The chamber reeked of smoke, ink, and failure.
Lazarus knelt in the center, pale hands steady as a corpse. His fingers moved with cold purpose, dragging chalk across stone. Not one rune held. Not yet. Each attempt either cracked, fizzled, or screamed in silent backlash. Still, he didn't stop.
Power didn't care for patience. So neither did he.
Then, the bookshelf groaned aside.
Dracula strolled in with a yawn, crimson robe loose at the shoulders, wineglass in one hand, a cracked skull in the other. His eyes scanned the mangled runes with the same expression one might give a child's failed scribbles.
"Still drawing circles, little corpse?" he asked, sipping. "You've cracked the floor more times than your runes."
Lazarus didn't respond. He didn't even look up.
Dracula twirled the skull. "You remind me of Jaba, you know. Same stare. Same obsession. He was a lunatic too."
The name sat in the air like a stormcloud.
Lazarus finally paused. "You knew him?"
"Knew him?" Dracula scoffed. "Boy, I used to drag him out of libraries by the ankles. The lunatic once tried to engrave a moving rune onto a dragon's tooth while it was still inside the dragon."
He stepped closer, surveying the runes. "Jaba was brilliant. Deranged. A magical genius by all standards. But his greatest flaw? He was obsessed with perfection. Especially with rune magic."
Dracula said, lounging in the air like gravity was a mild suggestion.
"Said rune arrays could stir the heavens. That if you drew the right shape, in the right place, at the right moment, you could command existence itself. But they're still bound by the nature of mana. Try to force too much, and reality vomits. Ask nicely, and it might spit in your hand instead."
"…Why did he stop?"
Dracula raised an eyebrow. "Practicality. Runes take time. War doesn't. Even with Lucid buying him seconds—"
Lazarus looked up again. "Lucid?"
A rare softness entered Dracula's grin.
"Lucid K. van Xenon. Sword King of Dread. One of the Five Founders. You haven't heard the name?"
"I've read his records."
"Then you've read nothing," Dracula said sharply. "The records don't capture him. They can't. Lucid was not a man. He was sword incarnate. I've seen him carve rain out of air. Split shadows. Make lightning bleed."
Dracula stood, voice growing distant. " The world was never meant to hold someone like him. Wherever he went, swords bent in reverence. You could feel it in the air—like steel remembered its maker."
"Was he stronger than Jaba?"
" i wouldn't know," Dracula said. "They never dueled—at least, not in the way others expected. In their eyes, it made no sense. One was unmatched in magic, the other in swordsmanship. They respected each other deeply and often sparred to grow stronger, but the idea of proving who was 'better' felt meaningless to them."
He turned back to Lazarus. "Jaba had ideas that could crack the sky. But even with Lucid shielding him, there was never enough time. Runes are beautiful. But they need seconds. And seconds cost blood."
He took a long sip.
"Eventually, Jaba gave up rune magic. Called it impractical. He said no enemy would ever let him draw long enough. Not even Lucid could hold the world back forever."
"But he regretted it."
Dracula's gaze sharpened. "His one and only regret."
Silence fell. Lazarus returned to carving, but his motion was slower now. Calculating.
He floated down, brushing a pile of broken slates with his foot. "All this theory is good, but let's not forget your body, dear boy. You're not just a scribe — you're a vessel."
Lazarus picked up another stone tablet. "Meaning?"
"Meaning it's time you pick a weapon. Something close-range. Something you'll learn to kill with." Dracula sipped again. "You've got the eyes of a killer, Lazarus. Might as well give them something to watch."
Lazarus finally looked at him. "You use weapons?"
Dracula's smile turned razor-sharp.
Dracula gave a lazy flick of his wrist. A long twin-bladed sword flashed into existence—two curved swords fused at the ends of a midnight rod.
Lazarus tilted his head. "That's just a bo staff. With swords."
Dracula grinned proudly. "And it's sick, isn't it?"
Lazarus stared. Expressionless. "I'll choose later."
"Suit yourself. But soon, I'll teach you weapon forms. Runes won't save you forever."
He walked toward the exit, but paused.
"Jaba once said that runes were the only art that let you talk to the gods. But he feared failing more than dying."
Dracula looked back over his shoulder.
"You? You don't fear failure. You fear powerlessness."
Lazarus kept carving.
"This last rune," Dracula added, tapping the floor, "—it cracked inward. That's not collapse. That's resonance. Anchor it with blood next time."
"Why didn't you say that earlier?"
Dracula's fangs gleamed. "Because you'd remember it more this way."
He turned, fading into shadow. But just before vanishing fully, he spoke:
"If Jaba could see you now… he'd envy you."
A beat.
"And if you ever surpass him, find his grave. Tell him I laughed."
The door sealed behind him.
Lazarus stared at the broken glyph, then slit his palm.
Blood pooled.
He carved.
And this time, it held.