Eldrin were quieter in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun stretching across the dirt roads and small homesteads. Unlike the bustling central district, where markets and guild halls crowded the cobblestone streets, this part of the city felt like a world of its own—modest homes, open training fields, and the faint scent of wildflowers carried by the wind from the hills beyond.
Our house sat at the base of a sloping hill, just past the old training grounds, where warriors and mages once honed their skills in open-air duels. To the west, the city hummed with activity, its skyline marked by the tall spire of the Eldrin Academy, the highest structure in this part of town. Beyond that, the Aeris River flowed lazily, separating the urban sprawl from the farmlands that stretched toward the horizon.
I walked up the narrow stone path leading home, my satchel slung over my shoulder. Today had been... eventful, but also frustrating. Darin's words echoed in my head.
"What's he gonna do, draw on the ground mid-fight?"
I frowned. If only he knew.
As I stepped through the wooden doorway, the scent of herb-roasted meat filled the air. Grandfather Garron was already seated at the sturdy oak table in the center of our home, his presence commanding even in stillness. The simple, well-kept interior was lined with old weapons, faded banners from past battles, and shelves stacked with arcane tomes—some so ancient their pages were nearly crumbling.
He looked up as I entered. "You're late."
I sat across from him, setting my bag down. "Had some things on my mind."
He studied me for a moment, then gestured toward the plate set out for me. "Eat first. Then talk."
I didn't argue. The meal was simple—grilled meat, fresh bread, and a side of roasted roots—but after a long day, it felt like a feast. Grandfather didn't speak while we ate, but his gaze never wavered. He was waiting.
Once I finished, I leaned back in my chair. "Something weird happened in class today."
His brow arched slightly. "Go on."
I hesitated, then told him everything—the affinity test, the cracked stone, Instructor Varn's reaction, and finally, the strange energy that pulsed from the runes I carved.
When I finished, Grandfather remained silent for a long time. Then, he exhaled. "Unaligned affinity... That is not unheard of, but it is rare."
"You've seen it before?"
"A few times," he admitted. "Those without an element often compensate in unique ways. Some develop specialized techniques, others rely on external conduits—arcane weapons, enchanted relics. But what you describe..." He tapped the table with his fingers. "You're not merely lacking an affinity. You are channeling magic through symbols."
I nodded. "It feels... instinctive, but I don't know how it works."
Grandfather rose from his seat, crossing the room to one of the many bookshelves. He pulled out a weathered leather-bound tome, flipping through its pages before stopping at an old diagram. He turned the book toward me.
I leaned forward. It was an ancient battle inscription, a swirling pattern of lines and sigils, etched onto a warrior's gauntlet.
"Runic manipulation," he murmured. "A forgotten art, once practiced by battle scribes and arcane craftsmen. It does not rely on raw elemental power but instead shapes magic through written form." His gaze met mine. "If this is your ability... then it is not something to be dismissed lightly."
I swallowed. "But it's not combat-ready. I can't just draw on the ground in the middle of a fight."
Grandfather smirked. "Then don't."
I blinked. "What?"
He closed the book. "If you cannot wield magic the way others do, then find another way. Adapt. Overcome."
I sat back, my thoughts racing.
Adapt...
Maybe Darin had been right about one thing—drawing on the ground in a fight would be ridiculous. But what if I didn't need the ground? What if I could carve symbols onto objects? Onto my skin? Into the air itself?
Grandfather set the old tome aside and sat back down, watching me with that sharp, assessing gaze of his. The room was quiet except for the distant hum of the city beyond our small home.
"Leon," he began, his voice steady, "what you have stumbled upon is not a gift. It is not some secret power waiting to be unlocked. It is a craft—it demands time, effort, and more patience than most are willing to give."
I frowned. "But if it's real magic, why don't more people use it?"
Grandfather sighed, rubbing his temple. "Because it is inconvenient. Let me explain."
He grabbed a small piece of charcoal from the nearby shelf and, with a practiced hand, began sketching a simple arcane symbol on the wooden table. The moment he finished, a faint hum of energy pulsed through the lines, and the air above it wavered slightly.
"Runic magic," he said, tapping the symbol, "requires precision. Every line, every curve, every connection matters. One mistake, and the spell fails—or worse, backfires."
I leaned forward. "But it works, right?"
He gave me a look. "Yes, but tell me—how long did it take for me to draw this simple rune?"
I hesitated. "About... ten seconds?"
"Exactly." He erased the mark with a swipe of his hand. "In those ten seconds, an elemental mage could have cast five spells, dodged an attack, or ended a fight entirely. Ten seconds is an eternity in battle."
I swallowed. He had a point.
"Runic arts," he continued, "were once useful because warriors could carve them onto weapons, armor, or permanent structures. But in modern magic, elemental casting is faster, more adaptable, and more powerful in raw force. That is why the old ways have faded."
I exhaled slowly. "So, you're saying... it's outdated?"
"Not useless," he corrected. "Just impractical. That is why modern Runic Artisans focus on crafting rather than combat. They engrave enchantments onto weapons, armor, scrolls, and artifacts. The best of them make fortunes selling pre-inscribed magic tools."
I nodded. I had seen shops in Eldrin's central market selling Runed Blades, Arcane Inkwells, and Spellbound Trinkets. Those must have been the work of professional Runic Artisans.
"But," Grandfather continued, "you are not an artisan. You are a five-year-old student in a school full of combat mages. If you wish to rely on runes, you must find a way to make them fast, efficient, and usable in battle—or you will always be at a disadvantage."
I clenched my fists. He was right. As I was now, I had no way to keep up with the others.
"And one more thing," he added, his tone turning grim. "Runic Arts are competitive. The top Artisans in Veylan have studied for decades. They have guilds, families, and centuries of knowledge backing them. Even if you try to go down that path, you will be up against people who have trained their entire lives in the craft."
I stared at the faint remnants of the rune he had drawn. "So... you're saying I should give up?"
Grandfather smirked. "I'm saying it's your choice. You have a long road ahead of you, one filled with frustration, failure, and little reward—but if you truly wish to walk it, then walk it properly. Don't waste time half-heartedly drawing symbols in the dirt. Find a way to make it yours."
I took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. This wasn't going to be easy. Runic magic wasn't some hidden cheat skill that would make me overpowered overnight.
But...
What if I could change the way runes were used?
The gears in my mind started turning. If drawing them was too slow, what if I could carve them onto something in advance? If precision were the issue, what if I could develop a way to inscribe them instantly?
A path had been laid before me.
It wasn't easy. It was uncertain.
But it was mine.
"Alright," I said, determination burning in my chest. "I'll find a way to make this work."
Grandfather chuckled. "Good. Then be prepared to fail a hundred times before you succeed once."
I smirked. "Then I'll just have to fail faster."
He laughed at that, shaking his head. "Then let's see if you truly have the patience for this, boy."
That night, I didn't sleep much.
Because for the first time since coming to this world—since awakening in this strange, magic-filled life—I had a plan.