Rune of Immortality

The room fell into a heavy silence after Lazarus' departure, thick with the weight of the revelations he'd left behind. Arthur, Abel, and Jacob remained seated, their expressions drawn and contemplative. Neither Abel nor Jacob spoke, both lost in their own thoughts, their gazes unfocused, drifting toward nothing in particular as they tried to piece together what Lazarus had meant, the meaning behind his words still churning in their minds.

Jacob sat with his hands clenched tightly together, his jaw stiff as the conversation played itself back again and again in his mind. The ideology Lazarus had shared… it was difficult to believe. No, not difficult but unsettling. And yet, somehow familiar.

A sudden crunching sound snapped him out of his reverie. He ignored it at first, brushing it off, but it came again, louder this time, like dried leaves being stepped on in a quiet forest. Jacob turned sharply, eyes narrowing to the side where Arthur sat munching loudly on a cookie.

"Can't you eat without making that much noise?" Jacob snapped, his voice sharper than intended.

Arthur flinched slightly, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. He quickly dropped the remaining half of the cookie and leaned back in his chair, offering no retort. The silence returned, but this time it carried a subtle tension.

Jacob turned away again, letting the quiet settle as he returned to his thoughts, though they came no easier now than before. Two things Lazarus had said refused to leave him. First, the disturbing overlap between Akashic's supposed ideals and his own, the shared pursuit of knowledge above all else. And second, Lazarus' own twisted doctrine, one that painted mages not as seekers of understanding but as aspiring gods.

He struggled to accept that Akashic, the man whose legacy overshadowed even the gods, had been driven purely by the desire for knowledge. That just didn't add up. Knowledge could make you stronger, yes, but surely there were limits.

Akashic had crushed monstrous beings underfoot, carved the palace they now sat in from the bones of a fallen deity, and had reached a level of strength so absolute that even the divine had feared him. Could someone really achieve that through learning alone?

And yet… if it was true, if knowledge had brought Akashic to that level, then maybe, just maybe Jacob could follow that same path. The idea thrilled him. Terrified him. Because if knowledge could truly bring power enough to rival the gods, then what was stopping him from reaching it?

But then there was Lazarus. The strongest mage alive. His words still echoed in Jacob's ears, not because they were profound, but because they were so utterly deranged. Jacob had hoped for wisdom, something illuminating from the man who had seemingly mastered both magic and intellect. What he got instead was a declaration of a mage's divine right, a delusion so bold that Jacob had almost laughed if it hadn't been so chilling.

Mages weren't gods. No matter how much the citizens of Eterna loathed the divine, even they had to admit there was a line that could not be crossed. Only Akashic had managed it, only he had slain a god, and he had done so not as a mage pretending to be divine, but as a man who rejected the very idea of gods altogether. Others, like the famed Emperor Frontier from the Empire in the north, were said to be capable of such feats. But even they stopped short, not out of weakness, but out of reverence.

Akashic hadn't respected them. He had hated them.

And Eterna had followed in his footsteps. Here, gods were not revered. Their names were whispered with disdain, their influence scorned. Their temples were abandoned, their teachings forgotten. That hatred had shaped an entire kingdom.

So maybe Lazarus wanted to be a god, for whatever twisted reason of his own. But Jacob didn't. He had no interest in being worshipped, no desire to carve his name into the heavens. He wanted something simpler, something purer. Knowledge. Understanding. Truth. That was all he sought.

The room remained still until the door creaked open and a servant stepped inside, bowing low with practiced grace.

"It seems like you're finished," the servant said politely. "Young Master Abel, you may now leave the palace. Young Master Arthur, the King requests your presence. And Young Master Jacob Prince Samuel would like a word with you."

Abel stood immediately and walked out without a word, his expression unreadable. Jacob and Arthur exchanged a glance, one filled with quiet concern. Arthur's situation was complicated, to say the least. The Skydrids had taken him in, unofficially, impulsively but that didn't mean the King wouldn't decide to punish him. The Slautre House's atrocities during the war weren't something that could be easily forgotten or forgiven.

Jacob gave him a small nod, his voice low but firm. "Don't worry. We've got your back."

Arthur nodded in return, but said nothing.

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Jacob turned back to the servant. "And where is Prince Samuel?"

"In the library, young master."

Without waiting for further instructions, Jacob stepped out of the room, his legs moving automatically while his mind churned with unease. He vaguely remembered the path to the library, he had walked it several times during his earlier visits but the corridor seemed longer than he recalled, stretched and warped by the tension coiling in his chest.

With every step, his pace slowed, his breath grew shallower, and his heart began to beat in erratic bursts of anxiety, not from exhaustion, but from the knowledge of what or rather, who was waiting for him.

This would be the first time he would speak to Samuel directly since Lucas' death. And while others might have assumed that Jacob had answers, the truth was far murkier.

He remembered very little from that day. After the incident, he had been unconscious for what felt like an eternity, and when he finally woke, his memories came back in jagged fragments, sharp enough to wound but not clear enough to heal.

He remembered the book, the one on immortality, and how Samuel had gifted it to Lucas, claiming it held secrets worth chasing. He remembered working on it with Lucas, the two of them pouring over its pages with that giddy recklessness reserved only for youth and ambition. And then… the mistake. A mistake so grave it had taken Lucas from the world.

What Jacob never figured out was how it had happened. He didn't remember the exact spell, didn't recall the failure point, couldn't trace the chain of cause and effect that had led from eager experimentation to death. And the only person who might've known was gone. All Jacob was left with were the consequences.

Still, there were two people Jacob blamed. First and foremost, himself. He had been there. He had participated. His actions, whatever they had been had led directly to Lucas' death. But beneath that guilt, buried just deep enough to fester, was a second, more bitter hatred for Samuel.

Normally, he might not have gone so far. After all, the book was just a gift. The responsibility of using it, of understanding its content, had rested on their shoulders. But then came the letter, Samuel's letter. Jacob had read it once and never again, yet every word had etched itself into his memory like a burn that refused to heal.

He didn't like to recall the contents, but they left him with one unavoidable conclusion: Samuel had known. He had known what that book would do, and he had given it to Lucas anyway.

And so, if there was one person in this world Jacob despised even more than himself, and he truly, deeply loathed himself, it was Samuel.

He finally reached the tall double doors that led to the library. His hand hovered over the handle for a moment, fingers trembling slightly. He inhaled, letting Fury's Temper drift through his veins like smoke seeking to snuff out a flame. The feeling steadied him, numbed the panic, but he knew it wouldn't last once they were face to face.

He pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted him was nothing like he expected.

The library, normally full of scholars and mages hunched over tomes and scrolls, was silent and empty. All the desks, all the bookshelves, all the reading alcoves untouched. It felt almost staged. And at the center of the room stood two figures.

Samuel stood tall, calm, his hands behind his back and a faint, unreadable smile curving his lips. On the ground in front of him lay Castor, unmoving, his skin pale as snow, his chest barely rising with breath.

For a moment, Jacob froze. He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. His mind filled the gaps with memory and pain. Castor's body blurred, transforming into Lucas'. The stillness on the floor made it seem like he was dead, and standing above it all unbothered, even pleased was Samuel.

Something cracked open inside him.

The room around him darkened, not literally, but in his perception. Samuel no longer looked like a man, he became a silhouette, a shadow with a crimson grin stretched across its face, a grin that remained visible even in the gloom of Jacob's vision. He didn't know what he was doing, didn't care. His legs began to move, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between them one heavy step at a time.

Samuel noticed him. "Jacob," he said, tone casual, almost amused. "Good to see you. Castor and I had a small disagreement, nothing worth worrying about. Come, let's talk."

But when Samuel turned to meet his gaze, his expression faltered. "Jacob… are you alright?"

The words reached Jacob's ears as if muffled by water. They sounded distant, warped, as if spoken in another tongue. But slowly, syllable by syllable, they began to make sense, except they weren't Samuel's words anymore. Not exactly.

"I killed Lucas," the voice said. "And I can kill Castor just as easily. What's wrong, Jacob? Are you angry? If so, come and kill me. End me if you can."

Fury's Temper was meant to keep him calm, to grant him clarity, but now it felt like a joke, like a thin veil over something too large and boiling to contain. He didn't remember making the final few steps. He only knew that Samuel was right in front of him, still smiling, unafraid.

"So you've finally cracked," Samuel said softly, voice tinged with mockery. "But it's not time yet. Maybe you're even weaker than I thought."

Jacob didn't know any runes. He couldn't cast spells or summon flames or freeze blood with a glance. He only had his fists and the weight of everything he'd lost.

He struck.

Or tried to.

Before his punch could land, Samuel caught his wrist with a firm grip and twisted. A sharp crack echoed through the room, followed immediately by a white-hot spike of pain that shot through Jacob's arm. He gasped but didn't scream. Then a rune shimmered in front of Samuel's free hand, and a second later, it struck Jacob in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards.

As he lay on the floor, gasping, the vision that had consumed him began to fade. Samuel was no longer a shadowy silhouette; he was flesh and blood again, standing over him with that same faint smile. Castor was still unconscious but breathing.

Jacob blinked, once, twice. The edges of his vision blurred again, not from rage this time, but from fatigue. He was losing consciousness. As everything dimmed, he fixed his eyes on Samuel's face.

And in that moment, a quiet realization settled in his chest, colder than any wound.

He would never be at peace, not until Samuel was gone, not until that smile disappeared forever.

From this moment on, no matter how powerful Samuel became, no matter how untouchable he seemed, no matter that he was a prince and Jacob was nothing more than a powerless noble scholar.

He was Jacob's sworn enemy.