At his Steamcottage, he walked about, trying to settle himself and ease his mind of the whole event that had happened prior. The currency devaluation, the Marketplaza embarrassment, and most importantly. Sir Vorn's serious warning about the consequences of etching without clarity.
He sat down at the chair beside the walnut desk; it was a peaceful night, he stared out through the window, and he thought to himself. Of course, the turquoise moonlight is active and surprisingly so beautiful that he forgot about the anomalies and problems it had brought him and the people of Verdant Vale.
His room looked beautiful also, the moonlight leaking in and making everything vibrant and colorful.
On his way home, he had gone back to the baker's stand and bought bread. He dropped his bag on the desk, preparing to quench his hunger from throughout the day. He brought out the bread from its wrap and started eating.
But even as he ate, he couldn't shake off the fact that the world looked clearer and expanded to him now. He wondered why he had missed many other things until now; he didn't know about them or even hear about these things. The churches, the other Vales—it's as though the world was adapting to him, revealing itself gradually depending on how much clarity he now has while in this world.
Oh yeah, let me take a look at the journal for today before I head out to meet Gryan and Raya. I need to know how much I don't know about this world. Thankfully, Father writing this journal feels like he knew I'd need it.
He shifted his gaze to where the journal was, lying on the desk as if waiting for his grab. He stretched his right hand to pick the journal since his left was occupied with holding the bread. The black journal felt nice to the touch; its black leather covered in an intricate pattern of micro runes etched across its surface was nice to look at, but that wasn't his focus.
Munching on the bread, he opened the journal. Father's elegant writings blessed his eyes. How could one have such beautiful writing? He traced one perfect letter with his thumb and felt a stupid spike of jealousy, then snorted at himself and turned the page.
Flipping through pages, he finally landed on the page he had been looking for, reading aloud, "Senele has five major Vales, each with its own culture and way of life, each with its churches and philosophy." He wondered if these churches are good or just another set of evil or corrupted churches that are hiding behind religion.
"These Vales are,
Verdant Vale: This is the heart of Selene and its emotional core. It is characterized by a warm climate, steam cottages, forest villages, natural runewells, and the highest number of civilians. It serves as the region's primary agricultural, entertainment, and artisan hub.
Iron Vale: Known as the Industrial Heartland, Steam-Engine Capital, and Rune-Tech Foundry of Selene. It is a rugged region featuring black stone mesas and canyon cities. Its culture values precision, durability, hard work, and innovation."
He pondered, did Father actually travel to all these Vales just so he could document them down in this journal? It made him actually start questioning who his father truly was and what truly is the lineage of the Luci family. He concluded he will need to research and learn more about this world in general, and that will definitely take a lot of time.
By now, he had eaten most of the bread; it was like a pleasure fuel for reading the journal. He continued, "Crystal Vale: Selene's aerial nation, consisting of a shimmering archipelago of floating islands suspended by ancient Rune-Buoyancy matrices. It represents light, invention, air, diplomacy, spectacle, elegance, and spiritual clarity.
Right, this is the Vale Sir Jorin talked about. I'd like to visit this Vale. I hope someday Sir Vorn can send me on a mission there; it sounded like paradise to me when Sir Jorin was describing the place. There was joy in his eyes from just imagining being there; he couldn't wait. There was something about the place that drew his attention. Nonetheless, he was determined to know the whole five Vales, so he resumed reading. He took another bite of the bread.
"Shadow Vale: This is Selene's ruined frontier, the scarred remnant of an ancient cataclysm. It is defined by forbidden knowledge, quiet dread, survivalism, ruin-diving, and unstable runic phenomena. It is a place where the landscape itself remembers the wound."
"Remembers the wound? What wound? This place sounds like hell; I hope I never get to go here," he muttered. Somehow the description of this Vale scared him a bit, but even so there was a part of him that wanted to visit it. Of course, not by his own will.
He took yet another bite of the bread. Whether it was the starvation or reading about the Vales, he couldn't quite place, but somehow the bread tasted so delicious to him.
"Runepeaks: This is the mountain-workshop Vale, the birthplace of runes, and the oldest active civilization in Selene. It is considered the intellectual and engineering spine of the world, valuing discipline, tradition, precision, and mastery."
"Hmm..." He felt like rubbing his jaw as though he was contemplating but couldn't; his hands were occupied. This sounds like a place I definitely need to visit; I am sure I can master and learn more about runes and even the threadweave there. He concluded that although he knew he might never go to this place, he couldn't kill the urge of him wanting to go there. He thinks going there would make him better at advancing and learning much deeper history about the Threads and how to actually move forward without triggering the Taboo of Madness, which still troubled him. He has been so worried and scared of it.
Well, he chuckled and internally criticized. Who wouldn't be? I'm sure there are not many Threadweavers who have advanced without triggering it even if it's once in their lifetime. He even thought there would be details about that somewhere in the journal, but he wasn't sure or confident about it.
"So, these are the five Vales? I wonder how big they are individually. Also, how big is Verdant Vale?" The question hung in the quiet night in his room, and no answer was going to come. By now, he had finished eating the bread, but as he munched on the remaining piece in his mouth, he thought about that Shadebinder they encountered. It moved too fast for even Raya to track. If it's that fast, then it's very dangerous; if it's that dangerous, then it's a big problem. What if they encounter it again while investigating at Verdant Hollow? Wouldn't that spell disaster? Even worse, they could die. He kept thinking of a way that they could fight it if they can't run from it. Since it's fast, he'd need to be faster, or rather, something that is faster. He pondered deeply that his face was showing the frustration, and after such great depth of analyzing, an idea struck him.
Immediately, his lips curled up to something in the form of a smirk, his body filled with rush and pleasure. Alucent had thought, what if he introduces the concept of a gun to them? But mixed with Runeforce and etching? That wouldn't be a bad idea; he had been analyzing and trying to figure out a way to deal with the Shadebinder. He recalls how fast a bullet moves; that should definitely be the counter for the speed of the Shadebinder. If he can make Raya and Gryan agree to this, it would be game-changing; more than even that, it would be a new entire innovation in this world.
And with that, the excitement made him stand up, immediately preparing to go meet Gryan at his forge-room. He placed the journal back on the desk and walked towards the door. He prayed they would reason with him because that's the only thing he has confidence in that will be needed to fight such a creature. He just hopes the Shadebinder isn't bulletproof also. The thought of it crushed his excitement a little, but it didn't stop him from sharing it with them; he had made up his mind.
---
The forge-room sat tucked away in Eryndral's artisan district, rented by the hour from a metalworker who asked no questions as long as the payment arrived on time. Alucent had gotten to the place; it was cramped, barely ten meters square, filled with the accumulated debris of Gryan's crafts: fittings scattered across workbenches, spare pistons stacked in corners, and tools hung on walls with the obsessive organization of an individual who understood that chaos in a workshop could lead to missing fingers.
The air was thick, well, according to what Alucent could breathe in. It was as though coal smoke mixed with the sharp tang of hot metal and the sweet, slightly nauseating smell of the lubricants used for steam-tech maintenance. He walked closer to where Gryan, Raya, and Tavin were; he needed to focus his eyes sharply because the only light there came from the Forge's embers, glowing low and orange in the corner, and a single steam lantern that hissed softly as pressure built and released in its tiny brass chamber. He was now at the workbench, standing there with the rest of the crew.
He explained his idea to them and took some time in making them grasp what he was describing and how it works. Gryan already loved the idea, and immediately he watched him unroll the blueprints he'd sketched during their conversation. The designs were crude by Earth's standards, but still they represented something that shouldn't exist in this world. A mix of two worlds that weren't meant to touch.
They called it the Reed-Pattern Caster.
"Look at this," Gryan said, his brass mechanical arm moving with humming as he traced the blueprint lines. His fingers followed the barrel design, the loading mechanism, and the trigger assembly. "This is beautiful work, Alucent. The logic is perfect. Steam pressure will drive the casing forward. The pre-etched rune will then activate on impact. No need for real-time inscription under combat stress."
There was genuine excitement in Gryan's voice, of course, to him. This wasn't heresy, as Raya had been protesting; this was innovation. The logical conclusion of combining Rune-weave principles with Steam-weave engineering. Two great disciplines finally working together instead of pretending the other didn't exist.
"Yes, Gryan, it's efficient," Alucent said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He could feel Raya's disapproval from across the room without even looking at her. "The caster doesn't create the force. It just delivers a pre-etched rune with kinetic energy. Like a very fast delivery system for inscription work."
"Efficient?" Gryan's smile widened. "Alucent? It's glorious. Do you even know what you've done? A self-loading, steam-assisted Glyph launcher. Hahaha. You know what they'd do to you in Iron Vale for building something like this? Execute you for breaking probably a dozen Etch-Safety Laws. And then praise you as a saint after reverse-engineering it for their own use."
So, it's like this here also? I keep seeing the subtle similarity between this world and Earth; isn't it hilarious? Alucent mused internally.
He finally turned to look at her. She stood with her arms crossed; the scar on her left cheek was more pronounced in the dim light. With her sharp green eyes fixed on the wall rather than the blueprints, it was as if looking directly at the design might corrupt her somehow.
"You have something to say," Alucent said, sounding like a statement. Not a question.
"What's efficient about this?" Raya's voice came out sharp and low, the tone of someone who's been holding words back for too long. "You want to know what I think? I call it an abomination."
She finally took a look at the blueprints; her expression gave something between disgust and genuine concern.
"The Rune-Weave is about intent, Alucent. Clarity. Control. Every line, every glyph, every single stroke must be etched in the moment, with the scribe's will behind it. That's what makes it work. That's what makes it pure. Th— this thing you're building?" She gestured at the blueprints as if they were diseased. "This is mass production. You're turning a sacred art into a factory line of death."
"Raya, it's a weapon," said Alucent. "And we need weapons."
"We have weapons, Alucent. I have my Weaveblade. Gryan has his mechanical arm. You have your Runequill and the ability to etch in real time. What you're making isn't a weapon. It's a shortcut. A way to avoid the discipline that makes threadweaving meaningful in the first place."
She took a step close to the workbench, and Alucent saw real anger in her eyes now.
"There's a cree in the Rune-Weave. 'A crooked line is a crooked life.' Every flaw in your inscription reflects a flaw in your character. It shows in the work. That's why we train for years to maintain focus. Because the Weave reads your soul when you etch. It knows if you're lying.
Alucent shook his head while taking in all Raya was saying; he didn't talk back or reply.
She then pointed at the gun design. "What could be more crooked than this? Pre-etching runes in safety and comfort, then firing them later when there's no mental cost? No discipline required? You're trying to cheat the fundamental principle of the path. And you know fully well what happens to people who try to cheat the metaphysical law."
Gryan stood like he wasn't there, and the reference to the taboo of madness hung in the air between them.
From the corner, Tavin spoke for the first time since they'd gathered. "The threads around it are hungry."
Everyone immediately turned to look at the twelve-year-old boy sitting on a crate, clutching his Runetoken. The copper disc pulsed with faint, erratic light that matched no rhythm Alucent could discern. Tavin's hazel eyes were distant and unfocused, seeing something beyond the physical room.
"What? Hungry for what?" Alucent asked, confused.
"I don't know yet." Tavin's voice was barely above a whisper. "But they're pulling together around the blueprints. Like something wants to be fed. It's like this thing wants to exist so badly that it's already reaching back through time to make itself real."
Tension rose in the air, and Gryan cleared his throat. "The kid's visions aside, I won't lie and say Raya doesn't have a point about the philosophy; she does. But philosophy doesn't stop Shadebinders from killing you. Alucent, show her it works. Etch the test casing."
Ah, of course. The proof of concept.
Alucent looked at the materials Gryan had prepared. A small brass casing, hollow, he'd say about the size of his thumb. Also, a silver copper for the runes' core. The design required etching a simple Thread 2 Glyph pattern for kinetic force. It's a basic work that he should be able to do even in his sleep.
He then picked his Runequill. The amber ink inside swirled, responding to his intent. Of course he'd done this numerous times; Thread 2 was foundational work, and he had gone past this stage.
Just focus. Clear your mind. Intent. Clarity. Control. These are the basics; I can do this.
Alucent positioned the copper silver on the workbench and brought the Runequill close. He could feel Raya watching him. Gryan was watching him, and even Tavin's distant gaze was somehow also focused on this moment.
He took a breath. Tried to find the calm center that inscription work required.
And that's when the memory hit him.
This time, it wasn't the young guard's face that appeared; it was Mira's. The civilian worker from the Runewell vault raid. Twenty-three years old. She was standing at the wrong place when the Shadebinder's attack breached the containment runes. Alucent had been too slow with his defensive inscription. Too compromised by guilt over previous failures. And Mira? Well, Mira died in the resulting Runeforce backlash.
The memory came with full sensory detail. The sound of her scream cutting off mid-breath. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh. The way her body had just stopped, like someone had flipped a switch.
His hand trembled.
Fuck! Focus. Push it down. You need to complete the Etch, you fucking have to.
But the tremor wasn't a physical weakness. It was an emotional interference made manifest. His guilt, his doubt, his crushing awareness of inadequacy—all of it was channeling through his hand and into the Runequill.
The tip touched the copper.
And instead of a clean, glowing line of amber light, the Runeforce sputtered. The ink came out wrong, jagged, and corrupted. What should have been a smooth curve became a spiderwebbing crack of black energy that spread across the copper's surface like an infection.
Please, no, please don't do this.
Immediately, Alucent tried to correct it. Pulled the Runequill back. But the damage was already done. The corrupted Glyph pulsed once with sick brown light, then fizzled out into a wisp of black smoke that smelled like burned hair.
Damn it! He almost cursed externally.
The brass casing was cold to the touch now. Dead. The copper sliver showed a blackened scar where the failed inscription had tried to form.
Silence filled the forge-room.
Gryan moved closer and picked up the failed casing, examining it with a mechanic's clinical eye. His smile had vanished. "The power flow is completely unstable. Your focus is way off. This isn't a technical problem, Alucent. It's psychological."
Alucent stared at the ruined materials, feeling humiliation burn through him. Burning deeper than the one that happened at the Marketplaza. This was a Thread 2 inscription. Yet he couldn't even manage to do that without guilt corrupting the output.
Raya's expression had shifted from anger to something else. Frustrated pity.
"You see? This is what I mean, Alucent." Her voice was quieter now, almost gentle. "The weave knows. It can feel your conflict. You cannot create a weapon of perfect order when your soul is in chaos. Every crooked line reflects a crooked life. And rest now; you're too broken to draw straight."
The words hit harder than her earlier anger had. Because she was right. He knew she was right. The Taboo of Madness wasn't some abstract threat; it was this. His guilt made physical. His emotions were corrupting everything he tried to create.
How am I supposed to function in Verdant Hollow if I can't even etch a thread to work without failing? How am I supposed to even work as a normal human in this world without losing myself?
Alucent clenched his fist; the ruined copper sliver was still sitting on the workbench like an accusation. The guard's face had been flickering through his mind; now Mira's face also did. How many more would die because he couldn't get his head straight?
But then, anger replaced humiliation. Not at Raya or Gryan or himself. At the situation. At the fact that the very philosophy and discipline and perfect intent didn't matter if or when Shadebinders were trying to kill you. At the reality that sometimes you needed efficiency more than you needed purity, it wouldn't matter anyway if you died and couldn't protect your own philosophy.
"I'll get it right," Alucent said. Hearing the edge of his own voice, heavy in his throat. "I have to. We're going up against things in Verdant Hollow that don't and won't follow the rules of the Scriptorium. Things that don't care about intent or clarity or even sacred traditions. They will just kill people and kill ideas and dreams. Then, what would we say we did? What would we tell their families? That we couldn't save them because of some sacred traditions? Some philosophy? Worse? What if we ourselves die?"
The look on Gryan's face proved he was considering what he was saying. And then asked him. "How long to build the chassis? The actual gun mechanism, separate from the Rune etching?"
Gryan replied. "A day if I have the parts. I'll need high-pressure valves. Precision springs. I also talked to Jorin earlier today; he mentioned a contact at the market who deals in steam-tech components. I can source what we need."
"Do it." Alucent turned to the group, feeling something crystallize in his mind. The mission parameters. The brutal practicality of survival overrides philosophical concerns. "We will be leaving the day after tomorrow at dawn. You'll have to pack for three weeks minimum. Food, water, and medical supplies. Assume that we can't resupply in the Hollow.
He then looked at Raya. "I need you to source the purest weave fiber lining you can find. High-quality insulation material. It might help stabilize the casings against my interference if the runes are properly isolated."
"You're really doing this," she said. not a question. Just acknowledgement.
"Yes."
"Even though it violates everything the Rune-weave stands for."
"Look, the Rune-weave doesn't keep people alive when reality is breaking around them." Alucent said. "Efficiency does. Pragmatism does. Being willing to bend rules that were written for a world that doesn't exist anymore."
Raya's jaw tightened. For a moment Alucent thought she might walk out. Refuse to participate in what she clearly saw as heresy against her philosophical framework.
But then she nodded. Just once. Sharp and final.
"I'll get your Weavefiber lining. Not because I actually approve. Not because I think this abomination is a good idea. But because I'm pragmatic enough to know that survival sometimes requires compromising principles." She met his eyes. "But don't mistake my cooperation for agreement. This thing you're building? It's wrong. And if it gets people killed because you were too broken to etch properly, that blood will be on your hands."
"I know," Alucent said quietly.
Gryan cleared his throat again, breaking the tension. "Well. I'll take that as team consensus. Raya sources the Weavefiber. I source steam components. Alucent practices not having emotional breakdowns during inscription work. And well, Tavin will head to Sir Vorn."
The mechanical arm hummed and rolled up the blueprints. "For what it's worth, I think this is brilliant. Sure, the academy scholars would have you executed. But sometimes the best innovations come from people willing to ignore what they were taught."
Alucent looked at the failed copper sliver on the bench. The blackened scar where his corrupted inscription had tried to form.
I have just one day to figure out how to etch without my guilt destroying everything, me included. One day before we leave for Verdant Hollow. Alucent was deeply worried, but only he can bear this pain, for it's his alone to bear.
"We should go," Raya said, moving toward the door. "The Forge rental ends in an hour, and we shouldn't be seen leaving together. People talk."
"You're right." Gryan said while packing up his tools. Tavin stood up from his crate, pocketing the Runetoken.
Alucent picked up his failed copper sliver and pocketed it. It will be a reminder of inadequacy to carry with him.
They left the forge-room in sequence. Raya first, disappearing into the artisan district's evening crowds. Gryan second, his arm covered by his coat. Tavin was third, just another street kid no one would pay attention to.
Alucent stayed behind for a moment, staring at the workbench where his heretical gun design lay hidden under a canvas tarp. Shook his head and then left as well. Disappearing into the crowd and heading for his cottage.