Rune of Immortality

As they all stepped out of the carriage, Jacob suddenly felt a gentle tug at his arm. He turned and saw Jessica clinging to him, her fingers wrapped tightly around his left hand, her eyes shining as she beamed up at him. It was a genuine smile, so bright and unrestrained that for a moment, he forgot where they were. But that joy twisted into a knot of guilt in his stomach.

'Just another thing I have to fix,' he thought, his smile softening as he looked at her. There were many regrets weighing on him, but perhaps mending the rift between him and his sister was a good place to begin.

A long red carpet stretched from the line of carriages to the building ahead, rolled out with almost excessive care. From the entrance, a golden light poured outward, warm and inviting, while lining the edges of the carpet were two perfect rows of knights in ceremonial armor. Each held a tall silver spear, polished to a mirror sheen, and wore full plate armor with white-plumed helmets that gave them a statuesque presence. They stood still, not a single movement betraying breath or fatigue.

As Jacob stepped onto the edge of the long red carpet alongside Arthur, Jessica, Belemir, and Mary, the low rumble of carriage wheels reached his ears once again. Three more carriages rolled to a halt just behind theirs, each bearing the dark crest of the Skydrid family. The doors opened in quick succession, and one by one, the remaining members of the Skydrid line began to step down, their movements poised and quiet, their expressions unreadable beneath the faint glow of the evening light. Everything seemed calm, almost too calm.

Until Jeremiah moved.

He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The instant his foot descended from the carriage and touched the polished stone path, the air thickened visibly, almost tangibly. A pressure swept through the area like a gust of weightless wind, pressing against everyone in its reach. Jacob saw it first in the expressions of the nearby knights. Some stumbled back with wide eyes, while others froze in place, their bodies stiff, as if every muscle had suddenly turned to stone. A few let out quiet, involuntary groans, clutching their weapons like they were the only thing anchoring them in place.

It wasn't some trick or illusion, it was the manifestation of his aura. Dominance. That was the defining trait of Skydrid blood. In the same way mana possessed attributes like Jacob's Scholar Of True Runes, aura, energy used solely by knights, bore its own, but the names were far simpler, sharper. One word. One feeling. One overwhelming presence.

And in any skydrid's case, it was absolute dominance.

His second foot stepped down, and the effect compounded. The atmosphere grew impossibly dense. Jacob caught sight of two knights falling to their knees, gasping as they pressed trembling hands against their chests. They weren't weak, far from it, but they were being crushed under something far beyond them. Jacob knew that if his father hadn't been actively restraining the reach of his aura, shielding his children from its full effect, he himself would likely already be unconscious or worse.

Then, Jeremiah stepped fully out of the carriage.

It was like a dam breaking.

The ground didn't shake, the sky didn't darken, but something shifted in the air, a tremor in the invisible fabric that surrounded them all. Jacob felt it now, truly felt it a creeping, suffocating sensation, like the breath had been stolen from his lungs. He gritted his teeth. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but his legs wouldn't move.

Jeremiah stood tall, his black robe flowing with quiet elegance around his imposing frame. His hair, tied back in a band, fell to his waist in thick strands of raven black, framing a face carved with intensity. Broad shoulders, a rigid posture, and eyes the color of a dark brown stared ahead with quiet, predatory confidence. He didn't need to speak to command attention. With just his presence, the air itself bent to accommodate him.

And then, just as the pressure began to crest toward something unbearable it stopped.

Or rather, it was undone.

A second presence emerged, one that met Jeremiah's oppressive weight not with resistance, but with perfect, effortless balance. The doors of the banquet hall swung open, and a man stepped forward, blonde hair tousled by the breeze, pale sky-blue eyes catching the ambient light. He walked with the casual grace of someone who had nothing to prove and everything to back it up. His scholar's robe was a deep crimson trimmed with gold, the colors almost too bold for the occasion, except that he wore them with such ease they became part of him, rather than an accessory.

This was Rudius Slethin, head of the Slethin family, the most powerful mages in the kingdom, and the only family whose influence could rival the Skydrid in both strength and prestige.

He stopped a few steps away from Jeremiah, his smile widening slightly.

"Jeremiah," he said, his tone light, bordering on playful. "I don't think it's considered polite to release your aura like that at the entrance. Maybe dial it down a little, yeah?"

There was a pause. Jeremiah didn't smile. He didn't respond. He simply stared at Rudius, unmoving, unblinking. For a second, the moment hung in the air, like a glass about to fall from a ledge.

Then the moment broke but not the way Jacob expected.

Jeremiah withdrew his aura, releasing the hold he had over the surrounding space. But before Rudius could do the same, before the pressure of his mana was lifted Jacob felt it.

A crushing weight pressed against him from all sides, a force unlike anything he had ever experienced. His lungs seized up. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His knees buckled and he nearly fell, his vision darkening at the edges. He could hear it, his own heartbeat thundering like a war drum in his ears, every beat sending tremors through his body. Then came the pain, sharp and immediate, his eyes and ears stung, then burned, and before he could even cry out, he felt warm trickles of blood running down the sides of his face.

And then, it vanished.

The pressure lifted in an instant, like a heavy curtain had been torn away. Jacob collapsed forward, gasping, one hand pressing against the floor to keep himself from falling flat.

A beat of silence passed before Jeremiah's voice broke it.

"Seems like you did more damage than I did," he said lightly, as if commenting on the weather. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and began walking toward the carpet, his steps slow, deliberate.

As he approached the entrance, one of the knights, having finally regained his bearings, straightened and shouted with all the strength he could muster:

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"Lord Jeremiah Skydrid, patriarch of the Skydrid family and sword of the kingdom, has arrived!"

Rudius followed a moment later, his pace unhurried, and just before stepping inside, he glanced back over his shoulder at the younger Skydrids still recovering outside. His smile returned, smaller this time, more personal.

And without speaking, he mouthed two words to them:

"Sorry about that."

Jacob wiped the blood from his face, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he realized that out of all his siblings, he alone had collapsed. The others looked a bit pale, sure, but they were standing. Of course, it made sense. They were knights, trained in aura. Jacob, as the only mage here, had been far more vulnerable to the effects of a mana-based pressure. Still… it stung.

He kept his head down and dusted himself off, then quietly followed after the others. They entered one at a time, names and titles announced by the guards stationed at the doorway.

"Master Jacob Skydrid, fourth son of the Skydrid family, and disciple of Grand Scholar Lazarus," the guard said.

Yep. What else could Jacob expect? His only achievements were being a Grade 1 sorcerer and having the privilege of calling Lazarus his teacher. Nothing more, nothing less. No heroic feats or grand accomplishments. Just a name and a connection. He didn't linger on it. Instead, he stepped quietly into the building, his gaze sweeping across the grand interior, which, despite its modest exterior, revealed itself to be something far closer to a palace than a mansion.

The room opened up into an enormous hall, the kind that made even seasoned nobles pause for a breath. The ceiling arched high overhead, polished white like a freshly cleaned sheet of marble, while rows of floating lights bathed the space in a warm golden glow. Everything gleamed, the floor was spotless and smooth beneath his boots, catching the shine of chandeliers, and the walls were decorated with banners and floral arrangements that hinted at wealth, power, and a deep-seated need to impress.

The hall was filled with people. Men and women dressed in brilliant, eye-catching outfits, robes embroidered with threads of silver and gold, suits that glimmered in the light, and dresses that seemed stitched from stardust mingled in loose clusters, their voices rising and falling in practiced laughter. Glasses clinked softly, servants passed through the crowd carrying polished metal trays, balancing flutes of wine and plates with neatly arranged hors d'oeuvres, their expressions fixed in wide, rehearsed smiles that looked pleasant but never quite reached their eyes.

To the right, a long banquet table stretched nearly the full length of the hall, its surface packed with food of every variety, roasted meat laid beside delicate pastries, steaming bowls of colorful soups, fruit carved into shapes that seemed almost too intricate to eat, and towering cakes that stood like edible sculptures. Silver utensils glinted in the light, and the scent of spice, fruit, and roasted herbs lingered faintly in the air.

Scattered throughout the hall were knights in full ceremonial attire. Some stood at strict attention beside the walls, their weapons sheathed but close, while others patrolled slowly, their eyes scanning the crowd without seeming to settle on anything in particular. Even without looking dangerous, their presence was a quiet reminder that this was still a political event and that power here was not just worn, but enforced.

On the left side of the room, a raised wooden platform had been constructed to serve as a stage. A woman sat before a grand piano, her fingers flowing smoothly over the keys as the soft sound of music drifted through the air, mellow, elegant, and oddly calming. Beside her stood a dwarf dressed in a finely cut suit, his voice low and powerful as he sang in a language Jacob didn't quite understand. Yet even without knowing the words, the melody hit something deep. The music made Jacob want to sit down, maybe even close his eyes and forget everything for a little while.

But there was no time for that. He forced himself to focus.

The royal family hadn't arrived yet, though that was expected. They always showed up last, even when they were the ones hosting the event. It was a kind of unspoken rule, a performance of superiority disguised as etiquette.

Jacob scanned the crowd, eventually finding his father, Jeremiah Skydrid standing near the center of the room. He was in conversation with two men, both of whom stood out even more than he did. One of them was Rudius Slethin, his blonde hair catching the light, his long robe marked with the subtle sigils of the Slethin mage family. The other figure floated just a few inches above the ground, not walking but drifting, an unnaturally pale man with stark white eyes and short blue hair that hung stiffly over his brow like frozen threads of silk.

That was Desmond Ranti, head of the Ranti family, and widely known as the greatest scholar in the kingdom save for Lazarus. He was the foremost expert on death runes, a man whose understanding of the boundary between life and death made some uncomfortable just being in his presence. The air around him always felt cold. Cold and distant, like a space not meant to be touched.

Of course, it made sense for Jeremiah to be talking to those two. There weren't many people at this banquet who could stand at the same height as him, figuratively or literally. Most of the guests here, no matter how well-dressed or confident, didn't carry the kind of weight those three did. Together with the king, Lazarus, and three more female leaders who rarely mingled with the men during formal events, they were known as the Eight Pillars of Eterna, the kingdom's greatest champions and protectors.

Jacob shifted his attention toward the corner of the hall where the three female Pillars had gathered. Three of them were lounging on a semi-circular velvet seat, its back curved like a crescent moon. A low table in front of them was covered in glass bottles and crystal cups, wine, perhaps, or something far stronger.

The first woman was Tricia Herew, the head of the Herew merchant family, one of the five great houses that had supposedly descended from Akashic's closest allies. The houses were Skydrid, Slethin, Ranti, Herew and Forne. Her silver hair tumbled over her shoulders in thick waves, and her purple dress clung to her like it had been poured onto her skin. It was bold, luxurious, and left little to the imagination. Yet her face remained hidden behind a thin, elegant veil. No one in the kingdom had ever seen what she looked like beneath it, at least, not according to the many rumors that trailed behind her like shadows.

Still, people respected her. Or feared her. Maybe both. She controlled the kingdom's most extensive trade networks and information networks. Some even said she knew the deepest secrets of every house in Eterna. She was a Grade 0 knight, a title very few in history had ever held, and was infamous for wielding a flail with the kind of cruelty that broke bone and spirit alike.

Next to her sat Olivia Forne, head of the Forne family, known for their alchemy, medicine, and healing magic. She was dressed in a fitted blue suit, her posture relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, her presence no less commanding despite the ease in her movements. She was flanked by a pair of guards, something no other leader seemed to need.

That, too, made sense. Olivia was said to be the weakest of the Eight Pillars, though that label did her little justice. Weak was relative. On the battlefield, she was nearly untouchable, her body capable of regenerating from almost any injury in seconds. Wounds that would kill most warriors meant little to her. Jacob could picture her pale grey eyes even though she faced away from him, her tightly pinned black hair giving her a severe, almost clinical appearance.

Sitting across from Olivia was the final woman, Audrey Holian. A saint. A word that meant very little in most of Eterna these days. Gods, religion, and churches had all been banned centuries ago after the Slautre family and the old church made an attempt to overthrow the royal family. Even before that, religion had only ever been tolerated, not embraced. Akashic, the founder of the kingdom, was famously hostile toward the gods, he had even killed one.

And yet Audrey remained. Untouched. Unchallenged.

No one spoke against her. No laws were passed to push her out. In fact, those who watched the way the other leaders behaved around her, carefully, respectfully, sometimes even nervously would see it clearly. They were afraid. Or cautious, at least. Because Audrey wasn't like the rest. She used neither mana nor aura. She was something else entirely. Something rooted in faith. She was the living conduit of her god, Imbra. And that made her untouchable.

She had short brown hair, stunning amber eyes, and a face that seemed crafted rather than born. Perfect in a way that didn't quite seem real. Her figure, too, was impossible to ignore, especially in the green dress she wore tonight. It clung to her body in all the right places, revealing enough to hold the eye, but not enough to be dismissed as vulgar. She didn't have to try to draw attention. It simply happened.

Even Jacob found himself staring a little too long, until the sharp sound of voices roaring in unison snapped him back to reality.

He turned toward the door.

The knights stationed outside were standing tall, saluting with perfect form, their voices raised in a thunderous chorus that echoed through the grand hall.

"The royal family, esteemed House of Eterna, has arrived!"

And with those words, the king stepped into the light.