The First Mark

The silence that followed was thick, a pause filled with contemplation and unspoken understanding. The stranger's eyes lingered on the dead embers, the remnants of his failed attempt. His engraving pulsed again, an almost imperceptible flicker of light beneath his skin.

‎Ryn shifted uncomfortably. "So... if parchment can't hold it, then what can?"

‎The stranger didn't immediately respond. Instead, he turned towards the old workbenches, his fingers running along the dust-covered surfaces as if searching for something unseen. His gaze fell upon a slab of blackened stone, half-buried beneath scattered tools. With a measured motion, he swept the debris aside and lifted it, his movements slow but deliberate.

‎Ryn stepped closer, peering at the object. The stone was unlike anything he'd seen before—obsidian-dark, yet streaked with veins of deep crimson. It exuded a quiet, unsettling presence as if it had been waiting to be found.

‎"This," the stranger murmured, "will not burn."

‎Ryn hesitated. "What is that ?"

‎The stranger exhaled, brushing his fingers over the surface. "Aetherstone. A rare mineral, one that resists the weight of inscriptions. In ancient times, only the most skilled Engraving Masters could shape it." He turned his gaze toward Ryn, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "If we are to carve a path forward, we must use a medium worthy of it."

‎Ryn's mind raced. He had heard whispers of Aetherstone in old stories—legends of weapons and artifacts that bore impossible inscriptions, relics that defied decay and destruction. But such materials were supposed to be long lost, hoarded by hidden sects, or buried in ruins forgotten by time.

‎"How do you even carve something like that?" Ryn asked.

‎The stranger smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only certainty.

‎"We don't carve it," he said. "We engrave it with fire and will."

The Aetherstone lay between them, its dark surface absorbing the dim light of the workshop. A vessel unlike any other—unyielding, eternal. The stranger ran a thumb over its surface, feeling the cold, dense structure beneath his skin.

‎Ryn studied the stone with a mix of wariness and curiosity.

‎The stranger reached for a chisel, its edge worn but still sharp. He continued: " We engrave it by forcing our will upon it." He tapped the chisel against the Aetherstone. The sound it made was dull, lifeless. "No ordinary method will suffice. We need something more."

‎He gestured to the forge, long dormant. "It needs to be awakened. Fire alone won't shape the stone, but aether-fire will. And for that… we require fuel worthy of the task."

‎Ryn frowned. "And where do we find that?"

‎The stranger's gaze was unreadable. "Not all fuel comes from wood and coal. Sometimes, the strongest fire is born from sacrifice."

‎A cold knot formed in Ryn's stomach. "Sacrifice?"

‎The stranger stepped closer, the glow of his engraving intensifying. "To forge something new, something powerful—we must be willing to offer something in return. Ink, steel, even blood. It all carries weight."

‎Ryn exhaled sharply, uncertainty creeping into his thoughts. The whispers returned a low hum at the edge of his mind.

‎—"The first mark shapes the path. The cost must be paid."—

‎He looked at the Aetherstone once more, realizing that what they were about to do would not just be an inscription—it would be an act of defiance against the natural order.

‎And the world would bear witness to their first mark.

The forge had long been cold, its once-glowing heart now reduced to mere cinders. But the stranger stood before it with unwavering certainty. The aetherstone lay upon the anvil, an immovable challenge to their ambition. Ryn's breath was steady but laced with unease.

‎The stranger extended his engraved palm toward the forge. A faint shimmer flickered across his skin, the glow pulsating in rhythm with an unseen force. He exhaled, and the symbols upon his flesh began to shift—rewriting themselves.

‎A spark leaped from his hand, sinking into the belly of the forge. The cinders stirred.

‎Then, with an unnatural roar, the fire reignited.

‎The flames burned blue and violet, twisting into unnatural patterns. The heat was suffocating, yet neither of them recoiled. This was no ordinary fire. It was Aetherfire.

‎Ryn watched in silent awe. The forge was alive again, its hunger undeniable. The stranger reached into the heat, withdrawing a thin vial from his cloak. The liquid inside shimmered, shifting between shades of gold and crimson. With deliberate precision, he poured a single drop into the flames.

‎The fire pulsed.

‎The whispers in Ryn's mind grew louder, more insistent.

‎—"The vessel has been chosen. The mark must be set."—

‎The stranger lifted the chisel, its edge now white-hot with the energy of the flames. He positioned it above the aetherstone and pressed it against the surface.

‎A violent tremor shook the workshop.

‎The first stroke of the engraving, carved itself into existence.

The fire roared, casting wild shadows that danced along the walls, reflecting the momentous act taking place. The stranger's grip was unwavering, his focus absolute. Every stroke of the chisel sent sparks cascading into the air, but the stone did not resist.

‎The first inscription took form—a symbol neither wholly familiar nor entirely foreign. The engraved lines pulsed with a deep crimson light as if the stone itself had awakened.

‎Ryn felt the weight of the moment pressing against his chest. His instincts screamed at him that this was something forbidden, something beyond mortal hands. And yet, he could not look away.

‎The whispers intensified.

‎—"The first key is forged. The path deepens."—

‎The stranger stepped back, examining the mark. His engraving flared, reacting to the freshly carved inscription. A silent exchange passed between them—power recognizing power.

‎Then, the workshop shuddered.

‎The aetherstone pulsed once, twice, then released a deep, resonating hum that sent a shockwave through the air. The forge's flames flickered violently before stabilizing. Something had changed.

‎Ryn swallowed hard. "What... what just happened?"

‎The stranger's expression was unreadable. "The first mark has been set. Now, we see if the world takes notice."

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