The bell above the doorway chimed with a low, resonant tone that vibrated through Aria's ribs as she stepped into the next classroom. The air smelled of parchment, crushed charcoal, and ozone—sharper and cleaner than the earlier Foundations hall. The walls were lined with shelves of ancient tomes, some chained shut, others whispering faint vibrations like they wanted to be opened.
This room felt older.
Alive.
Watching.
"Welcome, novices," a warm voice said.
Professor Malrec stood at the center of the room, robes ink-black and etched with subtle silver runes. He was young—too young, Aria thought—for someone teaching ancient magical languages. His dark hair was neatly tied back, and his eyes were a calm, lake-water blue. He smiled kindly… yet something in that smile didn't reach his eyes.
Something cold behind the warmth, Aria thought. Something patient.
He clasped his hands together, runes tattooed faintly along his fingers like silver threads under his skin.
"This class will not teach you to cast," he said. "It will teach you to think. Runic literacy is the skeleton beneath all spellcraft." He tapped the board with a long, elegant finger. "Every glyph, every mark, every angle means something."
The chalk lifted itself, drawing a circle, then a line, then a sharp downward slash.
"This," he said softly, "is the Root Rune for Force."
Riven leaned toward Aria from the desk beside her. "Looks like a chicken foot."
Aria bit back a laugh.
Malrec smiled without turning.
"Mr. Riven, if the chickens on your estate walk like this, I recommend moving."
The class snickered.
Riven leaned back, smirking. "I like him already."
Aria wasn't sure she did. Malrec's humor was too smooth. Too gentle. Like silk stretched over iron.
He continued drawing.
The next rune resembled a crescent twisted inward—delicate, elegant.
"And this," he said, "is the rune for Will. As in: the self that commands magic."
Selene raised her hand. "Professor, how many runes form the core lexicon?"
Malrec tilted his head, studying her as though evaluating a puzzle rather than a person.
"Fifty-three recognized by the Academy. One hundred and twelve if you include historical variants." His smile deepened. "And… far more if you're willing to read forbidden texts."
The room went quiet.
A single breath too long.
Aria's pulse tightened.
Riven whispered, "I like him even more now."
Malrec finally looked away from Selene—and his gaze drifted to Aria.
Not unkind.
Not cruel.
Just… observing.
"Miss Thorne," he said. "Since you are newly enrolled, perhaps you can tell us: why do mages fear runes?"
Aria stiffened. Dozens of eyes moved to her.
She swallowed.
"My… guess is because runes don't forgive mistakes."
Malrec's lips curved slowly.
"Correct. A spell miscast may sputter out. A rune misdrawn? It will twist reality according to the flaw." He tapped the board lightly. "Runes amplify the mistakes of the creator."
He stepped closer to her desk.
Too close, for a moment.
"It is good that you understand that," he murmured. "You strike me as someone who must be careful with… amplification."
Her heart skipped.
Did he know?
Could he sense the death-magic curled inside her like coiled shadow?
But his expression shifted back into warmth so seamless she wondered if she imagined the moment entirely.
"Now," he said, stepping back, "pair up."
Groans filled the room. Students scraped chairs. Ink pots clinked.
Riven plopped into the seat beside her without waiting for permission.
"Partners?"
"I didn't say yes," Aria muttered.
"You didn't say no," he shot back, grin sharp.
Selene glided to the table ahead of them, pairing with a quiet girl who looked like she might faint from stress.
Malrec clapped once.
"You will each draw a rune, then exchange parchment and interpret your partner's glyph. Accuracy matters. Form matters more."
Aria drew three careful lines, shaping a beginner rune for Stability—the kind a novice would use to reinforce a weak spell.
Riven finished his rune in ten seconds and shoved the parchment at her.
"I call it 'Art,'" he said proudly.
"It's crooked."
"It's interpretive."
"It's wrong."
He leaned closer. "You wound me."
She rolled her eyes but traced the rune with her fingertip, trying to sense its intent. It pulsed with heat—of course—and the strokes were bold, almost aggressive. She frowned.
"This is supposed to be the Ignition rune."
Riven snapped his fingers. "Bingo."
"But you angled the inner stroke wrong. That would create a backfire."
Riven blinked.
"…Oh."
"Like—dangerous backfire."
He blinked again.
"…Oh."
Malrec appeared behind them like a shadow sliding into place.
"Mr. Riven," he said mildly, "if you cast that as-is, you would likely lose your eyebrows."
Riven clutched his face. "My beautiful eyebrows—"
"But," Malrec added, turning to Aria, "your interpretation is correct, Miss Thorne. And your hand is steady for someone with limited formal training."
Aria felt a flicker of pride.
"But," he continued, "you press too lightly when drawing curves. You lack confidence in your follow-through."
She stiffened. "…I'll work on that."
Malrec smiled again—that same gentle smile that still felt slightly wrong.
"You will. I can tell."
He moved on down the row.
Riven exhaled dramatically. "He gives me chills."
Aria nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Me too."
But Riven's tone was excited…
Aria's was unsettled.
After class, as students poured into the hallway, Aria paused to gather her things. Malrec was erasing the board with slow, deliberate movements.
"You did well today," he said without turning. "You learn quickly."
Aria hesitated. "Thank you."
"And one more thing," he added lightly, almost casually. "Runes reveal what we are. They magnify what lies beneath the surface."
He turned, blue eyes too calm.
"Be mindful of what yours choose to reveal."
Aria's breath hitched.
Then he smiled—as warm as a hearth.
"Enjoy your next class."
She left the room with her pulse pounding, unsure if he had warned her… or tested her.
Maybe both.