The Glyph's Awakening
The chamber pulsed with a life of its own, the engravings shifting in unnatural patterns. Ryn's breath came slow and measured as the masked figure stepped forward, its presence distorting the air around it.
The trial had begun.
Without hesitation, the figure lifted a skeletal hand. The engravings along the walls flared violently, coalescing into luminous glyphs that detached from the stone, floating in midair. Ryn could feel their weight pressing against him—not in the physical sense, but in something deeper, something primal.
A test of inscriptions.
Ryn's mind raced. He had seen engravings bend to their creator's will before, but never like this. These symbols were alive, independent forces bound to the masked figure's command. If he hesitated for even a moment, he knew they would crush him without mercy.
He extended his own hand. The markings on his forearm, altered by the monolith's influence, pulsed in response. He focused, willing them into motion. A single symbol detached from his skin, wavering uncertainly before solidifying in the air before him.
The masked figure observed in silence, then made a gesture. The floating glyphs surged forward, twisting together to form an intricate web of energy aimed directly at Ryn.
Reacting on instinct, Ryn thrust his palm forward. His lone inscription expanded, forming a crude barrier. The impact sent vibrations through his bones, but he stood firm. His engraving held—barely.
The figure tilted its head. "You resist," it murmured. "Good. But resistance alone is not enough."
It moved its hands in a complex motion, and the glyphs surrounding it morphed, reshaping into something more sinister—symbols interlocking in rapid succession, forming a shifting array of attacks too numerous to follow.
Ryn gritted his teeth. The weight of the unseen force pressed harder. He had no choice. He had to push beyond what he knew. He had to shape the Unwritten.
Closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, he reached into the unknown depths of his altered engravings, feeling for the power that lay dormant beneath the surface. Then, with a sharp exhale, he let it flow.
A new symbol formed before him—one he did not recognize.
And the chamber shuddered in response.
The chamber trembled as the newly-formed symbol hung in the air before Ryn, radiating an unsettling energy. The masked figure froze, its many-layered voice quieting to a mere whisper. The engravings on the walls flickered erratically, reacting to the unknown force Ryn had just unleashed.
Ryn's breathing was heavy, but his mind was sharp. He didn't recognize the symbol, nor did he know how he had created it. It had come from somewhere else—deep within the changes wrought by the monolith's touch.
The masked figure moved suddenly, the fluidity of its motion unnatural. "This symbol… it does not belong to any path."
Ryn said nothing. He wasn't sure if that was true or not. He only knew that the moment he called upon it, the entire chamber reacted.
"Shape it." The figure's voice was low, almost reverent. "Or it will shape you."
The floating glyph pulsed, then twisted upon itself, folding and unfolding like a living thing. Ryn instinctively reached out with his will, trying to grasp its meaning. The moment his mind connected to it, the chamber's engravings erupted in a storm of movement, shifting violently as if trying to reject what he had summoned.
Pain lanced through his skull. Images—fragments of something ancient—flashed before his eyes. A city swallowed by darkness. Symbols burning into flesh. A door without a key.
He staggered, barely keeping his footing. The masked figure observed him with quiet intensity. "You stand at the precipice," it murmured. "Will you step forward, or fall?"
Ryn clenched his fists, steadying himself. The glyph in front of him trembled, awaiting his command.
He had no choice. He had to shape it.
With a deep breath, he reached out—not just with his hand, but with his will—and seized control of the Unwritten Glyph.
The moment Ryn seized control of the Unwritten Glyph, the chamber convulsed as if rejecting the very act. A deafening crack split through the air, and the walls buckled, their engravings writhing in resistance. The weight pressing against his mind increased tenfold, a crushing force that sought to break him before he could even understand what he had grasped.
Yet, he did not let go.
Ryn gritted his teeth, sweat running down his temple. He could feel it now—this glyph was alive. Unlike the rigid inscriptions dictated by tradition, the Unwritten Glyph shifted like a tide, adapting, evolving. It was bound to no path, no master. A force beyond the confines of knowledge itself.
And it was fighting him.
Pain erupted in his chest. A searing burn traced along his forearms, his veins illuminating with the same eerie glow that pulsed from the floating symbol before him. He could barely contain the scream clawing at his throat. But deep within the pain, he sensed something else—
—power.
A new wave of strength coursed through him, raw and untamed. His feet dug into the trembling ground, his will sharpening against the force threatening to consume him. The masked figure remained still, watching with something that might have been anticipation—or dread.
"Control it," the figure whispered. "Before it controls you."
Ryn exhaled, steadying his stance. The glyph hovered erratically, warping as if trying to break free. He focused, forcing his mind to weave around its shifting nature. Not to cage it, but to guide it.
Slowly, the glyph responded.
Its chaotic pulses slowed, its erratic shifts settling into something more structured. The engravings along the chamber walls quivered, but they no longer recoiled from its presence. Instead, they bent toward it, acknowledging its existence.
Ryn's vision sharpened. This was it. This was the key.
The Unwritten Glyph was not something to be controlled by force. It was something to be understood, adapted to, wielded in ways beyond conventional inscription paths. He had only begun to scratch the surface, but the revelation was there—
He had found something that should not exist. And yet, it was now a part of him.
A sudden shift in the masked figure's stance snapped Ryn's focus back. The trial was not yet over. The figure lifted its skeletal hand once more, and the chamber responded.
The engravings along the walls came alive, their light surging as symbols uncoiled from the stone, forming intricate constructs. Blades of light, chains of shifting words, specters of pure inscription energy. They hovered around the figure like an army awaiting orders.
Ryn wiped the sweat from his brow, his grip tightening around his newfound power. The Unwritten Glyph swirled beside him, waiting.
A final test loomed.
The masked figure raised its hand in silent decree.
The attack began.