Aegon reached for the gray stone and held it just above the crucible filled with coarse sand.
The grains shimmered faintly in the light, motionless for now.
Closing his eyes, he extended his spiritual perception outward, threading it into the stone.
He could see it.
The bound magic within the stone pulsed in subtle, rhythmic flows, gentle currents winding like roots through soil.
He focused carefully, isolating the specific segment of the flow that corresponded to the [Earth Rune] he had spent the past week deciphering.
It was faint but distinct.
With precision, Aegon gently tugged at the relevant strands of that flow.
The effect was immediate.
Below, the sand in the crucible shifted. At first, it was barely a tremble, a grain here, a twitch there. But then the surface began to swirl softly, like dry wind running across dunes.
The reaction was delicate, but unmistakable.
Aegon immediately ceased his manipulation.
He set the stone back on the table with a soft clack as he let out a slow breath, focusing inward again.
He had his confirmation, the rune had not only been successfully deduced, but was now fully usable.
Aegon withdrew into his mind, where his mental space was filled with Spirituality.
Using a small amount of it, he began to recreate the [Earth Rune] from memory, mentally tracing each arc, line, and intersection of the structure.
The rune was not carved or written, it was shaped directly from his will and formed from Spirituality itself.
As the last symbolic line was completed, the [Earth Rune] hung suspended in his mental space, glowing faintly, like a spiritual construct etched in soft light.
Aegon focused.
With a single mental command, he activated the rune.
It shimmered, and the magic within his body stirred in response, like a tide turning toward a new shore.
The magic particles gathered in his chest, moved down his arms, and flowed outward toward the crucible of sand.
At the same time, a portion of his Spirituality was consumed, linking his internal magic to the rune and guiding it into effect.
The sand began to ripple again, this time more vividly, as if responding directly to his will.
He could feel the connection.
The rune in his mind served as a remote trigger, a control node. By adjusting its focus and feeding it measured amounts of Spirituality, he could influence the intensity, duration, and shape of the effect it produced.
The key to all magic in this system lay in harmony: the balance between Spirituality and Magic.
If the effect was large or long-lasting, it would drain more from both pools. If it was subtle and brief, the cost was minimal.
Aegon smiled, satisfied.
He had succeeded, not only in deducing the rune, but in mentally structuring and casting it without relying on a bound item.
He now possessed a working spell component for earth manipulation. That meant progress.
With the sand still swirling lightly in the crucible, Aegon ended the effect.
The magic in his body settled, but the spiritual construct of the [Earth Rune] remained intact in his mental space, still gleaming.
He hesitated for a moment, then with another thought, he dismantled the rune's structure, crushing it within his mental space.
The rune began to disintegrate. It crumbled into luminous fragments, which were reabsorbed, freeing the portion of his Spirituality that had been used to create it.
The rune was gone for now, but he could recreate it again whenever needed.
Still, the process wasn't without its limitations.
When the [Earth Rune] had existed in his mental space, Aegon had noticed something peculiar, it had taken up a portion of the mental space itself, occupying it like a physical object would occupy a room.
That meant only a limited number of rune structures could be held at once.
And from that, a deeper realization had followed: full spell models, composite structures built from multiple runes, would naturally require even more space.
If a single elemental rune claimed that much room, then a functioning, refined spell could take up the space of several.
His arsenal of ready-to-cast magic would be limited not by power, but by mental space.
It was a constraint, but not an unexpected one.
Just as a warrior could not carry an entire armory on his back, a mage could not store an infinite number of spells within his mind.
Choices would have to be made. Priorities set. Efficiency would become everything.
At least he didn't have to worry about the energy source itself.
Spirituality, while finite in total, was different. It existed as the pervasive, ambient power within his mental space, something like air, present in every corner, not confined or restricted by the existence of runic constructs.
The creation of a rune consumed a portion of it, yes, but simply holding a rune in his mind didn't drain it.
That made things far more manageable. If the presence of a rune had also affected the ambient quantity of Spirituality, Aegon would have found himself in a far tighter bottleneck.
Fortunately, though the overall quantity of spirituality was bound by the size of his mental space, any used during spellcasting would naturally replenish over time.
This meant he could, when needed, cast spells of greater scale or duration by intentionally consuming more spirituality and magic, without long-term penalty.
The realization eased a weight off his shoulders. It gave him room to grow. Room to experiment. And it reassured him that he wasn't walking a path with a dead end.
This wasn't his first experience, either. He had already attempted something similar with the [Fire Rune], his first and most instinctive discovery.
Unlike the [Earth Rune], which shaped and manipulated existing matter, the [Fire Rune] manifested energy, converting magic and spirituality into heat and flame.
Both runes represented the essence of their elements, yet their behavior was fundamentally different.
The [Fire Rune] burned. The [Earth Rune] moved.
It was from these experiments that Aegon had begun to categorize what he now called Elemental Runes.
Each rune was more than a symbol; it was a language that bridged spirituality and magic with the fabric of reality.
Now, his attention turned to the clay trays resting on the table.
Coarse, dull, and lifeless at first glance, the clay showed no natural affinity for magic. But Aegon knew better.
From the knowledge granted by his fully mastered [Rune Initiate] class, he recalled that a certain rune, essential for constructing the spell models, could be drawn from clay once magic had been successfully bound to it.
He stretched out his hand, letting his spirituality gently guide the magic within him.
He resumed the careful, tedious work of attempting to bind magic to the clay, seeking the hidden structures within it that might yield the next rune.
Shores of Dragonstone Island, Afternoon
The wind swept in steady gusts across the rocky shoreline, tugging at cloaks and sending sprays of briny mist into the air.
The tide lapped against the aged pier, rhythmic and slow, as Lady Jocelyn stood tall at the edge of the dock, her eyes narrowed against the sun as they scanned the vast blue horizon.
Behind her, a quiet retinue of guards and handmaidens stood in disciplined stillness. Cloaks were drawn tight against the salt-laden breeze, and the faint clink of mail could be heard beneath the stillness.
Jocelyn's gaze remained fixed on the sea until she saw it, three ships emerging from the horizon, sails swelling in the afternoon wind.
White canvas shimmered in the light, bearing the unmistakable silver seahorse sigil of House Velaryon. Her lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.
They've come.
The ships glided into the dock, the crews moving like clockwork. Mooring lines were cast and secured, gangplanks lowered with the creak of wet rope and wood.
Jocelyn stepped forward, lifting the hem of her gown as she descended the slight incline of the pier to greet them.
Lord Corlys Velaryon was the first to disembark, his boots striking the dock with purpose. His cloak, embroidered with silver thread, billowed behind him in the gusting wind.
Close behind followed Lady Rhaenys, her expression softened by the burden she carried, a swaddled infant in violet silks, no larger than a loaf of bread.
Her daughter. Laena.
As Rhaenys stepped onto the pier, her face lit with familiar warmth. "Mother," she called.
Jocelyn's face broke into a smile, and she stepped forward, embracing her daughter carefully, mindful of the precious bundle nestled between them.
"Rhaenys," she said, her voice warm and rich with affection. She pulled back, her gaze falling to the baby, and gently brushed her fingers over the child's soft cheek. "My beautiful granddaughter," Jocelyn murmured with a flicker of wonder. "Laena."
"Did she cry on the ship?" Jocelyn asked, almost teasing.
Rhaenys gave a tired smile. "Not once. She takes after her father, calm and curious. She only watched the waves as we crossed."
Jocelyn chuckled softly, then turned to greet Corlys as he approached. He bowed respectfully.
"Lady Jocelyn," he said.
"Lord Corlys," she replied with a nod, her tone equally formal.
As pleasantries were exchanged, Corlys turned and gestured to his men, who remained aboard. "Begin unloading."
A procession of retainers began moving down crates and boxes, elegantly carved chests, bolts of colored silks, jars sealed with wax and bearing fragrant hints of spice.
Wealth, clearly curated to impress.
Jocelyn raised an eyebrow, amused. "It seems you've brought half of Driftmark with you."
"Only the finest," Corlys said, offering a modest smile. "A gift for Dragonstone… and for the talks ahead."
She didn't press further but gave a thoughtful nod. Her gaze returned to Rhaenys, who adjusted the blanket around Laena and looked up at the looming towers of Dragonstone with a faint crease to her brow.
Then Corlys's voice lowered as he turned back to Jocelyn. "Have you spoken to the Queen about… the matter?"
Jocelyn's expression didn't shift, but her reply was deliberate. "No. That conversation must begin with Laena's parents. The proposal must come from you. Only then will I speak."
Corlys gave a short nod of acknowledgment. "Of course."
Rhaenys remained quiet, but Jocelyn noted the tension in her shoulders, an unease rooted not in fear, but in the weight of what this visit might mean for her daughter's future.
Corlys's tone turned thoughtful, shaded with uncertainty.
"To be honest… I still can't quite believe it," he said, eyes trained ahead. "A boy wielding fire, like some revenant from the Freehold? Even with the King's word, even with your letter… it defies belief."
Jocelyn glanced between him and Rhaenys. Their composure was practiced, but doubt lingered in their silence.
She inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "You'll believe it," she said, voice quiet but resolute, "when you see it with your own eyes."
The certainty in her tone silenced any rebuttal.
The memory still lived within her, of fire dancing at the command of a child's hand, a flame shaped by will alone.
Corlys met her gaze, then turned to look at his wife. There was a brief exchange, unspoken, but shared.
He turned forward again, expression settling into something more guarded. A shift, less doubt, more anticipation. Or perhaps ambition, sharpened.
"Then I look forward to it," he said.
Jocelyn gave a small nod and motioned toward the carved stone path that wound up toward the castle.
"Come," she said. "The Queen is expecting you."
The group began moving inland, their boots thudding softly against stone and gravel. The wind persisted, cool and briny, but now the sunlight broke through the clouds in long, slanted rays, casting golden light across the worn path ahead.
Behind them, the Velaryon men moved in silent rhythm, hauling the gifts of Driftmark toward the ancient seat of dragonlords.
And though nothing more was said aloud, Jocelyn could feel it hanging between them as they walked, the truth of what this visit truly was.
Not just a family reunion, not merely courtesy.
But a wager for legacy.
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