Arthur was hit by a wave of nostalgia as he looked down at his desk. It had been recreated from his memories in perfect detail and he lost himself looking at the doodles before him. Swallowing thickly, he turned his attention back to Cyprus, who seemed content to wait for however long it took Arthur to get his bearings.

  Arthur moved his desk to the front of the classroom. The only other change had come from Cyprus’ side. He’d switched out the projector for what Arthur could only describe as blackboard, though his senses told him it was far from mundane.

  “Memory truly is a strange thing,” Cyprus said, “a mere scent or a sound and you are transported through time in ways mages can only dream of achieving. I’ve seen grizzled warriors break down and cry the first time they come here. Comparatively, your reaction is rather mild.”

  “Time, however, is limited, a single hour here obtained after every fifteen that pass in the real world, so I’ll have to cut your reminiscing short,” Cyprus’ tone had changed, taking on the same cadence Arthur found was common in most lecturers. Some things just transcended species and language.

  Arthur nodded. He’d always disliked it when a teacher focused on him, but for some reason, Cyprus’ attention wasn’t aggravating even when it was focused entirely on him.

  “I will begin teaching the same way I always approach new subjects; with a question. What exactly do you know about rune scribing?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  Cyprus smiled. “That's perfect. A blank canvas is the best material a teacher can ask for. This would normally be the time when I would tell you to forget everything you thought you knew about rune scribing but clearly, that won’t be necessary here. Let this be the first thing I teach you then, Arthur. Take it as advice from an old elf who might just be a little wise.”

  Arthur listened with rapt attention.

  “To learn something properly and to learn it fast, you must first forget. Everything: truth, falsehood, unconscious bias, half-remembered hearsay you learned as a child. Sit at the table of knowledge with an empty plate and you’ll be amazed by what you’re served.”

  “I’m stealing that quote.”

  Cyprus chuckled. “Do with it what you will, so long as you take heed of its advice. What do you think rune scribing is then?”

  Arthur considered the question carefully. Cyprus didn’t seem like the sort who wanted a half-hearted answer. “Rune scribing is like writing a piece of code," Arthur began, "you want it to produce a specific effect and your hardware determines just how advanced you can make that code. Am I on the right track?”

  Cyprus laughed loudly, startling him. “Young man, that is probably the greatest answer I’ve ever heard from someone new to the craft. I’m not entirely sure I grasped everything you meant, translation magic can never be perfect, but from what I did understand, you probably hit the nail on the head.”

  “Everything in the multiverse, everything that exists and will exist, from the smallest grain of sand to the largest mountain, every drop of water that makes up an ocean and the bright stars that beautify the skyline— everything possesses an essence. Those with life and those without it, mundane material and heavenly treasures, share this one truth. That...”

  “Everything possesses an essence,” Arthur finished.

  “Excellent. Now, what exactly is an essence? It’s an age-old question with thousands of different answers, a topic that probably remains as divided today as it did in my time. For practical purposes, I’ll avoid any of the philosophy here and give you the most useful answer, at least for rune scribes. The essence of an object is its true form, its history and potential, its past, present and future,” Cyprus explained.

  “Isn’t that just a soul with extra steps?” Arthur asked.

  “Ah, you’ve stumbled upon the most hotly debated topic amongst rune scribes. Does everything possess a soul? If so, does that mean everything is living or nothing at all? Is death a true phenomenon or just a word we invented to describe an observable change in the essence of something? Or, as I’m sure many agree with me, are souls and essence two similar yet very different things.”

  “Is this the philosophy part you said we should skip, because I’m pretty sure I’d be willing to spend a few lessons learning all about this.” Arthur wasn't even being sarcastic here. This sounded like the type of stuff he'd love to study.

  Cyprus coughed into his hands. “I got side tracked there. Again. My apologies. Regarding souls and essences, while it is an interesting subject, its study is a poor use of our limited time. Whatever I tell you of it could be learned elsewhere while my runic scribing is impossible to find outside these four walls.”

  “To assuage your curiosity a little, my personal running theory is that an essence is not a soul. While it is very similar in nature, it lacks something necessary, the spark of life, so to speak. When someone dies, a part of their soul, its innermost core, impossible to analyse even to the greatest of magics, ceases to exist. It does not become something else, change state or anything of that nature. Your soul, the centremost part of it that makes you who you are, vanishes into non-existence the moment you die,” Cyprus' words were delivered with the gravitas such a deep topic required.

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  “I have studied runic scribing and the essence of things magical and mundane for longer than galactic empires have existed and that is the conclusion I have come to. It is the only conclusion I could come to.”

  “What makes souls so unique then?” Arthur asked, “And where do they come from?”

  “You really know how to ask the difficult questions. Once again, the answers to these questions are hotly debated topics. A consensus hasn’t been reached and as with the nature of such sensitive topics, I doubt we ever will reach a consensus. We’ve digressed enough, however. Back to the topic at hand. Runic scribing or inscription as some call it is an art which requires you to interact with the true essence of an object, usually visible only on the Astral plane of existence.”

  “An experienced runic scriber, however, can bring forth the essence of an object onto the material plane.”

  Cyprus picked up a piece of chalk that suddenly materialised on his desk. “This chalk, for example, will manifest as such,” Cyprus demonstrated, focusing briefly on the writing implement. The next moment a shimmering black chalk appeared beside it, glowing faintly.

  “The essence of an object most often manifests as a replica of its material form, though this isn't always the case. If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me what colour this essence appears to you?”

  “It's pitch black,” Arthur answered.

  Cyprus frowned.

  “Why? Is there a problem?” he asked, worried.

  “Well,” the old elf began, “it’s not exactly good news, but it isn’t the end of the world either. Essence is visible in four colours. People who perceive it as red are able to make their inscriptions more potent, and explosive so to speak. If you see it in blue, which is my speciality, it means you'll have a talent for creating inscriptions that are incredibly complex and well-balanced. It's the rarest specialisation, with only 8% of runic scribers falling into it.”

  “Red scribes make up 20% of our numbers and green 12%. They're great at making inscriptions that work well with large amounts of ether while being efficient and wasting little. Green and blue scribers working together tackle the largest projects, things like inscribing defences into the walls of a city.”

  “And black scribers?””

  “The most common kind, also known as null scribers, make up 60% of those who pick up our craft. They are those people who have no specialities. Your script won’t benefit from any of them, but it doesn’t mean you're unsuited for the craft. My nephew was a null scribe and he could create more complex inscriptions than any blue scribe I’d ever seen. That being said, however, if we were to inscribe the exact same thing, my work would be about 20% better."

  "So, null scribers are those without natural aptitude who decide to learn anyway?” Arthur asked. It was a disappointing realisation, but it wouldn’t deter him. Rune scribing would take his class to the next level; it would open up a whole new world for Armaments of The Soul, and he'd be damned if he gave up at the first obstacle.

  “I wouldn’t put it like that exactly,” Cyprus replied, “there’s a market for every type of scriber out there. Null scribers can work with unstable materials I could never dream of touching, the kind that will reject any type of energy that has augmentative properties to it.”

  “And how many materials are there that you can’t work with?” Arthur asked, deadpan.

  “About one in four hundred thousand,” Cyprus answered weakly.

  Arthur chuckled. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to sell rune scribing to me. I’ve already decided to learn it.”

  “Truly,” Cyprus said, smiling in relief, "you wouldn’t be the first user who ditched runes the moment they found out they were colourless. While I’m an equally skilled alchemist, I learned the craft more out of necessity. I don’t enjoy teaching it the same way I do runes.”

  “Now that we’ve established a baseline of what exactly rune scribing is, we must understand what exactly it entails. If you’ve ever seen an inscribed item, you’ll have noticed that inscriptions have a visible presence in the material world, despite what I just said about us interacting only with the essence of something.”

  “Because like souls, what happens to it directly affects our physical selves.” Arthur guessed.

  “Exactly that,” Cyprus said, “you can see why so many think they’re one and the same. Your inscriptions will always be visible in the material plane unless you take active steps to hide them, though they’re hardly ever a perfect replica of the work you did in the Astral plane, so it's not always worth the effort. Similarly, things you inscribe when damaged significantly in the material plane will also affect your rune work.”

  Cyprus summoned a needle-thin rod into his hand. “This right here is an inscribing tool, treated to be able to interact with the Astral realm. Inscribing without them is not impossible, though it is ill-advised and frowned upon when dealing with delicate rune work." Turning around, Cyprus placed it on the ‘blackboard’ and drew what Arthur could only describe as a swirling circular line.

  “Now, right here, I’ve drawn the most simple rune in existence. It is the first one I was taught and the first I teach my students. It means smooth, or if I’m being grammatically correct, to be smooth. Now is this,” Cyprus rapped his tool against the blackboard, “and by extension, all runes discovered or created is another lengthy discussion we don’t need to get into. That being said, this rune has changed slightly in the thousands of years since I first learned it. Back then, it was only used as a linking rune— one that could only serve as a small part of a larger script. After some slight modifications however, it can now stand alone as its own rune. It serves a simple purpose. Any ether run through it will be marginally easier to control.”

  Cyprus summoned another inscription tool in his hand, this one significantly thicker. “This board here is made from astral rock, one of the few materials in existence that can be directly inscribed on without having to interact with its essence. In the real world, this would cost a fortune. Training with it would probably have rune scribers put a hit on my back,”

  Cyprus smiled. “Here, however, it is free. Have at it, young Originator." He passed the stylus to Arthur. "Let us see if you have the makings of a rune scriber.”

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