A hush lay over the Imperial Archive that night, broken only by the scratch of John's quill and the soft crackle of a rune-lamp's flame. High shelves of leather-bound codices and scrolls loomed around him like silent sentinels. The library's grand hall was lit by clusters of glow-stones ensconced along the marble pillars, their usual brilliance dimmed to a gentle azure at this late hour. In the stillness, John could hear the faint pop of oil lamps and the distant chirr of crickets outside the palace walls.
He sat at a broad oak table strewn with parchment, quills, and several hefty tomes. His bandaged forearm twinged whenever he moved too suddenly, but he paid it little mind. Spread before him was a scroll titled Fundamental Glyphs and Their Energies, neatly copied for him earlier by Livia's assistants. Next to it lay the very primer Magister Salim had delivered that afternoon: a compact codex bound in green leather – Imperial Rune Standards, Vol. I.
John ran a hand over the spidery script of the scroll. The symbols – runes – drawn there were unlike any alphabet he knew on Earth: intricate geometric designs, each composed of delicate strokes and curves radiating from a common pattern. They seemed to dance before his eyes in the lamp's flicker.
He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of old paper and ink. This place, with its towering cases of knowledge, reminded him faintly of libraries back home – except no library on Earth contained instructions for bending reality itself.
By day, John had worn the mask of the Emperor – receiving condolences in hushed tones from the few advisers who learned of the "intruder incident," issuing calm directives to tighten security, and outwardly appearing unfazed. But the moment night fell and his official duties waned, he slipped away to pursue a more personal mission.
He flexed his left hand; the bandage across his forearm pulled taut. A constant reminder. If he had known more about magic, about Rune-Enscriptive Energetics, perhaps he could have sensed the assassin's approach or fortified his chambers with wards. That ignorance nearly cost him everything. He would not let it remain a weakness.
John dipped his quill in ink and carefully copied one of the basic glyphs from the scroll onto a blank sheet. His hand was steady, military-steady, as he drew the angular lines of a simple illumination rune. According to the primer, this glyph – three interlocking triangles – when charged with one's will, would produce light akin to a small torch flame. A straightforward cantrip by this world's standards, perhaps, but for John it would be the first true test of magic he performed alone.
He finished the final stroke and set the quill down. The black ink glistened on the parchment, the rune stark and elegant. John wiped a bead of sweat from his brow that had nothing to do with the archive's mild warmth. It felt almost like arming a grenade back in his old life – heart pounding with the weight of what might happen if he did it wrong.
He cleared his throat in the empty hall, feeling a little foolish. It's just drawing on paper, he chided himself. But of course, it was more. The book had said intent and focus were as crucial as form. Enscriptive Energetics was part art, part science, requiring mental discipline to channel energy into the rune.
John placed two fingers on the drawn glyph. It was said one could trace a rune in the air or on any surface, as long as the mental image was clear, but he felt better having the physical sketch.
"Alright," he whispered, bracing himself. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, letting his muscles loosen. He remembered the breathing techniques from sniper training – slow the heart, drown out distraction, narrow your world to a single point of focus.
Eyes fixed on the rune, John concentrated. He envisioned a spark igniting at the center of the interlocking triangles, the way Salim had demonstrated in the nexus chamber days before – coaxing energy from the ambient ley around them.
At first, nothing happened. The rune sat inert under his fingertips. John furrowed his brow and focused harder. He pictured the lines he'd drawn not as ink but as channels for current, like wiring that needed power. Light, he urged silently. Come forth.
A tingling warmth blossomed in his fingers. John's pulse quickened – he felt something. The inked lines on the page started to glow a faint orange, as if lit from within. It was dim and flickering, but undeniably there: light, conjured by his will.
He nearly laughed in relief and excitement, but held it in. The glow subsided after a few seconds as his concentration wavered in amazement.
John removed his fingers and flexed them, a grin breaking across his face. The library seemed a shade less dark than before, the rune-lamp's flame reflected in his triumphant eyes. It had only been the feeblest glimmer, but it was proof. Proof that he could do this.
He sat back in his chair, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Outside, a breeze tapped a branch against the arched window, and the night continued indifferent to his small miracle. But John felt a surge of confidence warm him from within.
So absorbed was he in his success that he didn't hear the soft approach of footsteps until a polite cough sounded from the shadows beyond his table.
John's hand shot instinctively toward his belt where a dagger should have been – but he'd left his weapons aside, thinking himself safe in the heart of his own palace. Still, old habits died hard. His eyes narrowed, searching the gloom between shelves.
"Peace, Your Majesty," came a familiar gentle voice. Livia, the imperial archivist, stepped into the pool of lamplight. She carried a stack of rolled parchments in her arms. Her silver hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and she wore a modest linen gown suitable for a night's work organizing the archives.
John eased, offering a slight smile. "Livia. You gave me a start."
"I am sorry, Emperor," Livia said, inclining her head. She set the scrolls down on a side table. "I did not mean to interrupt. I noticed the lights and thought perhaps you might need assistance…or more materials." Her keen eyes drifted to the primer and the copied scroll on the table. The faintly glowing rune was still visible on John's parchment, slowly fading now. Livia's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "Working through the fundamentals again, I see?"
There was a note of curiosity in her tone. Emperor Arslan had been known as a scholar, yes, but he was already well-versed in many aspects of R.E.E. – at least, the Arslan she remembered had been tutored from youth in basic sigils. Why would he be laboring over the introductory glyphs as if a novice?
John's mind raced for a justification. He tapped the Imperial Rune Standards book lightly. "Even a master must occasionally return to basics," he said smoothly. "Given recent events, I realized I should refresh my foundational knowledge. Gaps in understanding can be fatal." He gave her a meaningful look, and her face registered a flash of sympathy – she doubtless knew of the attempt on his life, since nothing escaped the archive's gossip network for long.
"Of course, Majesty," Livia nodded. "Wisely said. The pursuit of knowledge is never complete." She stepped closer, examining his face in the lamp glow. "Though if I may be frank, you look exhausted. Understandably so."
John raked a hand through his hair. "I'll rest soon. This can't wait." He gestured to the open codex. "Salim's primer here outlines the standard glyphs used in our infrastructure. If I'm to oversee the repair and protection of the Grand Nexus and beyond, I need complete fluency."
It wasn't entirely a lie – it was a convenient strategic reason for his late-night study, one likely to satisfy a fellow scholar.
Livia's stern features softened with admiration. "Your dedication to the empire's well-being is admirable, Emperor. Many sovereigns leave the arcane details to their mages and engineers, but you…" She allowed herself a small smile. "You have always had a hunger for learning."
John returned the smile politely. Inside, he felt a twinge of guilt; he was trading on Arslan's scholarly reputation to mask his ignorance. Yet at the same time, maybe this was exactly what Arslan would have done too. The continuity comforted him – perhaps he wasn't so out of place in these midnight studies.
He closed the codex for now and rolled up the practice parchment to tuck away. The rune had fully dimmed. "Thank you for bringing these materials, by the way," John said, indicating the scrolls Livia had dropped off. "More treatises on Energetics?"
"Yes, sire," Livia responded, launching into librarian mode. "One is a treatise on rune catalyzation techniques from the Fourth Age – a bit dense, but perhaps useful for advanced theory. Another is Magister Salim's own commentary on ley-line harmonics – he delivered it earlier as well, thinking you might find it enlightening background for the Nexus work. The third is an older scroll on defensive warding, as you requested."
"Excellent." John felt a spark of eagerness – the defensive warding text especially. "I appreciate your efficiency."
Livia inclined her head modestly. "I live to serve knowledge…and the Emperor."
She hesitated a moment, then spoke more quietly. "If I may, my lord… The palace staff are unsettled by what happened last night. Whispers are running about. Some fear dark magic was involved. I have tried to quell wild rumors here in the library and scriptorium."
John's jaw tightened slightly. Unavoidable, he supposed. "It was a single assassin, not a sorceress," he said, careful to keep his tone measured. "No dark magic, just a dagger and unfortunate lapses in security. We are addressing those lapses. There is no cause for panic."
"Understood, Majesty. I shall relay your reassurance subtly where I can." She paused, then added, "And… there is word that the assassin bore a certain mark. The scholars have long memories; some recall the Cult of Xesh from old histories. They are worried such ancient feuds have resurfaced."
John pressed his palm on the table, feeling the grain of the wood steady him. The shadows seemed to loom a bit darker at the mention of Xesh. "The Daughters of Xesh are indeed behind this," he admitted softly. He trusted Livia – a mistake not to trust a keeper of secrets, he suspected. "But they will be dealt with. Quietly. The less said, the better for now."
Livia's eyes flickered with concern but she nodded. "As you will. If you need any information from the archives on that cult or the old dynasty…" She trailed off, the offer clear.
John realized such records might exist – in these very shelves could lie accounts of the fallen royal line or their supporters. "Actually, yes," he said. "Tomorrow, please compile whatever you find on that cult or any references to a lost heir of the previous regime." He managed a wry grin. "Think of it as historical research for me."
Livia permitted herself a brief chuckle. "History often repeats, Your Majesty. I'll see what I can uncover."
She then glanced at the tall clock by the entry arch. It was well past midnight. "I should let you continue in peace. Or better yet, let you rest."
"I'll wrap up soon," John promised. "Thank you, Livia."
She gave a deep nod and retreated into the gloom as quietly as she'd come.
Alone once more, John gathered up the scroll he'd been copying from. His stomach rumbled – he had skipped dinner, pushing his plate around distractedly while his mind anticipated these studies. Now the physical toll of the day and night was catching up to him.
One more exercise, he told himself. He wanted to test the light rune once more, this time without a drawn aid. According to the primer, a competent runecaster could will the glyph into being in their mind or trace it in the air with a finger.
John stood, stretching his stiff limbs. He picked up the rune-lamp from the table – a small bronze dish with a crystal embedded, its flame fueled by enchantment rather than oil. He carried it over to a broad open area between shelves where the floor was a mosaic of blue and gold tiles depicting the sun and moon. Appropriately mystical, he thought.
Holding the lamp in one hand to illuminate his work, John raised his other hand and used his forefinger to draw the same illumination glyph in the air. He moved slowly, imagining a faint trail marking each line he drew. In truth, he saw nothing visible, but he pictured it strongly.
At the same time, he summoned that earlier feeling – the tingling warmth – and pushed, as if exhaling willpower through his fingertips.
A bead of light sputtered to life in the air before him, floating where he had sketched the rune. John's heart leapt. It was about the size of a candle-flame, hovering, casting a gentle glow.
He let out a surprised laugh. The orb of light wavered and nearly winked out as his concentration slipped. Quickly, he refocused, and it stabilized, bobbing slightly. It worked – no parchment, no ink, just his intent and the pattern held in his mind.
For a full minute John maintained the conjured light, walking slowly around it, marveling like a child witnessing a firefly for the first time. The knowledge from the scroll and book, the demonstration Salim had given of a similar concept back in Act I – all of it coalesced into this simple but profound achievement.
Eventually, fatigue demanded its due. The glimmering orb began to flicker as John's energy waned. Sweat dampened his back under his tunic. He gently released the spell, and the light blinked out, leaving only the steady illumination of the rune-lamp in his hand.
In the sudden relative dimness, John noticed his breathing was heavy, as if he'd run a mile. So it takes physical or mental stamina, he noted. Magic wasn't an effortless cheat; it drained you in its own way. But like muscles, he assumed, his capacity would improve with training.
He returned the lamp to the table and cleaned up his workspace. He carefully tucked Salim's primer and the copied scroll into a velvet satchel Livia had provided. The other treatises he would tackle later. For now, he had pushed his mind enough.
As he stepped out of the archives, the brisk night air in the corridor hit him, cooling the sweat on his neck. Two guards at the far end snapped to attention upon seeing him, but he waved them at ease. They must have wondered what the Emperor was doing wandering about at such hours with ink-stained fingers.
John made his way through the quiet halls toward his chambers. His arm throbbed dully, and his head felt full of new information – heavy, but satisfying. He allowed himself a small smile in the darkness. In one day, he had survived an assassin, set plans in motion to strike back, and taken the first steps into magic that he'd only dreamed of until now.
It was a start – a humble one, but a start nonetheless.
He thought of the assassin's tattoo again, the moon and dagger. The Daughters of Xesh lurked somewhere in his city, perhaps plotting their next attempt. Next time, he would not be caught off guard. He would be stronger, not just in steel but in the arcane arts as well.
As John reached his chambers, he found Rashid dozing on a chair just outside the door, clearly having insisted on personally keeping vigil. The older man jolted awake when John approached.
"Majesty," Rashid mumbled, standing quickly and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I—I must have closed my eyes just for a moment—"
John shook his head with a soft chuckle. "No apology needed. It's late. Go get some proper rest, Rashid."
The chief eunuch looked ready to protest but then bowed. "If you insist. Will you be retiring now? Shall I have breakfast brought early?"
John realized he was starving but also bone-tired. "At first light, send something light up. And coffee, strong," he said, recalling the bitter brew they made here spiced with cardamom – an Ottoman luxury he was grateful existed in this world too.
"As you wish." Rashid gave a last concerned glance. "And I'll be right outside again before dawn."
John clapped the man's shoulder gently. "Your dedication humbles me."
Inside his chambers, the scene of last night's violence had been scrubbed clean. New rugs replaced the blood-soaked ones, the broken furniture removed, even the torn drapery sewn up. It was as if the attack had never happened. Only John's bandaged arm and the weariness in his bones gave truth to it.
He barred the balcony doors – they'd been repaired and reinforced with a fresh latch and, John noted, etched with a warding rune by Salim's people. A wise precaution.
Setting the satchel of books on a desk, John finally collapsed onto the bed. Normally, sleep would claim him swiftly after such exhaustion. But for a moment he stared up at the dark canopy, thoughts spinning despite fatigue.
He felt a cautious pride. A single orb of light – a tiny victory. Yet it symbolized so much more: that he could adapt, learn, and potentially thrive in this world.
In his mind, he saw again the little golden sphere of light he had summoned. In the gloom of his curtained bed, he imagined doing the same and lighting up the entire room effortlessly. One day, perhaps, it wouldn't be a struggle at all.
John closed his eyes, finally surrendering to sleep's pull. His last thought before slumber was not of Earth or the life he'd lost – it was of lines of glowing runes, a path of light he would follow to whatever end awaited in this new life.