Senvira left just after sunrise. No long farewell, no promises. Only a nod to Suhra and a final glance at Ashai, who was watching her from the garden steps.
"She'll be back," Suhra said after the sound of her boots faded. "Questions have a way of returning to the ones who try to answer them."
Ashai didn't reply. He rarely did when he was thinking. And he was thinking a lot lately.
Suhra stepped back into the cabin and pulled the heavy satchel from the wall hook. Inside were brushes, inks, folded cloth, and a small polished slate. She laid it all out on the floor, clearing the space with quiet precision.
"Come here," she said.
Ashai sat down, Suhra took out a sheet of paper six hand widths wide and spread it between them. She uncapped her inkwell and dipped a brush into the void-like liquid. The ink shimmered faintly—not black, but deep blue with silvery luster when the light hit it right.
"This is older magic," she said. "Not the kind you cast to attack or defend. This is what we use to understand."
Ashai nodded once.
"I'm going to make a glyph. One that doesn't force an answer—but listens for one."
She began to draw.
The brush moved with speed and certainty, yet the strokes felt soft, like they belonged there before the ink ever touched the page. As she worked, the glyph took shape—three interwoven rings surrounded by small radial markings. Each ring carried faint patterning that seemed to shimmer just beneath the surface.
When she finished, the paper pulsed faintly, and color began to bloom within the ink.
The outer ring glowed red—sharp lines, angular and quick.
The middle ring turned blue—flowing shapes like waves or wind.
The innermost ring shifted violet—interlocking symbols, rigid but elegant.
Suhra pointed to each in turn.
"Veythra. The world's force—fire, wind, earth, water.
Resona. The inner echo—sound, memory, emotion, truth.
Sygros. The shaped—glyphs, traps, weapons, wards."
Ashai studied the colors. They moved slightly, like reflections in water.
"This isn't to tell you what you are," Suhra said. "It's to help you see what the Myhn sees when it listens to you."
The colors reacted slowly as he stared. The blue pulsed once. The violet deepened in tone. But none of them grew fully bright.
"It doesn't know what you are yet," Suhra murmured. "Maybe neither do you."
She set the paper aside and reached for a stack of smaller cards, each one marked with a symbol—a glyph representing one of the thirty known forms.
"I want to show you each of them. Just the name, and the glyph. No explanations. You tell me which ones feel like something."
Ashai nodded again.
Suhra began laying them out. One by one.
"Pyra. Fire."
"Sylven. Wind."
"Terran. Stone."
"Luneth. Water."
"Voltryn. Lightning."
"Caelum. Light."
"Umbros. Shadow."
"Ferrox. Metal."
"Glacien. Cold."
"Floran. Life."
Ashai stayed quiet.
Suhra moved on.
"Choralyn. Sound."
"Serecraft. Emotion."
"Remnara. Memory."
"Dremlis. Dreams."
"Vellura. Life-sense."
Ashai's head tilted. "That one," he said softly. "It feels… like knowing someone is there even when they don't speak."
Suhra blinked, surprised he spoke at all. She nodded. "Good. We'll come back to it."
She continued.
"Timorra. Time."
Ashai shifted slightly. "Like something waiting behind a door."
Suhra glanced at him but said nothing.
"Myrren. Soulbinding."
"Whispen. Invisibility."
"Requien. Death Echoes."
"Luthien. Voice."
Ashai didn't speak, but his brow furrowed.
Then came the final set—Sygros.
"Binding. Locks and traps."
"Inkthreading. Weapons drawn from thought."
"Wardrun. Shields."
"Sigmara. Ritual glyphwork."
"Karthol. Flesh-engraving."
Ashai murmured, "It itches. Like it remembers skin."
Suhra blinked again. "Yes. That's… one way to describe it."
"Myhnscribe. Casting glyphs in motion."
He leaned forward. "That one feels alive. Like it's chasing something."
Suhra swallowed.
"Relicrun. Object enchantment."
"Echoetch. Time-delayed glyphs."
Ashai didn't hesitate. "Waiting to be noticed."
She watched him closely.
"Phasmir. Summoned constructs."
"Nullweave. Erasure."
Ashai sat still for a moment.
Then said, "Quiet. Like when the wind stops. Like... space where something was."
She didn't breathe for a second.
"Do any of them feel strongest?" she asked.
He pointed: Nullweave, Echoetch, Vellura. Then, after a pause, he slid Timorra, Karthol, and Myhnscribe closer.
Suhra looked at the choices.
"You speak more when you're close to truth," she said.
Ashai just looked at her. "They speak first."
Suhra exhaled, and began gathering the cards. "Then we'll listen."
She rolled out a fresh cloth and dipped her brush into a thinner, silvery-blue ink.
She drew a simple spiral. "This is a root glyph. It doesn't do anything by itself, but it listens."
She handed him the brush. "You try."
Ashai took it. He didn't draw right away. He waited.
Then, slowly, he moved the brush—careful and precise. What he made was a near-circle. But the ends didn't meet. They leaned inward but didn't close. In the center, he added a tiny mark. A dot.
Nothing pulsed. Nothing shimmered.
Suhra placed her hand beside it.
And then—absence.
No Myhn hum. No residual echo. Only stillness.
It felt like a room after a flame had died. A silence too clean.
Suhra drew her hand back.
"You don't just hear the Strand," she said. "You quiet it."
Ashai looked unsure. "Was it wrong?"
"No," she whispered. "Just different."
She folded the cloth carefully and looked at the ink still drying in the shape he'd made.
It wasn't a Sygros glyph. Not one she recognized.
But it felt like something had been taken away—and left nothing in its place.
And somehow, that nothing still lingered.