They gave me chalk.
Or something like it — a smooth, dense stick of pale material that leaves behind shimmering white lines when pressed to stone. Elara had called it "glyphbone," and warned me to only draw with intention.
Which, honestly, only makes me want to draw more.
I sit now in an abandoned grove behind the village's southern ridge — a circular platform etched with old, weather-worn symbols. The trees here are tall and inward-curving, the light dim and golden as if filtered through honey. A good testing ground. Quiet. Isolated.
I kneel on the stone and begin my work.
First objective: reconstruct the sequence the girl used. If I can repeat the known result, I can isolate the inputs. From there — modification, observation, iteration.
I start with a basic ring — twelve glyphs, drawn from memory. Each one is a looping structure with embedded spirals and sharp notches, like a cross between geometry and calligraphy. I draw slowly, pressing with even force, replicating the spacing exactly as I remember. This isn't art. It's syntax.
Once the circle is complete, I place the glyphbone aside and sit cross-legged, letting my palms rest just outside the diagram.
Then I wait.
Nothing happens.
No glow. No hum. Not even the faint static warmth I felt during Elara's scan.
Expected. System idle until activated.
I raise my right hand, mimicking the flame-bind motion sequence. One sweep outward. A twist of the wrist. Index and middle fingers extended in a curved arc.
I execute the gestures precisely. No incantation. No emotion. Just form.
A flicker of light pulses across the glyphs.
Then, a soft fizzle — like static released too soon.
Result: Partial recognition. System acknowledged structure, but failed execution. Possible missing input—verbal command? Emotional resonance?
I exhale slowly.
Okay. Let's try something else.
I redraw the sequence, this time substituting two glyphs with variations I saw etched into the doorway of the scribe's tower. Their shape was similar, but not identical — like alternate function calls.
I run the gesture again, this time faster.
This time, the glyphs ignite.
Lines of white fire spiral outward from the circle, weaving into a lattice that hovers briefly in the air before collapsing inward. No flame conjured. But motion. Structure.
I lean forward, heart thudding.
That wasn't a failure. That was a partial compile.
I scribble in my notebook — or rather, the makeshift scroll I've been given. The ink smears easily, but it dries fast. I begin listing parameters:
Sequence A: 12-glyph base (standard) → gesture complete → no verbal input → output: null.
Sequence B: modified glyph set (G7 → G9, G11 → G13) → gesture complete (faster tempo) → output: lattice form, 2.4s duration → dissipated without ignition.
Hypothesis: glyph structure behaves like syntax tokens. Incorrect combination results in null execution; altered combinations yield unintended (but readable) effects.
I run another variation — swapping out the closing glyph for a double spiral seen on the village fountain. The entire circle pulses once, then splits into concentric rings that rotate independently for several seconds before vanishing.
I stare at it, stunned.
That wasn't a spell. That was a diagnostic.
No fire. No impact. But the system responded. The symbols rotated as if querying something deeper, like pulling latent data from the pattern beneath the stone.
I didn't cast anything. I called a subroutine.
The implications knot in my stomach. This isn't just spellcraft. This is logic-binding — a whole language of ifs, thens, loops, and gates hidden beneath rituals and chants.
And the people here don't even realize what they're using.
They speak to it with song. I speak to it with code.
Not better. Not worse.
But... different.
I sit back on my heels, watching the last traces of light fade from the stone.
For the first time since arriving, I don't feel like I'm lost.
I feel like I'm at the edge of something.
A system I can learn.
A world I can map.
A language I might one day write fluently.
And that thought — that tiny, electric possibility — burns brighter than any fire spell.