The Dawn Gate of Veridia was less a monumental arch and more a bottleneck—a place where the rigid, organized Runes of the city met the chaotic, wild scripts of the open Realm. It was controlled by a heavy, ornate gate constructed primarily of Ironwood, a fibrous material imbued with a constant, low-level Rune of Immutable Density. To Elias's defect-sight, the entire gate glowed with the suffocating rigidity of law. It felt like a trap waiting to spring.
He arrived forty minutes before dawn, his Gryphon quill safely tucked into his inner vest, the scroll containing the partial Rune of Displacement pressing against his thigh like a feverish brand. He wore the simple, dusty robes of a low-grade Scribe—the perfect uniform for someone expected to be weak and easily replaced.
Waiting for him were two entities that were, in their own ways, equally intimidating.
The first was a representative of Curator Varrick: a plump, nervous man named Fendall, who clutched a heavy pouch of currency with trembling hands. Fendall was a Curator-in-Training, whose life Runes were almost entirely choked by the subservient script of bureaucracy.
The second was his escort.
She was leaning against the Ironwood gate, chewing on a piece of dried river jerky, her arms crossed over a torso layered with hardened leather and flexible steel. She carried a massive, two-handed short-sword sheathed across her back, the metal of which seemed to drink the meager ambient light. She did not wear the ordered Runes of the Archive; her clothes and equipment were etched with simple, kinetic scripts—Runes of Deflection and Runes of Momentum—scrawled roughly, but undeniably effective.
This was Kaelin, a known 'Road-Scribe,' a freelance security expert who specialized in navigating the dangerous, wild Runes outside the cities.
"You're late, Thorne," Kaelin said, not moving her head, her voice gravelly and devoid of interest.
"The process of checking out official Archive property is time-consuming," Elias replied smoothly, stepping past Fendall who was already sweating despite the cool morning air.
Kaelin finally straightened, her deep-set eyes assessing him. Elias felt the pressure of her own internal Runes—not of knowledge, but of sheer, coiled physical force. Her personal script was dominated by the Rune of Reaction Time, sharp and lightning fast.
"You look like you've been up all night copying tax documents," she observed, her lips twisting into a slight sneer. "Varrick is paying me a small fortune for a simple escort job. Tells me I'm taking a precious, sensitive package to the Central Repository." She tilted her head towards Fendall. "This nervous toad says you're crucial to the Veridia Guild." She gestured to Elias's skinny frame. "I see a stiff breeze and a lifetime of reading. Which one of you is lying?"
Elias allowed himself a weak smile. "I am merely the certified verification Scribe, Kaelin. I suppose Varrick considers the integrity of the law to be a precious package."
Kaelin scoffed, spat a piece of jerky onto the ground, and accepted the pouch of money from Fendall. "Integrity is only precious to the people who write the laws, Scribe. To me, it's just the price of passage."
Fendall stammered the final instructions: "Kaelin will see you to the first designated Archway, Thorne. Do not stop. Do not stray. We must ensure your safe passage to the Audit."
"I understand," Elias said, a hollow feeling in his gut. The Audit was the destination, but escape had to be the journey.
Kaelin signaled the gatekeeper, who, with a grunt of effort and a surge of his own low-grade Rune of Labor, began the laborious task of winching the Ironwood gate open.
They mounted a pair of sturdy, low-slung, draft horses. Kaelin took the lead, her posture suggesting that Elias was barely an inconvenience.
As they passed through the Dawn Gate, the environment changed instantly. Inside Veridia, the Rune of Ground Stability was absolute; the streets were perfectly flat, uniform, and predictable. Outside, the Rune fractured. The road immediately turned to loose-packed earth and gravel, governed by the sporadic and unreliable Rune of Pathfinding, which frayed and tangled every few yards, indicating potential hazards or, in this case, deliberate tampering.
Elias's defect-sight immediately cataloged the change. The world here was noisier, the scripts more chaotic, like a hundred conversations happening at once.
This is where the law breaks down, he thought. And where the Rewriter must begin.
His immediate concern was the possibility of a pursuit. Varrick wouldn't rely on Fendall to be discreet. Varrick would send agents to intercept Elias before he got too far. If Elias was caught, Varrick could claim the Audit was unnecessary, silence Elias, and still reap the benefits of the "miracle fix" on the water Rune.
They had been riding for perhaps an hour, the sun now fully risen and scorching the open plains. Kaelin remained silent, vigilant, her eyes constantly scanning the fractured Runes of the wild landscape. Elias decided he couldn't wait. He needed to prepare for escape.
He casually reached into his saddlebag, pretending to adjust a water skin, and allowed a minuscule thread of his Aether Ink to leak from his palm. The Ink was still low from the previous night's fix, but he didn't need a large amount; he needed precision.
He focused on the Rune of Traction—the simple law dictating the friction between the horses' hooves and the gravel path. It was a repetitive, low-power Rune, easy to find and manipulate without drawing attention. He located the script governing the ground directly beneath his own horse.
If I rewrite this to increase traction, he reasoned, my horse will be faster and more sure-footed. If I rewrite the Rune beneath Kaelin's horse to decrease traction, she will lag and the distance between us will grow, giving me space to enact the Displacement Rune.
The thought was instantly dismissed. To deliberately endanger Kaelin, his only protection, was too great a risk. He had to be subtle.
He focused his Aether Ink on the Rune of Traction beneath his own horse. Instead of increasing it, he performed a tiny, perfect insertion: a counter-script that momentarily neutralized the Rune's local effect, allowing the horse to glide with almost zero friction, appearing normal but moving slightly faster and with less effort.
He felt the familiar, jarring mental pain, but the effect was instantaneous. His horse, though appearing to trot normally, suddenly gained a surprising burst of smooth, silent speed. He pulled ahead of Kaelin by half a horse length.
Kaelin looked over, unimpressed. "Pushing him hard, Scribe? We have a long road."
"Just finding a rhythm," Elias lied, his voice strained. The successful, untraceable rewrite sent a surge of nervous exhilaration through him. He was no longer just a Scribe with a defect; he was a master of his own illegal power. He had the knowledge to cheat the laws of the road.