Chapter 16: Runes

Our first official class began in one of the academy’s lecture halls.

Sköll curled up beside the wall near the stairwell, yawning so hard I thought his jaw might pop. Rias sat a few rows to my right, Geri lying neatly at her feet. Caelan, Toren, and Orrin took seats behind me, chatting quietly. Seraphine sat beside Rias, already poised with a notebook in her lap, quill in hand. Marza sat on the other side already neatly organizing her papers and quill.

The room quieted the moment the door creaked open.

Professor Elofin Quillmere entered with slow, measured steps. He moved with the kind of deliberate grace only really old—and really wise—people had. His silver robe shimmered faintly as he walked, and his staff made a faint tap with every step across the stone floor. Though he looked ancient, his back was straight and his presence commanded attention.

He stopped at the front of the room and rested both hands on the lectern. A long pause followed as he scanned the room, eyes lingering on each of us like he was sizing up our souls.

Then he spoke.

“I am Professor Elofin Quillmere,” he said, voice dry and steady, “and for the better part of this year, I will be your guiding hand.”

A few students stiffened.

“You may have heard your first year will be foundational. That is true. Most of your studies will begin here, with me. I teach more than runes. I teach history. Magic tools. Arcane law. And, when I feel kind, a little philosophy.”

He leaned slightly forward.

“The rest of your time will be spent in Combat Training and Spell Theory classes, beginning tomorrow. Years three and four will add more… assuming you make it that far.”

The room shifted with uneasy laughter.

Professor Quillmere didn’t smile. He adjusted the spectacles perched on the edge of his nose and continued.

“I imagine a few of you are still wondering about our unique setting. Flying high above the clouds. An entire academy in the sky.”

A pause.

Toren raised a hand—then, without waiting, blurted, “Runes, right?”

Professor Quillmere tilted his head.

“Yes, Mister Vale. But next time… hand first, words second. We are not barbarians.”

That earned a ripple of laughter across the room—this time louder, more relaxed.

“What are runes? Anyone know?”

Toren raised his hand quickly eagerly waiting for the chance to speak.

Professor Quillmere looked around the room to see if anyone else knew the answer.

A few hands hovered uncertainly. One student in the back muttered something too quiet to hear.

Professor Quillmere waited.

When no one else volunteered, he gave Toren a nod. “Very well, Mister Vale. Enchant us.”

Toren cleared his throat, sitting a bit straighter. “Runes are… symbols that store or channel mana. They’re carved, etched, or inscribed using special tools and mana-infused ink. The runes act like instructions for magic. Depending on the rune’s form, placement, and connection to others, it can create enchantments, barriers, even elemental effects.”

There was a pause.

Quillmere raised a single white brow. “Textbook. But accurate. You’ve been reading ahead.”

Toren grinned. “Guilty.”

“Well, at least someone is eager,” the professor murmured, turning back to the front.

He lifted his staff and tapped it once against the lectern. A pulse of mana rippled through the room—subtle but strong, like a breeze brushing over skin.

All along the walls, glowing symbols slowly emerged—hundreds of them—etched into the very stone and hidden until now. Their light pulsed with slow, steady rhythm, like the building itself was breathing.

Several students gasped. Even Sköll raised his head.

“Runes,” Professor Quillmere said at last, “are the bones of modern magic. They are more than mere symbols—they are a language.”

He turned to the glowing wall and traced a finger through the air.

“Let’s begin.”

Professor Quillmere turned from the wall, clasping his hands behind his back.

“You may be wondering,” he said, voice calm but probing, “how it is that an entire school can fly in the sky—while we still rely on horses for most transportation.”

A few students nodded, and someone in the back muttered, “Good point.”

“It’s simple,” Quillmere said. “It all comes down to one thing: mana. Specifically… how much is needed to keep this academy aloft.”

He gestured to the glowing runes lining the walls. “As Mister Vale correctly stated, runes are capable of storing mana. However, their capacity is limited. One properly carved rune, at best, can hold the equivalent of a single spell’s worth of mana. One.”

Whispers spread through the room.

“So then,” he continued, pacing slowly before the class, “if one rune can only hold a single spell’s energy, how do we maintain enough magic to lift the academy, run the wards, and keep the structure stable during flight?”

He stopped, facing the class again.

“Tell me, class—where do we get the extra mana needed to power the academy’s runes?”

The room went still.

Toren half-raised his hand again, but this time held his tongue.

Gears were turning. Eyes narrowed. A few students glanced toward the glowing crystals embedded in the chandeliers and the walls, as if the answer might be floating there.

Professor Quillmere waited, the faintest hint of a smile behind his weathered eyes.

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Mister Fenrir?” Professor Quillmere said, turning to face me.

“Mana crystals… maybe?” I offered, saying the only thing that came to mind.

“Correct,” he said with a nod. “Runes that function continuously need a source of mana. For example, your school uniforms—each one has runes stitched into the lining. Those enchantments require mana to function at all times.

“There are specialized runes designed to draw mana from whatever they are in contact with—either from your own mana heart… or from a mana crystal.”

He let that hang for a moment, then asked, “Can anyone tell me the difference between the two… aside from the obvious?”

Silence.

A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. No one raised a hand.

“Very well,” he said with a sigh, “I’ll simply tell you. Your mana heart generates and stores mana within your body—it is internal, renewable, but slow. A mana crystal, on the other hand, draws mana from the atmosphere and stores it internally.”

He stepped to the side of the board and tapped a rune diagram etched into the surface.

“Now, this does not mean you can endlessly use mana from a crystal. Just like your mana heart, a crystal takes time to fill. Depending on its size, it can take anywhere from one hour… to an entire day.”

Toren raised his hand quickly.

“Yes, Mister Vale?” the professor said with a patient glance.

“If the school uses mana crystals to power the runes… how big are those crystals?”

Professor Quillmere’s eyes sparkled. “Excellent question.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace.

“Well—let’s start small. Back at your dorms, you all saw the floating platforms, yes?”

Nods around the room.

“Each of those platforms would need to be powered by an S-Rank monster core—a crystal slightly larger than a human head. Now… to keep the entire school airborne, protected, and operational?”

He paused.

“We require at least two SSS-Rank dungeon cores.”

Gasps and whispers rippled across the classroom.

“Dungeon cores,” he continued, “are quite different from monster cores. While a monster core slowly stores mana like a sponge… a dungeon core can absorb and channel ambient mana at speeds thousands of times faster. Ideal for powering vast barriers, enchantments, or—in this case—flight.”

His expression grew almost reverent.

“This academy currently possesses four SSS-Rank dungeon cores—two for flight and stabilization, one for our internal systems like the flying platforms, and one as a backup in case of emergencies.”

Before anyone could speak again, the bell chimed.

Professor Quillmere looked toward the sound with mild irritation.

“Well,” he said, tapping his staff on the floor, “it seems your stomachs demand attention. You are dismissed. We will continue tomorrow—perhaps with less mystery and more comprehension.”

The students began to shuffle out of their seats.

We spilled out of the lecture hall, most of us still buzzing from Professor Quillmere’s explanation. Runes. Dungeon cores. Four SSS-rank crystals keeping us afloat in the sky—it was a lot to take in.

I regrouped with Rias, Caelan, Toren, Orrin, Seraphine, and Marza near the courtyard fountain.

“Lunch?” I asked.

Toren stretched his arms overhead. “Yes, please. My brain needs food.”

We followed the flow of students toward the mess hall, grabbed trays, and sat at an open table near the windows. The food wasn’t as grand as the banquet the night before, but it was still impressive—thick stew, fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and chilled juice.

Between bites, we traded thoughts on the lecture. Toren started sketching rune ideas on his napkin. Caelan grumbled about too many people talking at once. Rias recited half the lecture from memory, and Seraphine was already forming a study schedule.

Afterward, we wandered the academy grounds together, taking in the towering halls, the rune-lit corridors, and the vast open gardens suspended between buildings.

That’s when we saw it.

A sweeping stone building with massive stained-glass windows and tall spires etched in flowing rune script.

“The library,” Seraphine whispered, reverently.

We all drifted toward it like moths to flame.

Inside, the ceiling arched high overhead, supported by rune-carved pillars. Shelves stretched higher than a house, ladders gliding on rails along the walls. Crystal lamps floated lazily through the aisles, casting a gentle glow over endless rows of books.

Everyone split off to explore.

Rias and Seraphine disappeared toward the history section. Toren practically sprinted toward a shelf labeled “Rune Theory.” Orrin followed the scent of something baked—somehow. And Caelan mumbled something about “quiet” and went off on his own.

I found a small table near one of the side windows and sat down with a blank sheet of parchment and a quill.

Time to practice.

I carefully wrote out what I’d learned from Professor Quillmere—runes storing mana, the difference between crystals and mana hearts, the school’s dungeon cores. But no matter how hard I tried, my handwriting looked like a wyvern had sneezed mid-flight.

Scratchy, uneven, and barely legible.

I sighed and leaned back.

“You call that handwriting?”

I looked toward the voice.

A girl stood beside me, arms folded, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. Her hair was a pale yellow-gold, almost like sunlight, and her eyes shimmered the same warm brown as Count Leto Halia’s. Same sharp gaze. Same air of confidence.

“I’ve seen frostbitten goblins write prettier letters,” she teased.

I blinked. “Thanks?”

She laughed. “You’re Arthur, right? Prince of Dival?”

I hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. And you are?”

“Elaris Halia,” she said with a little mock curtsy. “Daughter of Count Leto. And apparently your new handwriting instructor.”

She pulled out the chair across from me and sat down without asking.

“You don’t have to—”

“Please,” she said, already grabbing a fresh sheet of paper. “If I let you go on like this, someone’s going to think you cast spells with your feet.”

She drew dotted lines across the page and began outlining letters, each one neat and graceful. “Here. Trace over these. It’ll train your muscle memory.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “So you’re a handwriting expert now?”

“Top of my class. Or… I will be, once classes actually start.”

We chatted while I practiced, her correcting my posture or joking whenever I messed up. She was sharp, quick-witted, but surprisingly patient—like someone used to dealing with people who didn’t catch on right away.

Eventually, the others started to return, each dropping into a seat around the table.

Rias leaned in. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Elaris,” I said. “She’s saving me from total handwriting humiliation.”

“I’m doing the kingdom a favor,” Elaris said cheerfully.

They all introduced themselves, and conversation flowed easily from there. We talked about first impressions, favorite spells, what food was best at the cafeteria, and who snored the loudest last night (Orrin won, apparently).

Sköll and Geri napped at our feet while the sun moved lazily outside the window, casting golden light across the worn wood and parchment.

And just like that, the day melted into something calm and simple.

For the first time since arriving at the academy, everything felt… normal.

And that wasn’t such a bad thing.