The morning light that streamed through the crystalline windows of the Academy was soft, filtered through curtains that shifted with the wind as though they breathed.
I sat near the third row of the lecture hall—close enough to listen, far enough not to draw attention. But attention, as I learned quickly, was difficult to avoid.
Whispers trailed behind me as I passed earlier.Not of mockery. Not of insult.
Just names and expectations.
"That's her... the daughter of Lady Gadriel.""The sponsored student from the temple lands...""I heard she carries a Third Circle spirit..."
And now, in the quiet of the History of Eras and Foundations class, I took my seat with practiced calm, folding my hands atop the table of white mahogany.
At the front stood Instructor Nerald, an aging scholar draped in robes with stitched silver ink—runes of the old tongue etched into his sleeves like blessings or bindings.
"Welcome, young minds," his voice carried smoothly, sharp as parchment. "Today begins your dive into not merely the world's past... but the shadows that still cling to the present."
He waved his hand, and the massive mirror behind him shimmered. Dozens of names appeared in floating script, each tied to an era.
"We will begin with your first assignment. In pairs, you are to decode and recompile one of the original books of runes crafted by the First King of the Mourning."
Murmurs began.
"This text predates modern language. The First King used these symbols to protect knowledge, control forces, and conceal truths... from both enemies and allies."
"Your task is to translate its meaning and recreate a working index. The most complete and accurate submissions will be sent to the Celestial Tribunal Archive for preservation."
My heart stirred slightly at the mention of the Tribunal.
A challenge not only of intellect—but of legacy.
I wonder if they chose this task because of me... or if fate simply enjoys its irony.
"You may not choose your partner," Instructor Nerald continued. "Pairings have been preassigned by the Faculty, to balance strengths. Results are listed here."
A new set of glowing text appeared. I scanned the list until I found mine.
Luna Gadriel — Lady Elowynn of the Verdant Grace
I blinked.
Elowynn?
I recalled the name from one of the noble greetings I overheard during last night's ceremony—but not the face.
Just then, the girl seated three rows to my left stood and approached.
She was taller than I expected, clad in soft forest green, her cloak pinned with a silver branch-shaped clasp. Her hair was silver-blonde, long and sleek, cascading like moonlight over one shoulder. Her eyes—cool and perceptive—carried a glint of distant judgment, like frost on still water.
Graceful. Reserved. But not shy.
"Lady Gadriel?" she said politely, offering a slight tilt of her head—not a bow. "It seems we're bound by ink and history."
"Just Luna," I said, rising. "It's an honor."
"Likewise," she replied, her expression unreadable.
The folio between us gave off a strange weight—less from its age and more from its contents.Each rune shimmered faintly in the filtered morning light, their curves and lines humming with a dormant kind of memory.
We sat side by side at one of the deeper alcove desks in the hall, a quiet corner where only the sound of scribbling quills and flipping pages filled the air.
Elowynn leaned forward with precise posture, her fingers tracing each symbol with calm deliberation.She had already drawn out a grid of reference columns: structure, base form, elemental signature, deviation.
I, on the other hand, simply watched the rune—and listened.
"This one," I said, pointing to a complex coil of sigils near the top left, "it's a rune for conjuring lightning."
Elowynn turned to me with a subtle raise of her silver brow.
"You're certain?"
"I've seen something like it. Etched into the core of my master's lance."
"The Lightning Seer of the Northern Mountain, correct?"
I nodded. "The central arc—here—was carved on the shaft. It only glows when she channels electricity."
Elowynn blinked, then sat straighter.
"Interesting. I wouldn't have noticed it immediately. I was trying to decipher its linguistic base. But… you're right."
She flipped to the rune appendix she had brought with her.
"The pattern lines match with storm-related glyphs from the Era of the Golden Time—particularly those used in the battlefield calligraphy rituals."
A small silence passed between us.Her quill hovered. My hand rested gently atop the parchment, as though listening for something more.
"You observe through memory," she said.
"I observe through rhythm," I answered. "Runes carry feeling before they carry meaning."
Elowynn glanced at me again—this time with a flicker of something close to curiosity.
"I was taught that runes must be broken down into five layers of interpretation before they can be understood properly."
"I was taught to feel them in the soul first, then understand what they echo."
Two paths.Two minds.Yet… both staring at the same symbol and arriving at the same answer.
Elowynn let out a breath that felt half amused.
"I didn't think our approaches would work together."
"And I didn't think anyone else would understand why I see runes like I do."
She turned the page to the next cluster, gesturing for me to take the lead.I adjusted my seat, brushing my golden hair over one shoulder as I looked deeper into the inkwork.
"This next one…" I whispered. "I think it's not a spell. It's a seal. Something meant to hold power back."
"A containment glyph," Elowynn murmured, narrowing her eyes. "Yes... and possibly meant to weaverather than bind."
"Like... holding something inside without hurting it."
She gave me a sidelong glance.
"You might be more suited to this class than you think, Luna Gadriel."
"You too, Lady Elowynn."
"Just Elowynn," she replied, almost smiling.
And for the first time that morning, the weight of the expectations… the staring eyes… the whispers of divine lineage and prophecy—They quieted.
For a moment, we were just two girls trying to listen to the echoes of a language older than kingdoms.
"I didn't think this would be simple," I muttered, tracing the outline of a coiled rune with the tip of my finger.
Elowynn gave a small tilt of her head. "Hmm… maybe it's because we were only given the basics of the runic language."
I leaned back slightly. "How many characters are there, exactly?"
"Probably more than two thousand," she replied, flipping through a small personal lexicon she carried. "Even more if we include the combined and context-dependent ones."
I blinked. "That's… quite a lot."
"It's why only a handful of scholars are certified by the Tribunal to read primary era inscriptions. Most just fake their way through reconstructed fragments." Her tone was dry, but her lips curled slightly at the end.
We turned our attention to another page. This one was different—denser. The ink itself looked aged and etched into the parchment with deliberate weight.
The rune spiraled out from a central anchor, trailing into five symmetrical branches—each carrying a different set of sigils, layered and folded like blades of a flower. Its complexity dwarfed the previous glyphs.
I furrowed my brow. "Is this one of those… combined runes?"
"Likely so," Elowynn murmured, narrowing her eyes. "But the way it's inscribed—it feels more like a sentence than a single word."
As we debated quietly over the segmentation, Professor Nerald—his long grey hair tied back with a golden ribbon, his spectacles perched at the very tip of his nose—glided past us. His robe swayed slightly as he paused and glanced at our page.
"Oh," he said with the warm surprise of a man who had just found a favorite old book. "You two dears are peering into one of the sophisticated runic sentences of the Mourning era."
Elowynn sat straighter. I raised my hand lightly.
"Can you help us decipher it?" I asked, tilting the folio slightly so the professor could inspect it more clearly.
Professor Nerald chuckled. "I can give you a hint, but the rest is your burden—and privilege."
He bent slightly to get a better look.
"Runes, much like spoken incantations, follow a structure. Think of each character as an equation—alone, they're manageable. Combined, they form intent, effect, and command."
"This one," he tapped the outer edge gently, "is particularly taxing because the inner rune modifies the five around it based on sequence, not proximity."
"It's much like how spellcasting using mana requires a complete incantation, or else you risk a magical feedback loop."
I raised an eyebrow. "So this is dangerous?"
He smiled, a little too cheerfully. "Only if you try to activate it."
Elowynn frowned. "Are we allowed to attempt activation?"
He straightened up. "You're here to decode, not cast. The only one authorized to safely engage with active runes on this campus is the Headmaster—and he barely does."
Then with a wink, he added: "Still, the deeper you go, the better your final archive grade. No pressure."
As he strolled off, Elowynn let out a slow breath. "So we're studying a fragment that could, if uttered wrongly, probably fry half the building."
"That makes it more exciting, doesn't it?" I said.
She gave me a sidelong glance. "I'm starting to see why you and Perephone get along."
I smiled faintly and turned my eyes back to the rune page.
The ink gleamed softly under the light. And yet, somehow, I felt as if a faint electric hum now hung in the air.
Not just the knowledge we were deciphering…But the possibility of what it once meant—and what it still might do.