Chapter 4:
They led Elian into a wide, circular chamber etched with glowing sigils. The walls pulsed with silent magic, and floating runes hovered above like watching eyes. On one side, behind a thick arcanite glass, a group of Inkbound observers watched silently. Some wore cloaks marked with metallic filigree. Others held recording quills.
"This is just a compatibility test," Merrin whispered beside him. "You only need to channel one word."
"One word," Elian muttered, his voice nearly cracking. His palm was damp.
Lyra floated beside him, her crystalline wings twitching nervously. "Stay calm. Let the Codex speak through you. Remember—feel, don't force."
Ysmeil gestured to the center of the room. "Begin when ready."
Elian stepped into the circle. Magic surged beneath his feet.
The air shifted. A sigil blinked.
From the edge of the arena, a construct made of hardened glyph-stone and mana began to stir—its limbs long and blade-tipped, like a stylized ink drawing come to life. It lurched forward with an inhuman screech.
Elian panicked.
He stepped back instinctively, eyes wide. His hand darted toward his satchel—fumbling—he needed the Codex, Lyra's Codex—
But the book that fell into his hands… was not hers.
It was worn leather, lined with brass corners scorched by time. The sigil on the front: a curling flame encircled by vines.
His grandfather's Codex.
"Ashes of the Verdant War."
"No, wait—" Lyra gasped, wings flaring. "That's not my Codex!"
But it was too late.
The moment his fingers touched the cover, heat surged into his arms.
A voice—deep, familiar—whispered in his head.
> You bear my fire. Let it burn true.
Elian's breath caught. The glyph circle beneath him ignited in red-orange light.
The construct raised its bladed arm.
Reflexively, Elian shouted the first word that pulsed from his mind:
> "IGNIS!"
A burst of flame erupted from the open Codex in his hands, lancing forward in a spear-like arc.
The burning magic struck the construct's chest—the blow shattered its form, scattering molten fragments across the chamber floor.
Silence fell.
Then—
"Impossible," murmured a scholar behind the glass.
"That was no basic phrase."
"That was an encoded command. A legacy word."
Lyra hovered beside him, stunned. "Elian… how did you…?"
Elian stared down at the book in his hands, heart pounding.
"I—I didn't mean to," he whispered. "I just… I didn't know what to do."
From behind the viewing wall, several figures exchanged urgent glances.
A red-robed Inkbound pressed his hand to a communication crystal.
"Send word to the Archivist. Now."
One of the older Reciters in the back narrowed his eyes. "That Codex… it's marked as sealed. That boy shouldn't be able to channel from it unless—"
Another replied, almost in reverence: "Unless it chose him."
Elian stood frozen, surrounded by flickering embers, Lyra's worried expression, and a room full of eyes that no longer saw him as a mere novice.
They saw a spark.
And sparks… ignited legacies.