NOVEL NEXT Vol 2. Chapter 12: The Written Language of Magic, Runes
The party had been a respite for the little time they had left before the fight and it seemed to be the one day of rest that Rosalia needed.
In the weeks following her eleventh birthday, Rosalia attacked her training with an intensity that surpassed anything he'd seen from her thus far. Relentless. Tunnel-vision. And for the first time since they had started, Lukas found himself needing to slow her down rather than push her forward.
There were days she trained through bruises, through aching muscles, through trembling exhaustion. He would catch her shadowboxing when she thought no one was watching, sweat pouring down her face, her jaw clenched tight.
Lukas respected it. He admired it. But more than once, he had to pull her aside, hand on her shoulder, and tell her, "That's enough for today. You need to rest."
She would always argue. Always beg for one more round. The last eleven months had been to build her foundation. She had the tools.
Now Lukas had to make sure she used them well.
Even then, it did not mean victory was promised.
Rosalia was still going to face a battle-hardened warrior, one with decades of combat experience. Sure, Celina was not known for her hand-to-hand prowess—she was a swordswoman through and through—but to ignore the danger she posed would be a mistake.
Rosalia was still a novice. No matter how fast she learned. No matter how far she had come, she was still far from a master of fighting.
It had taken years for Julien Fronterra to even step into the professional fighting. Rosalia Elarion had only been given one. But Lukas had taken her farther than he had ever envisioned possible.
The outcome of the fight was in her hands now.
The day before the fight came sooner than Lukas expected. They stood together now, all of those involved, in the Head Mage's office.
The old man had worked tirelessly—grueling, sleepless nights spent refining the runic sequence. A year of relentless study, backed by a lifetime of research. And only two nights before the established date had Magnus Elarion finally completed the arrangement of runes.
Lukas had spent hours at his side, watching the process, learning the depth of Magnus Elarion's craft. While Rosalia was asleep and recovering from their gruelling training sessions, there he was by Magnus' side and he was given the opportunity to witness the Head Mage of the Magic Tower at work.
The scope of his genius. The obsession that brought his creations to life. It was a language—the language that could bridge the impossible.
The written language of magic: Runes.
Now was the moment of truth. If it didn't work—if the runes failed—then the challenge could never happen.
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Celina stepped forward and, without hesitation, stripped off her armor, piece by piece. She was unashamed, practical, focused. Beneath the layers of steel, her body told the story of her life—muscle honed by years of war, a frame hardened by endless battles.
Lukas noticed, briefly, the white bandages wrapped tight around her lower back. The injury she'd suffered from when saving those passengers aboard the cruise ship, the one she had mentioned the night of Rosalia's birthday celebration outside the dining hall. She had not been exaggerating. It still lingered now, weeks later. But he said nothing of it. Yet he smiled inwardly, knowing that he had made the right bet.
Magnus approached Celina, his hands steady as he dipped the brush into the ink.
The room fell into silence.
Every stroke of the rune was deliberate, the lines intricate and complex, forming patterns that spiraled across her back, her arms, her sternum. Celina stood perfectly still, sweat beginning to bead at her temples—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what this moment meant.
Aside from the fight with Rosalia, even Celina could recognize that if the old man's runes worked; that would mean everything humanity had understood about magic would change. She was possibly blessed with the chance to be both witness and proof to what was about to happen.
Rosalia watched, holding her breath.
Lukas watched, knowing this was the culmination of a lifetime of work. When the final rune was drawn, Magnus lifted the brush with a trembling hand, his voice nearly cracking as he whispered the final word to activate the sequence.
For a heartbeat—nothing happened. And then, magic sparked. The ink shimmered. The runes ignited in a soft golden glow that pulsed, spreading across Celina's skin like a living current.
And before their eyes, she began to change.
Her form shrank, regressing slowly—her hardened muscle softening, her limbs becoming smaller, her stature reduced to that of an 11-year-old girl. When the light faded, she was left standing awkwardly in clothes that now hung off her like drapes.
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Rosalia snapped into action, rushing to throw a cloak around her. Celina pulled it tight, adjusting it with stiff, embarrassed fingers.
Lukas and Magnus erupted in cheers. It had worked. It had actually worked!
"We've done it, my boy! We've done it!" The Head Mage cheered as Lukas threw his arms around the old man, lifting up in the air in triumph.
"You bloody did it, old man! You did it!" Lukas exclaimed.
Magnus barked a laugh, wiping at his eyes as Lukas finally put him down.
"It's possible," the old King of Easthaven whispered to himself, as if he could hardly believe it. "It's possible. We can write magic. We can harness it. All this time I hadn't known if it would work. Now...I know that it does. This—this is the beginning of something far greater."
His runes weren't just a trick to level the playing field for this challenge. They were the foundation of something that could change the future of magic itself. All this time, Magnus had never truly tested the complexity of which his Runes were ever able to achieve.
Today, he did just that. He proved to himself how much his Runes were truly capable of. And Lukas couldn't help but grin as he looked around at them—Rosalia beaming, Celina awkward but quietly impressed, Magnus alight with the joy of discovery.
An entire year, twelve months and three hundred sixty five days had been leading up to this moment.
Tomorrow, they would step into the arena.
Tomorrow, Rosalia would face her test.
But tonight? Tonight, they had proven the impossible was within reach.
Tonight, they had made history; paving the way for future generations of humanity to come.