Chapter 10 – Scholar of True Runes

  The journey back to the Skydrid estate passed in a blur. As the carriage rumbled along the paved stone road, drawing ever closer to the looming iron gates that guarded the manor’s entrance, Jacob felt his anticipation swell in waves too strong to suppress.

  A quiet sense of urgency settled into his chest, not the nervous anxiety of earlier, but an almost childlike eagerness to reach the solitude of his room, sit at his desk, and finally open the leather-bound handbook pressed tightly against his chest.

  He barely waited for the vehicle to roll to a full stop before climbing down, his mind already two steps ahead, thinking of pages, ink, runes, and theory. But as he turned, ready to sprint toward the east wing, a light tap on his shoulder made him pause. He looked back.

  Belemir stood behind him, calm as ever, one brow faintly raised.

  “I believe it would be most appropriate to inform the lord and lady before locking yourself away,” he said softly, tone neutral but firm enough to deflate Jacob’s momentum.

  Jacob let out a resigned sigh. Of course. That was the proper thing to do.

  Inside, the estate was as quiet and polished as ever, its high ceilings and marble floors reflecting golden sunlight that poured in through arched windows. As they moved toward his father's quarters, Jacob’s gaze flicked to the stairwell, where he spotted a figure lounging with casual grace, a wisp of smoke curling lazily from between his fingers.

  Henry Skydrid. The third son.

  Long black hair fell neatly across his shoulders, and his sharp brown eyes held a spark of intelligence beneath their relaxed exterior. His face, elegant and composed, looked like it belonged more on a noble’s portrait than in this idle moment, and his thin, robe-draped frame gave him an almost theatrical appearance. The kind of man who made an impression without trying to.

  Henry caught sight of him and stubbed out the half-finished cigar against the bannister, straightening up. “Jacob,” he called, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Heard you had your aspect test today.” His eyes flicked downward, catching sight of the book Jacob clutched.

  Jacob hesitated only a moment. The result would become public soon enough, and there was no point pretending otherwise. He gave a small nod and said evenly, “I did.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow and took a slow step forward. “And?”

  There was something oddly heavy in the silence that followed. Jacob could’ve lied, downplayed it, said it was something average but instead, he let his guard down for just a second and smiled.

  Not a large one. Just enough.

  And it was that smile that made Henry freeze.

  In all the months since Lucas died, he hadn’t seen his little brother smile once. Not truly. Not like this.

  “…Grade 1,” Jacob said quietly, watching Henry’s expression shift from surprise to something else, something halfway between admiration and disbelief.

  Then Henry let out a bark of laughter and pulled another cigar from his sleeve. “You bastard,” he chuckled, flicking the lighter open. “Grade 1? I’ve gotta smoke for that. You’re really something, Jacob.”

  Jacob stepped back a little, waving the smoke away with an amused look still stuck on his face despite his best efforts to compose himself. He hadn’t meant to smile. He wanted to stay stoic. But he couldn’t help it the emotion was too much, the sense of pride too raw.

  Henry took another long drag and grinned. “What are you standing here for, then? Go tell Father. Bet he’ll fall off his chair.” He jabbed a thumb toward the hallway. “Hell, I’ll come with you.”

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  They hadn’t taken more than a few steps when another voice joined in.

  “Come with you where?”

  Jessica. The second daughter, quick-footed and wide-eyed, hurried down the corridor toward them. But when she looked at Jacob, she stopped abruptly. Her gaze locked onto his face. Then blinked.

  Was Jacob… smiling?

  The moment held its breath before Henry answered, ever the jester. “You’re looking at a Grade 1 sorcerer,” he announced, gesturing with both hands. “Show some respect.”

  Something clicked behind Jessica’s eyes, and she gave a soft laugh, the kind that reached her cheeks. She ran to Jacob and hugged him before he could move away.

  “I knew it,” she said warmly. “I knew your grade would be high. I’m so happy for you.”

  Jacob froze.

  He hadn’t wanted that, hadn’t wanted joy, or celebration, or recognition. Somewhere deep down, he still believed he didn’t deserve it. Not after what happened. Not with what he’d taken away from someone else. He wanted indifference, not praise.

  The warmth in his chest twisted, and the smile vanished.

  “Thank you,” he said curtly. “I’m… happy for me too.”

  Belemir, silent as a shadow, resumed his position behind Jacob as they approached the family head’s quarters. Jessica walked beside him, Henry just behind. When they reached the door, Jacob paused and raised a hand. It trembled slightly before he knocked.

  “Come in,” came the familiar voice of Lord Jeremiah.

  Jacob pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  “Greetings, Lord,” he said, bowing his head.

  Jeremiah Skydrid sat upright on his bed, a thick tome resting across his knees. Though he held a reputation as the head of a noble house, his demeanor in private was far from intimidating. He looked up as his children entered, brow raised.

  “Yo, Dad,” Henry said, tucking his cigar away as if to pretend he hadn’t just been smoking it.

  Jessica plopped onto the bed beside him with a bright grin. “Guess what? You’re about to be surprised.”

  Jacob remained standing, waiting for silence to return.

  “I have come to report the results of my aspect test,” he said, voice steady.

  Jeremiah hummed, gesturing for him to continue.

  Jacob inhaled. “Grade 1 aspect. Scholar of True Runes.”

  Jeremiah leaned forward, lips parting slightly. His eyes scanned Jacob’s face. Then he nodded once slow, but deliberate.

  “A Grade 1… That’s commendable,” he said. “No. That’s exceptional. You’ve done the Skydrid name proud. As expected of my son.” His voice dropped into something softer, less formal. “Good job, Jacob.”

  There were words unspoken between them. Things Jeremiah could have said, regrets, expectations, praise but he didn’t. He simply met his son’s gaze and offered that one line.

  Jacob bowed again, this time deeper. “May I take my leave?”

  Jeremiah waved him off, and Jacob exited without another word.

  Once the door clicked shut, Jacob turned to Belemir, nodded briskly, and then sprinted down the hallway. He didn’t stop to talk, didn’t glance at the portraits or the passing servants. He threw his door open, closed it behind him, and locked it.

  He set the book down carefully on his desk, sat, and opened to the first page.

  Thirty minutes later, he was still on it.

  He read the page again.

  Then again.

  And again.

  By the fourth read-through, he was leaning back in his chair, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

  The text read:

  “Based on analysis and cross-referencing, the aspect ‘Scholar of True Runes’ fits both the Scholar and Mage classifications. Essential to rune theory, but equally applicable in combat. To understand this aspect, you must first understand True Runes. A growing theory suggests that runes do not merely interact with the world, they are the world. This aspect validates that theory. True Runes are the elemental structures of reality. A Scholar of True Runes can perceive and influence them.”

  It sounded like nonsense. Like myth. And yet here it was, scrawled in formal script on the first page of his personalized handbook.

  This wasn’t just influence it was control. Not metaphorical, not symbolic, but real. A scholar of true runes could manipulate the very foundation of matter and magic.

  His palms were sweating.

  No. He wouldn’t submit this version. That would be suicide. This kind of power made people vanish. It made them targets, threats, assets.

  He could falsify part of it. Maybe water it down. Luckily, only the sorcerer could read their own handbook. Still, it would take effort to make the deception believable.

  He closed the book carefully, stood up, and crossed to the adjoining room.

  From the shelf, he retrieved a dark blue bottle filled with shimmering liquid. An elixir.

  He poured it into the bath and slid into the glowing water, tension easing as the heat settled over his limbs. His thoughts wandered back to Arthur, to the casual ease with which the boy had been able to grab him, or drape his hand over his shoulder while jacos strength was too little to resist. That wouldn’t happen again.

  Not now, he would get stronger.

  Sleep overtook him without warning.

  A peaceful, unintentional sleep.

  One that, as he would later learn, had consequences.