Elsewhere, in the quieter reaches of the academy's grounds, Elias moved like a ghost through the stone corridors. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—those quiet, calculating eyes—flicked constantly from one opportunity to the next.
He could not rely on the academy forever.
Knowledge, yes. Guidance, perhaps. But power—true power—required more than study hours and structured training. It required resources. Runes, rare materials, spirit stones. Connections.
In the lower halls of the east wing, where the older students seldom lingered, he found what he was looking for: the Academy's Notice Board for independent commissions.
A girl with ink-stained fingers sat beside it, managing the postings.
"You're a bit overqualified to be looking here," she remarked, not looking up. "This is usually for third-tiers or broke seniors."
"I need resources. Fast," Elias said.
She gave him a sidelong glance. "You and every other inscriptionist."
His eyes settled on a few listings:
Escort needed: traveling merchant hauling inscription-grade minerals—high risk, high pay.
Inscription repair on damaged talismans—client demands discretion.
Scavenging mission to recover lost materials from the western ruins—hazards include feral constructs and unstable domains.
A private buyer seeks spiritual essence extraction from a captured beast.
Elias took three of the listings and slid them into his robe.
"You're planning to do all that yourself?" the girl asked, watching him now.
"I don't intend to stay bound by what the academy permits," he said quietly.
She raised an eyebrow. "A bit ambitious. Most students don't even survive one of those."
He said nothing. Just walked away.
At The Same Time
The classroom was still, lit only by the muted glow of inscription lamps embedded into the stone walls. Their soft light illuminated the dozens of youths seated before a towering rostrum, each of them wrapped in robes of varying color and lineage. Yet despite the splendor of the surroundings, most of them were fidgeting—tapping fingers against desks, glancing toward the windows, or whispering behind palms.
But not Ryn.
He sat perfectly still, quill poised over parchment, his eyes locked on the elder at the front of the room. While others coasted through the lectures with half their attention lost, Ryn devoured every word like a starving man tasting bread for the first time.
It wasn't just about learning.
It was about survival.
The elder stood tall and gaunt, with a beard streaked white like chalk across black stone. His robe bore no ornamentation save for a single golden insignia across his chest—an ancient engraving, curling and complex, pulsing faintly as he moved. His presence alone silenced the mutterings.
"We've spoken of inscription theory, the structural sequences of lesser runes, and the divine roots of matter," the elder said, pacing slowly before the class. "But all this knowledge is useless without context. So today… let us consider where you stand."
He tapped a long staff against the floor. A ripple passed through the room, and a translucent map unfurled in the air behind him—a shifting, living projection of the world.
A collective murmur spread through the room.
Ryn's eyes narrowed as he studied it. The map was vast—much larger than he'd imagined. Five massive continents glowed against a sea of blue-black void, each dotted with hundreds of islands, rivers, and chains of archipelagos. Surrounding them were swirling glyphs, ancient symbols that shimmered with power and secrecy.
"This world," The elder began, "is not one land, but many. Five main continents—each separated by seas so vast that even Ingraving Masters hesitate to cross them without preparation. The sky you see each night does not belong to just this place, but to them all."
He turned, pointing to a chain of dots near the bottom of the southernmost continent.
"Here. This is where we are. A modest island on the fringe of the Sundered Southern Continent. Our academy rests here like a forgotten jewel. Isolated. Quiet. But not without purpose."
He raised his hand, and the map zoomed in, revealing the intricate cluster of islands and rivers surrounding the academy.
"Each continent is bordered by natural barriers—seas, mountain ranges, and beasts. Especially beasts. Crossing from one land to another is a death sentence for most. Only those at the Third Rank or higher may safely attempt such passage."
A girl raised her hand from the back row, her voice hesitant. "Elder… is it true some islands vanish and reappear?"
The elder nodded. "Indeed. Some archipelagos are bound to living formations—moving Inscriptions, unstable landmasses, or ancient beings. They shift according to unknown rhythms. That is why we map not just with sight, but with Engraving—truth that holds even when stone fails."
A wave of awe passed through the students.
Ryn's pen moved swiftly, his notes detailed, every phrase and name underlined, cross-referenced. He did not know when he would need this knowledge—but he knew that he would.
The elder continued. "Few are permitted to leave their home continent. Fewer still survive the journey. You may have heard of travelers—heroes, villains, traitors—who cross these waters and return with power. Know that most of them lie."
The class fell silent at that.
"But there are gateways. Hidden places where realms touch, where inscriptions warp the boundaries between space. Some are natural. Others… forged by gods and demons long dead."
The elder stopped, his eyes sweeping the room. "You will not reach them. Not yet. But the world is larger than your petty rivalries and schoolyard gossip. Remember that."
He raised his staff. The map vanished.
"In the days ahead, you will learn not just how to engrave symbols on stone or bone—but how to imprint meaning onto reality. That is the true path of Ingraving. And those who master it… shape not just themselves, but the fate of entire continents."
Ryn stared straight ahead. His mind burned with questions.
And beneath that… a quiet thrill.
The world was vaster than he imagined. And now, for the first time, he felt the stirrings of what lay beyond the academy's walls. Not merely ambition, but the hunger to leave a mark.
He didn't know when—or how—but one day, he would reach those distant shores.
He would cross the rivers, brave the beasts, and carve his name into the land itself.