---
The days after Calem's return from the Spire blurred into a quiet rhythm.
Each morning began with the same routine: meditation beneath the sycamore tree behind Lira's cottage, followed by practice in glyph formation. Then, afternoons were spent studying language from Lira's makeshift chalkboard and crude pictographs scratched into leather scrolls. Evenings were for conversation—halting, clumsy—until the gaps in understanding began to close.
The language of this world—Veylin—was tonal, graceful, yet saturated with meaning in every intonation. It wasn't merely spoken—it was breathed, woven like music into emotion.
> Sya'lorin shan-dar meant "light bends before truth," but when spoken with an upward breath on "shan," it could also mean "the truth bends to light." Intent was everything.
Calem had started to dream in pieces of Veylin—fragments of syllables floating in the dark, voices he hadn't yet met.
And all the while, the glyph on his palm pulsed faintly in his sleep, never fading.
---
One week after his return, Lira handed him a satchel of old tomes.
"These belonged to the last Initiate," she said. "He never made it to the Second Gate."
Calem frowned. "What happened to him?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she handed him a sealed scroll.
It bore a symbol—three concentric circles, one of them cracked.
"This is your Gate token," she said. "You're ready to be judged again. This time… by the Archive."
---
That night, Calem examined his glyph beneath candlelight.
It floated an inch above his palm—three spiral strokes orbiting a still center. He willed it to grow, and the spiral expanded, filling the room with amber light. Lines of flame etched across the walls, outlining shapes—geometric, perfect—forming a single word in Veylin:
> Vael'syn – Yearning Star
It was the first name he had given to his glyph. A spell not of destruction or control—but direction. It pulled toward something.
But what?
---
The following morning, Lira took him to the Archive.
It was not a library.
The Archive was a forest—massive trees with trunks like obsidian, and leaves that shimmered with copper veins. Books grew from the branches, wrapped in bark and fiber. They pulsed faintly, as if breathing.
"The Archive of Thorne-Ever," Lira said. "Older than the Spire. This is where the magi of old recorded spells, truths, and lies."
A creature with translucent wings fluttered down—a humanoid figure, no taller than Calem's hand. Its skin shimmered with inked patterns.
"Name?" it asked in near-perfect Veylin.
"Calem," he said.
It nodded. "Glyph-born?"
He showed the spiral glyph. It hovered. The creature studied it, then fluttered backward.
"The Archive will test. One trial. Succeed, and your Gate opens."
"What if I fail?"
"You become unwritten."
---
A path opened between the trees.
Calem walked.
The air shifted.
The forest darkened.
He emerged into a glade where a single pedestal stood. On it—an open book. No text. Blank.
But as he stepped forward, the pages fluttered. Ink rose from the fibers like mist, forming words—not in Veylin, but English.
His breath caught.
> You do not belong here, Calem.
You dream of a world behind stars, but you stand in one made of flame.
If you could return… would you trade what you will become to see them again?
Then the page turned.
> Trial One: The Mirror of Roots
A mirror rose from the grass. It reflected not Calem's appearance—but his other self. His face from Earth. Older. Tired. Broken.
Behind that reflection… shadows. A second Calem. Cloaked in burning light, with black veins twisting across his eyes.
Another version.
"Choose," came the Archive's voice.
"One seeks your past. The other, your power. Which is you?"
He did not hesitate.
"I am both."
The mirror cracked. The reflection split. The book closed.
---
[Attainment Progressed: Ember Initiate → Ember Adept]
> You have passed the First Gate.
You may now begin forming Runes, multi-layered glyphs composed of structured Essentia.
Spellweaving unlocked.
Access granted to Archive Tier 1: Flamepath Fragments.
---
When he returned, Lira was waiting.
"You survived," she said.
He nodded. "What would've happened if I failed?"
She looked away. "You would have forgotten your glyph… and your name."
---
That evening, Calem opened the book granted to him by the Archive.
Flamepath Fragments, Tier 1 was not a beginner's manual.
It was a record of experiments—half-complete spellweaves, elemental symbology, Essentia threadwork. He recognized some of the structure: weaving sigils into physical gestures, embedding intention within breath, combining emotional states with rune logic.
> One weave caught his eye:
Pyros Sigil – Flamebind (Rank I)
A containment glyph created from the Rune of Sealing, augmented with Essence of Will and Form.
Function: Locks movement of flame within a bounded space. Can be reversed into explosion if Rune of Reversal is embedded.
He practiced for hours, forming the rune with crude ash and twigs. The first six tries failed. The seventh singed his hair. The eighth sparked and shimmered… and held.
He could finally cast.
---
But that night, dreams returned.
He stood again in a hospital. His daughter reached toward him, but behind her, shadows moved—voices speaking in broken Veylin.
A figure stepped forward.
He looked like Calem.
But he wore robes of ink and smoke.
Eyes glowing with glyphs.
He spoke a word: "Exile."
---
Calem awoke drenched in sweat.
He rose, summoned his glyph, and etched it into the floor.
He knew it now.
He wasn't the only one who had come from Earth.
And not all of them wanted to return.
---