The Runic Alchemist

"Listen to this," Damian began, his voice steady yet tinged with intrigue.

"An odd thing happened tonight. I saw one of them—Tiryn—alone by the fire, sharpening her blade long after the rest had gone to sleep. Her eyes looked hollow, her hands too steady. It struck me then how little I truly know about any of them. They seem so unified, yet fragments show if you're watching. And I'm always watching."

"Then this.." He paused for a moment, then continued reading:

"I dreamed of a darkened room, suffocatingly quiet, save for whispers I couldn't understand. When I woke, his voice carried over the camp, rousing everyone for another journey. His words were steady, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. It's the first time I've seen a crack in his facade. I wonder if anyone else noticed, or if they've convinced themselves there's no need to look."

Damian read out the words from the diary after telling them how he had found it and what it possibly contained.

But when he glanced at the group sitting with him on the wooden bench under the lit mana lamp in the garden. Their reactions—or lack thereof—unnerved him. They remained eerily silent, staring at him with expressions of concern. No one reached for the diary, no one asked to see the pages. Instead, their eyes stayed fixed on his face, their silence heavy and strange.

At last, Sam broke the tension. "Maximus, man, are you alright? Maybe you've been working too hard these past few days."n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Huh? What? What's up with you guys? Do you not understand what I'm telling you?" Damian replied, irritation creeping into his tone.

"No, we understand," Evrin said hesitantly. "It's not that."

"It's just…" Grace chimed in, glancing nervously at the others, clearly hoping someone else would continue.

Einar's worried eyes stayed locked on him, her silence speaking louder than words.

"What is it?" Damian asked quietly, sensing something serious beneath their unease.

"It's blank, Maximus," Sam finally said, his tone cautious. "There's nothing written on the pages. Look, man, the things you're saying—it's like that weird thing you told us about last time near 'The Path Taken'. But this seems worse. Maybe you need to rest for a bit. You've been pushing yourself too hard, you know?"

Sam patted Damian's shoulder with an awkward laugh, but the concern in his face lingered. The others also started giving words of understanding and made excuses for his delirium to make him feel better.

Can't see..? They can't see..? What the hell was going on here..? Was it really just in his head..? No.. there was a name of someone in there, no matter how wild his imagination, he wouldn't be able to know that.. The only explanation was magic.. There was no runic circle.. Enchantment..? He would know if it was though.. He had learned to recognize enchanted items by the unnatural mana movement around them - it was one of the upgrades to his eye skill. Of course he needed to come closer to the item to confirm. The diary had no such effect on the surrounding flow of natural mana in the environment.

But then again, the blackened lines were also some kind of spell and he had never figured out what kind or how it worked. Should he.. Go to someone more knowledgeable for advice..? But then again, who here could he really trust.. Runefather..? Worldscribe.. If he could somehow reach Vidalia that would have been nice..

Whatever, he was getting obsessed with this thing unnecessarily. It didn't matter much if anyone could read a weird diary or not. Maybe it was something like the true runic circles and his eyes were the reason he could even see this much. Damian decided to remove the diary from his mind for good and focus on other things. He just put it away in his spatial storage and exhaled.

Calming his nerves and forcing a small smile..

"You're probably right. It's just my own thing. Sorry to worry you all."

"It's fine, man, it's fine. It happens.." Sam's smile broadened, though it didn't completely mask his concern.

"Yeah, no big deal," the others chimed in, patting him reassuringly.

"You are worried about wrong things.. Do you even know that these people have weird things like gala's that we all have to mandatorily be present at..? Can you imagine the horror..?" Sam babbled and Damian could not believe his words.

"Mandatory? For real?" Damian asked, eyebrows raised.

"For real," Sam confirmed, shaking his head. Einar also nodded dejectedly beside them as they got up from the bench and started walking. It was time to head back.

"The day after tomorrow," Evrin added, she seemed completely fine with it.

"They've even got a whole giant dedicated hall for it," Einar said, though her usual enthusiasm for academy highlights was absent this time.

The two noblewomen exchanged exasperated glances, clearly unfazed by the gala, while the three of them were genuinely annoyed by the ordeal. For them it was just any other weekend, they attended more in their kingdom than just one. It was maybe even relaxing.

"It's every two weeks even.. They say there is going to be dancing.." Sam continued on.

Well, the academy did have this side to it. For the peace to be maintained among five kingdoms, Highswords wanted young nobles and commoners alike to mingle with each other and get to know people from other countries, form connections. Some of which even turned to real marriages with time. Some minor nobles even trained their young to pursue such things more for their houses than the learning or ranking which was the main reason for everyone coming here. He could understand Sam though, The tedious lessons for etiquette and dance lessons he had attended with Lucian still gave him nightmares to this day. There were extra classes for such things in here, the academy too. If anyone wants to learn etiquettes and dancing,

"When does it start?" Damian asked, resigned.

"Two days from now," Evrin replied.

"Dancing," Sam muttered in despair. "Every. Two. Weeks."

Damian couldn't help but smirk at Sam's exaggerated misery, though a part of him wanted to cry too. Sometimes, it wasn't the magic, the politics, or the threats that wore you down. Sometimes, it was just the absurdities of life at Highswords with these noble brats.