Whispers in the Engraving

The monolith stood before Ryn, its surface pulsing faintly with the echoes of his inscription. He could feel the weight of its presence pressing into his very being, an undeniable reminder that he had left his mark upon it—and it had done the same to him.

‎He clenched his fists, steadying his breath. Something was different. The air around him felt denser, filled with a resonance that hadn't been there before. It wasn't just his imagination; the monolith had acknowledged him. But what did that truly mean?

‎The masked figure observed in silence before speaking. "Tell me, what do you feel?"

‎Ryn hesitated. He was still trying to understand the sensation himself. It was as if a current of energy was threading through him, weaving itself into his core. A lingering presence that refused to fade.

‎"It's… a connection," he finally said. "I can feel the monolith's engravings within me."

‎The masked figure tilted his head slightly. "Good. Then you understand the significance of what you've done."

‎Ryn frowned. "Significance?"

‎"Your engraving was accepted. That is rare."

‎A shiver ran down Ryn's spine. He glanced at the monolith again, his mind racing. He had thought this was merely a test, a way to prove himself. But now, he wasn't so sure. There was something deeper at play.

‎Before he could press further, the masked figure stepped forward, extending a gloved hand. "Show me your palm."

‎Ryn hesitated for a moment before obeying. He turned his hand upward, revealing his skin to the dim light.

‎Then, he saw it.

‎A faint glyph had formed on the center of his palm, barely visible but undeniably there. It wasn't one of the inscriptions he had created—it was something entirely new. The lines were intricate, shifting slightly as if alive, pulsating with a strange energy.

‎"What… is this?" Ryn asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

‎The masked figure studied the mark carefully before speaking. "The monolith does not simply allow engravings to be placed upon it. It leaves an imprint on those who succeed. You carry its mark now."

‎Ryn's mind reeled. He could feel it, the faint hum of something foreign yet familiar. Was this what the monolith had meant when it challenged him? Had it not just been a trial, but a transformation?

‎The masked figure continued, his voice even. "The true nature of your mark will reveal itself in time. But be warned—once you have been engraved upon, you are never the same."

‎Ryn swallowed hard, staring at the glyph. He had come here seeking power, seeking knowledge. But he had not expected this.

‎What had he truly gained?

‎The thought lingered as the masked figure turned away, signaling the end of the encounter. "Come. There is more to learn. Your journey has only begun."

‎Ryn closed his hand into a fist, feeling the slight pulse of the glyph against his skin.

‎Yes, he thought. This was only the beginning.

Ryn flexed his fingers, feeling the pulse of the glyph embedded into his palm. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced—an echo of something greater, something ancient. It wasn't just an engraving; it was a whisper of power, woven into his very being.

‎He turned his gaze back to the masked figure, who remained silent, watching. There was no urgency in his posture, no sign of haste. It was as if he already knew Ryn's thoughts, knew the path he was about to tread.

‎"What happens now?" Ryn asked.

‎The masked figure finally spoke. "Now, you listen."

‎Ryn frowned. "Listen?"

‎"Close your eyes."

‎Hesitation flickered through him, but he complied. The world around him dimmed into nothingness, leaving only the rhythmic pulse of his engraving. He focused, tuning his senses, reaching into the mark as if it were an extension of himself.

‎Then he heard it.

‎A whisper.

‎It was distant, fragmented, like an ancient voice carried by the wind. The words were unclear, but the intent was unmistakable. Something—someone—was speaking to him.

‎He focused harder, drowning out the rest of the world. The whisper grew sharper, threading through his thoughts like a needle through cloth. The voice was neither male nor female, neither young nor old. It was timeless, stretching across the void of existence.

‎"Bearer of the mark," it intoned. "You have stepped into the current of fate."

‎Ryn's breath hitched. "Who are you?"

‎Silence.

‎Then, a shift in the air, like a ripple on the surface of a still pond.

‎"You have yet to understand."

‎The voice was neither hostile nor kind—it simply was. A force beyond his comprehension, observing, weighing, waiting.

‎Ryn gritted his teeth. "What do you want from me?"

‎Another ripple, another shift. The whisper faded, dissolving into the void.

‎And then it was gone.

‎Ryn's eyes snapped open. The chamber felt colder than before, the weight of the monolith pressing down upon him. He turned to the masked figure, his heartbeat steady but his mind racing.

‎"You heard it, didn't you?" the masked figure asked.

‎Ryn nodded slowly. "It spoke to me."

‎The figure inclined his head slightly, as if unsurprised. "That is the nature of the monolith. It does not simply mark—it binds."

‎Ryn exhaled sharply, glancing at the glyph once more. It no longer pulsed, but he could still feel its presence, a lingering reminder of what had transpired. He clenched his fist.

‎Whatever had spoken to him, whatever had left its imprint within him—it was not done with him yet.

‎The masked figure turned, motioning for Ryn to follow. "Come. The path ahead is deeper than you know."

‎Ryn took one last glance at the monolith before stepping forward, the weight of his newfound burden pressing upon his shoulders.

‎The whispers were only the beginning.

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