Eldric stared at the jittering letters, eyes wide. "…That's not what I was expecting."
The page seemed to be describing him. His name, age, and race were written clearly enough, but scattered among them were words he didn't recognize. Stigma—a term he'd only heard from the radiant Seraph who had saved him and his mother from the crow-thing.
Those simple categories—name, age, race—had taken him some effort to decipher. No matter how much he taught himself, his vocabulary was still limited to what the boonies could offer. Most kids his age couldn't even count to ten, let alone read. If not for his obsession with filling his idle hours, he'd be no different.
But Stigmata was another matter. Not a single dictionary in the athenaeum's collection held the word. That could only mean it belonged to the secret lexicon of the Sigiled, knowledge locked away from supposed mundanes like him.
What came next confused him more. "Borne" was straightforward, but the strange word preceding it was impossible to pronounce, let alone understand.
He let out a long breath. "Riddle after riddle…"
Still, the scripture had more pages, so he pressed on.
The second page was denser, the letters strangely large but written in neat, opulent handwriting that glowed faintly green. Unlike the unstable scrawl of the first page, this one felt deliberate, almost regal. Eldric read it eagerly, then the third, and the fourth.
When he tried to turn again, the same invisible lock that had once sealed the book denied him. He poured ether into it, but the resistance didn't yield. It wasn't a matter of quantity, he could feel it. It was quality. Something in his essence didn't measure up.
Disappointed, he lingered on what he had managed to read. The knowledge was useful but disappointingly shallow. Nothing like the eerie introduction on the first page.
It outlined the hierarchy of the Sigiled, it consisted of five stages in total.
When first marked, one became an Accolyte, granted a single Stigmata, the root of all their abilities. Pass the "Trial of Reckoning" , and an Accolyte became a Bearer of the Sigil. Bearers advanced into Heralds, then Seraphs. And finally, Seraphs could rise to Archons.
Curiously, the book gave no details of how one ascended from Seraph to Archon. It simply moved on, vague and redundant, as though avoiding the subject. As it was about most things branching off from an Accolyte's journey.
It was emphatic, however, about duty. The Sigiled were sworn to protect the world, to lay down their lives for it without hesitation.
To Eldric, it reeked of second-rate propaganda. Some attempt to coax blind loyalty. He dismissed the undertones and flipped back to the second page.
This time he noticed the heavy emphasis on the "Trial of Reckoning" . The book was adamant that it wasn't strength that decided survival, but cunning, resourcefulness, and most importantly—insidiousness.
Eldric scoffed. "More like luck, coin, and noble birth."
He knew all too well what the trial entailed. It was the shadow that had dogged him his whole life, forcing him to live while always glancing over his shoulder.
Determined not to miss a detail, he combed the book again. That's when he found it. At the end of each section, a list of famed Sigiled who had reached the described stage.
The Seraphs had two names: Dinvae the Rampant… and Rayne the Brilliant, of the golden Farris.
Eldric raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'll be…"
His savior, it seemed, was something of a legend. Overshadowing even her peers, if the book's reverence was any sign.
He skimmed the last lines and closed the book, oddly satisfied. "Not too bad a haul."
Sliding it back between its siblings on the shelf, he turned to leave—only to find the navy text clinging to his fingertips.
"…What the—?"
He shook his hand, tried to pull away, but the scripture refused to release him. On taking a closer look, he could still feel his ether pouring into the pages.
A thought struck him. "Do I have to… reabsorb it?"
Taking the book firmly in both hands, he reached inside. The lock unraveled, spilling its essence outward. Eldric grasped it and drew it back into himself.
Warmth spread through his body. His blood flowed smoother, his muscles coiled tighter. He breathed deep as the last of the ether sank into him.
Then the world turned red.
Agony tore through his chest, searing his heart. Not as overwhelming as the day he was marked, but close enough. He stayed conscious, yet spasmed helplessly on the attic floor, throat locked in silence. Sweat pooled beneath him as he writhed.
Eldric was almost too pained to notice, but the book began dissolving into nothing in his hands.
After what felt like hours, the torment ebbed. A faint burn lingered in his chest, a mere whisper of the agony he had gone through.
Eldric staggered upright, breath ragged. "There has to be a less… murderous way to do this."
It was the third time since his rebirth he had endured such torture. It seemed that he had formed quite the grim habit.
But beneath the pain was something else. A new presence threaded through his being, as inseparable from him as ether itself.
'Huh.'
He reached for it instinctively, as he would his phasing. It responded instantly, as if pleased to be called upon. A weight settled into his grasp.
A book—navy blue, gilded in gold, its letters frivolously opulent.
The contents remained unchanged, on opening it, it's eerie opening greeted him once more.
A small smile tugged at Eldric's lips. "Okay then… I can live with that."
---
The athenaeum, usually a quiet, untroubled place, was alive with laughter.
Children of all ages sat in a wide circle, each with a small board made of taut, hairless animal hide stretched across wood. Pacing among them was a tall, gaunt man. His neatly cropped ginger hair framed a handsome face, crowned by an undeniably brilliant mustache.
"Who here knows how to spell the word " calm"? Can anyone do it?"
The laughter quieted at once. Smiles faded into silence, save for one girl who raised her hand, brimming with smug confidence.
"Yes! Ardia, go ahead!"
Ardia stood proudly, ready to answer—until the creaking of the rickety staircase drew every eye away.
A boy emerged. He was no different in age from the others, but his presence carried weight. Dark brown hair framed a pale face, and his hazel-green eyes pulled at the sympathy of anyone who saw him. Red streaks stained the skin beneath his eyelids, as though he had just been crying.
Mister Rykard's face softened. "If it isn't Eldric!
…Are you well, my boy?"
The boy was clutching his chest, his shirt soaked dark with sweat. Still, he managed a polite smile. "Yes, I'm fine."
Rykard nodded warmly. "Then why not join us? I know you've already graduated from this circle, but your juniors should see what one of my graduates looks like."
Eldric shifted uneasily, reluctant. But at Rykard's encouraging smile, he gave in and took a seat between two younger boys, who waved at him shyly. He nodded back, awkward but polite.
"Go ahead, Ardia," Rykard said.
Ardia's grin returned as she declared proudly, "Calm! C-A-W-M! Calm!"
Rykard nodded thoughtfully, then looked around. "Any other answers? Or are we all in agreement?"
The children nodded, convinced. Only Eldric remained silent, until his teacher's gaze found him.
"Eldric?"
He flinched, but obeyed. "C-A-L-M. Calm."
The room instantly erupted into laughter at hi answer. Ardia sneered. "What are you talking about? You sure are dumb for someone who reads so much."
The words stung the air, but not Eldric. He only smiled faintly, like an adult humoring a child's foolishness.
"That's correct, Eldric," Rykard said with pride.
The laughter died. Shock rippled through the circle. Ardia, however, burst out in protest.
"What?! L?! How is the word "calm" spelled with an L?!"
Rykard's expression hardened. "Lower your voice."
The chill in his tone froze the room. Defiance lingered in Ardia's glare, but she said nothing.
"L is a silent letter in this instance," Rykard continued evenly. "And silent letters are what today's lesson will cover."
The children's mockery turned to admiration for their senior. All but Ardia, whose scowl deepened.
"That's stupid," she muttered.
Rykard's reply was swift, sharp. "Then you may leave."
Her eyes widened. "No, teacher, I—"
"Enough," he cut her off. "Anyone who disrespects what I teach, or whom I teach—disrespects me. Such people have no place here." His stern gaze lingered on her until she faltered. "I trust I've made myself clear."
A smile returned to his mustached face. "Now then. Let us continue today's lesson."
---
Eldric sat quietly among the children throughout the lesson. He already knew everything Rykard was teaching. He had been the gaunt man's very first pupil, after all, and the very reason he had taken up teaching in the first place.
A faint smile tugged at Eldric's lips. 'It's been Two years already, huh.'
When he was just four years old, Eldric had begun to stumble against walls in his self-education. Especially when it came to reading and writing. His mother could barely read, making do with the bare minimum, while his brother and Miss Hargette were far too busy running the inn to spare time for such things.
Aurel dismissed his interest at first, deeming it unnecessary. But when she realized how determined he was, she turned to the most educated man she knew, Mister Rykard.
At first, the scholar had been reluctant. But after spending time with the boy, his resolve softened.
For the next year and a half, Eldric poured himself into his lessons with Rykard. Reading, writing, and even the art of calligraphy.
Yet time spent together always carried the risk of secrets slipping free. And Rykard, with his sharp eyes and sharper wit, was not a man easily fooled.
By the end of the first year, he had uncovered Eldric's truth. He often caught the boy reaching through walls or tables to grab something, or bypassing doors entirely before doubling back, as if remembering too late that others did not walk as he did.
Eldric normally kept his powers carefully hidden. But within the athenaeum, where he felt safe, his guard had faltered.
Safe to say, Aurel had not been pleased. If not for Rykard's charismatic persuasion, Eldric might never have seen the light of day again.
The mustached man kept many things to himself. He only ever offered Eldric fragments of knowledge, nudging him toward discovery rather than handing over answers. And somehow, he seemed to know far too much about the Sigiled, more than any ordinary man should. Yet prying details from him was near impossible.
Still, over time, the two grew close. For Eldric, it was far more comfortable than dealing with children his own age. After all, Rykard was twenty-seven, only four years younger than the combined years of Eldric's two lives.
"Right then! That'll be all for today! Go straight home, everyone—don't linger!" Rykard clapped his hands.
The children scrambled to their feet, chattering cheerfully as they filed out.
Eldric lingered, then walked up to his ginger-haired teacher. "I told you, you had a knack for this, Uncle."
Rykard chuckled. "You flatter me, Elly."
The boy flinched. The nickname hadn't surfaced in months—he had almost hoped it was forgotten.
Rykard's mustache twitched with amusement. "My apologies," he said, though his grin betrayed him. After suppressing a laugh, he asked, "Did you need something?"
Eldric drew a steadying breath. "Yes. Actually, I did."
That caught Rykard's attention. His brow arched, curious.
Eldric took up a spare writing board and began scratching words into it. "There was this word I came across in a book. I couldn't make sense of it. Stigmata, I think."
He scribbled again. "And… this one, too."
Rykard let out a weary sigh at the first word. But when his eyes landed on the second, his face darkened like a storm.
Without hesitation, his great hands seized Eldric by the shoulders, engulfing the boy's small frame. His voice was a growl, stripped of all his usual warmth.
"Where did you find this?!"