Circuitry of Understanding
The workshop felt different now.
High above, the Flickering Forge-Heart turned slowly in the void, its edges crisscrossed by curling cables and half-assembled plating. Four runes—TARR, NAL, IXA, LUN—circled its center like orbiting planets, each glowing with a distinct hue of violet. One glance at their steady revolution filled Donte with relief. This place, which had once drifted in chaotic pieces, now showed definite signs of coming together.
He remembered vividly the first moment he'd reached out to the engine, unprepared for the surge of resonance that had ignited his entire mindscape. Bit by bit, he had repaired the runes that gave the Forge-Heart life. And now, at least in part, it thrived—no longer a dim ember, but a beating heart of potential.
Yet a sense of incompleteness lingered. Broken platforms still drifted in the distance. Tools hovered in partial stasis, and entire segments of the main dais flickered. The entire domain radiated unfinished business. Each fix he made breathed a little more functionality into this mental forge, but progress was measured in slow steps.
Donte crouched on a newly stabilized ramp, staring down into the engine's lower chambers. He sensed additional inscriptions carved into the curved metal, but from this angle, he couldn't see them clearly. A partial glow teased at him from behind a fractured plate.
He rose to his feet. Activating Rune Insight had become second nature—he just had to intend it, and the quiet shift behind his eyes confirmed it was active. Colors brightened slightly. Edges sharpened in his vision. The stylus in his right hand pulsed softly, ready for more work.
No drain. No fatigue.
Nothing.
Ever since he'd arrived, the usual warnings from Markus about wasting precious Neurys felt almost comical. Here, no resource bled away. No tension built. It was as if the entire concept of energy usage had been suspended. He wanted to believe it was a fluke, but some deeper part of him knew better: this mindscape obeyed different rules.
He made his way along the ramp, stepping carefully over bridging cables that had locked into place when he restored NAL. The latching function of that rune had set so many drifting catwalks in stable alignment, giving him a workable path around the engine. He remembered the rush of insight that had accompanied each newly fixed rune, how the environment responded to their synergy.
Hesitant, he reached the cracked plating he'd spotted from above and leaned in. A glow emanated from within, but the shape was distorted. Only the top curve of the rune was visible, arcs missing everywhere else. Cautiously, he pried the plating aside, revealing a mini-chamber of wires and mechanical ligaments.
A battered rune flickered inside.
One look at its geometry told him it didn't belong to TARR, NAL, IXA, or LUN. Possibly a fifth. Possibly a variant of one. He narrowed his focus, letting Rune Insight coax out the fractured lines.
Gently, he lifted the stylus and started tracing. He moved line by line, guided more by intuition than logic. Three times he paused, uncertain. Should that curve angle outward or inward? Did a certain stroke loop around or finalize here?
Each time he hesitated, he felt the environment whisper a clue—like a tension release whenever he set the line right. After a few moments of painstaking reassembly, he completed the final stroke.
An immediate pulse shook the plating.
Light flared in a single bright ring around the half-hidden rune, and Donte's mind took in its name:
DRAV.
He stiffened, breath catching in his throat.
Reinforce. Anchor. Stabilize.
Yes. That explained the subtle presence he felt. DRAV was a structural concept, heavier than a simple binding. It implied internal bracing rather than just latching surfaces.
He stepped away as the newly drawn rune surged with life, bridging old fractures within the plating. A hiss of steam vented harmlessly to the side, and the engine's mechanical ribs clicked into a steadier formation.
When he turned around, he realized the entire workshop had shifted again. Platforms that had drifted aimlessly now locked into place, cables reconnected. A handful of overhead lamps glowed with firmer brightness, eliminating half the gloom. Tools that hovered in partial stasis clicked onto racks lining the dais. It was as if the puzzle had found another missing piece.
Five runes, all told. TARR, IXA, NAL, LUN, and now DRAV. Each had breathed new life into the mental forge, giving Donte a deeper sense of clarity about his class and his domain.
He exhaled, turning in a slow circle to survey the changes. No doubt about it—fewer arcs of electricity crackled across broken seams, fewer mechanical arms lay inert. The Forge-Heart whirred, humming at a slightly higher pitch. Gears the size of wagon wheels, once drifting at random, now turned in gentle unison overhead. The difference might seem minor to an outsider, but to him, it felt like a full breath of progress.
He half expected to find another near-complete rune to fix next. This sense of momentum urged him to keep going, to push the engine further into synergy. Approaching the next set of inscriptions, he scanned them hopefully.
But the moment he attempted to read one, a dull static flooded his thoughts. The stylus fizzled at the tip, refusing to clarify the shape. Rune Insight gave him only a swirl of nonsense. Same for the next cluster and the next.
A mental barrier stood firm between him and the rest of the Forge-Heart's logic.
He sighed, letting the stylus fall to his side. For a moment, frustration itched behind his ribs. Couldn't he just keep going? What was stopping him?
A mechanical voice echoed from the engine's interior:
"Runic integration: capacity reached. Additional restoration locked until subsystem expansion."
He clenched his jaw at the impersonal tone. So there was a design limit, or maybe a class limit, capping how many runes he could process at once. He recalled the mental twinge from earlier sessions—when the system had refused to yield new shapes. This was the same phenomenon, only spelled out more clearly now.
Five runes then. Five essential truths in a domain of countless complexities.
He took a steadying breath, scanning the newly anchored catwalk that extended along the Forge-Heart's lower circumference. TARR, IXA, NAL, LUN, DRAV. He repeated them mentally, letting each one settle:
TARR: Fire. Spark. The impetus of heat.
IXA: Activate. Pulse. Drive.
NAL: Bind. Connect. Anchor.
LUN: Illuminate. Reveal. Light.
DRAV: Reinforce. Strengthen. Support.
Five pillars of a forging process. Heat, link, ignite, enlighten, and fortify.
It made sense. Each piece was fundamental to an engine built for creation.
Now what?
He surveyed the dais. Mechanisms had reconfigured themselves subtly. A central console flickered with lines of Thalics script he couldn't read. Shelves had stabilized along the edges, some holding half-ghostly implements. Large arcs of twisted metal parted to form an open corridor toward a segmented elevator, but half of it still flickered intangible, incomplete.
At least the place felt functional—some corners brimming with newly organized scraps. He walked over to a freshly solidified table. Tools, each shining with that ephemeral light, lined up across its surface: wrenches, clamps, needle-fine styluses. A small jar of swirling dust flickered each time he glanced away. Possibly the raw material for forging new runic sequences in the real world?
He picked up a clamp. Its metal frame glowed faintly, as though each part was etched with TARR or DRAV, but he couldn't see the runes physically. This was more like an impression of how the clamp might behave. In the actual world, maybe he'd need to replicate these principles with actual resources. Another puzzle for later.
At the back of the table, he noticed a gear-like object resting in a half-formed cradle. When he touched it, the gear dissolved into sparks. The mental world was telling him that part wasn't stable enough to use. Still locked. He guessed it might appear later, once more runes were restored.
He turned away, crossing to the console. Its display glimmered with scanning lines, but the text scrolled in a script he didn't recognize—an advanced form of Thalics? Or something else? Possibly a system readout of the Forge-Heart's status, listing all the subsystems that remained broken. Only glimpses made sense: "Valves 12%," "Port X off-line," "Rune clusters incomplete." Another sign that progress had a long road ahead.
At least the engine no longer threatened to collapse. Donte placed one hand gently against its hull. It pulsed back—a faint, reassuring hum. Once he sorted out how to remove the mental cap on runes, he'd progress further. But that might require external knowledge. Perhaps a deeper rank of Spirit Resonance. Or maybe an event in the real world. He recalled vague mentions from Markus about how classes sometimes needed feats to evolve.
He'd figure it out. In time.
Donte inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. The hum of the Forge-Heart flowed into him. He recognized the synergy that had formed: five runes, five anchors. For now, that was his limit. Maybe the mindscape wanted him to apply them outside, to develop them physically before it unlocked the next cluster.
He shook his head, forcibly pushing his confusion about Neurys usage to the back of his mind. He knew he had a million questions. But the who, what, why, and how would have to wait until he left the mindscape and confronted Markus. Maybe then he'd discover there was some known phenomenon about spirit worlds ignoring real-world energy usage, or that advanced resonance states cost zero drain. Or maybe it was unique to him. All speculation.
One way or another, he'd get answers.
For now, this was progress enough.
His gaze flicked to a newly stable walkway that arched around the Forge-Heart's side. It led to an upper vantage, offering a perspective he hadn't seen yet. But scanning it quickly with Rune Insight, he saw no new runes waiting. No flickering arcs beckoning him. Just empty platforms and scaffolding.
The domain was telling him: That's all for now.
He exhaled, stepping away from the console. The stylus in his hand lost its glow, returning to a neutral state. He let it rest on the table, next to the clamp, carefully. No sense carrying it around when no more repairs could be done.
He paused, half expecting the workshop to fade, or the voice to speak. Yet the mindscape remained steady. The overhead gear turned with rhythmic grace. Lamp arcs shone across the dais, revealing neat lines of reorganized scraps.
He felt a faint stirring in his chest. Something like gratitude.
He'd come far in one session. He'd discovered or restored multiple runes, each reinforcing a piece of his identity here. The environment that was once drifting aimlessly showed real structure now. He almost wanted to stay and see if more changes occurred spontaneously, but part of him knew nothing else would shift without the impetus of further runic repair.
And he couldn't do that right now.
"Guess we're done," he murmured quietly.
He turned back to the Forge-Heart, letting his gaze trace the rotating band. TARR. NAL. IXA. LUN. DRAV. Five runes of countless. Enough for the start of his journey.
Though time was meaningless here, he sensed it was time to go back. The mindscape gave no push or pull; it existed to reflect him, not to direct him. But it felt right to leave—like finishing a work shift with a satisfied nod. Another step accomplished.
He placed both hands on the dais floor, closed his eyes, and envisioned stepping out. The same intangible process that had brought him in reversed itself. A pulling sensation somewhere behind his navel. The lights in the workshop dimmed a fraction.
As he opened his eyes, he smiled softly, letting the drifting domain recede from conscious focus. The noise of the Forge-Heart's hum dulled, replaced by the faint memory of his own heartbeat. The last thing he saw was DRAV pulsing a quiet farewell, the engine turning smoothly, unafraid of the silent dark around it.