Odin, the giant, blind lizard, was just waiting there, looking right through me with empty eye sockets.
"Fine," I said, my voice sounding a lot braver than I actually felt. "Teach me. But if I turn myself into a turnip or erase my own legs from reality, I'm blaming you."
Odin let out a sound like falling boulders—which I guess was his version of a chuckle. "If you erase your legs, boy, you won't have a mouth to complain with. Now, sit. We are done talking."
Martha looked like she wanted to pull me away and lock me in the attic for the next forty years, but Jason put a hand on her shoulder. He didn't look happy, but he gave me a slow nod.
We'll be waiting by the barrier entrance, Merlin," Jason said, his voice unusually flat. "Don't do anything stupid."
"No promises," I muttered.
Once the sound of their footsteps faded away, the silence in the valley got heavy. I sat cross-legged on the grass, looking up at the mountain of green and gold scales.
"First lesson," Odin rumbled, his voice vibrating in my ribs. "Forget your magic. Forget your 'Great Sage' whispering numbers in your skull."
I froze. Wait, he knows about the Sage?
"I can hear the extra hum in your mind, hatchling. It is a clever tool. It counts, it measures, it tries to put the universe in neat little boxes. But Runes are not boxes. Runes are the trees that the boxes are made of. Your metal mind cannot understand them because they do not have a formula. They have a meaning."
I gulped. Sage, can you hear him?
[Confirmed. Audio receptors active. Warning: The target possesses an advanced understanding of non-linear magical constructs. Probability of failure in standard calculation: 100%.]
Great, I thought. Even my supercomputer is throwing up its hands.
Odin called Jason and Martha back into the valley after we wrapped up. I was still sitting on the grass, massaging my throbbing temples, while the massive dragon rumbled his decision to them.
"The hatchling has the sight," Odin boomed, making the leaves on the trees shiver. "I will take him as my student. If he survives the lessons, he will be the greatest mage to ever walk this continent. If he fails, well... you will have a very quiet house again."
Martha looked like she wanted to protest the "if he fails" part, but seeing the pure determination on my face, she just sighed and nodded. Jason clamped a heavy, reassuring hand on my shoulder. We headed back to the cabin, and I slept like a dead man that night.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, the real training began. I was back in the clearing, standing before the mountain of green and gold scales.
"Sit, Merlin," Odin commanded. "Yesterday, you forced a result. Today, you learn what you are actually messing with. You think of Runes as symbols or spells. That is a small, human way of looking at it. True Runes are a mix of three things."
He shifted his weight, making the ground groan.
"First, there are the Rules of the World, like those petty mages in your future will use. In this land, people think runes are just barriers and strict commands written on paper or etched into the air to restrict actions. They are laws that dictate what can and cannot be done. If you write a rule that says 'No fire may pass this line,' the world obeys that barrier. That is the surface level."
I nodded, thinking of Freed's Jutsu Shiki from Fairy Tail.
"Second," Odin continued, "there are the Runes of Origin. This is the art of tapping into the root of the universe itself. These symbols do not just command the elements; they are the elements in their purest, primordial form. If you draw the Rune of Fire from the Origin, you do not create a flame; you summon the very concept of heat and burning. It bypasses magic resistance because it is reality itself. It can burn things that are immune to normal fire, because it is the fundamental truth of what fire is."
My brain pinged. That was straight out of the Primordial Runes from Fate lore.
"And third," Odin leaned in closer, his hot breath smelling like old parchment, "there are the Cosmic Runes. These are the threads of the fabric of the universe. They do not just interact with the world; they rewrite its source code. They are ancient, raw, and highly volatile. A single cosmic rune of destruction wouldn't just blow up a mountain; it would erase the mountain's existence from the timeline entirely, leaving no memory or trace behind. It is the language of the cosmos, used by beings that existed before the stars."
That was definitely the Marvel style of heavy-hitting, reality-warping runic magic.
"To master Runes," Odin rumbled, drawing a complex, glowing symbol in the dirt with a single claw, "you must combine all three. You use the Rules to give the spell its shape and boundaries so it does not consume you. You use the Origin to give it its raw, unstoppable power. And you use the Cosmic threads to anchor it to reality so the world cannot push back and crush your brain."
He tapped the glowing symbol in the dirt. It looked like a complex mix of straight lines and sharp angles, humming with a terrifying amount of power.
"This is the Rune of Stasis," Odin explained. "Try to read it. Do not analyze it with your metal mind. Read the meaning."
I stared at the symbol. With my Eyes of Gilgamesh, the straight lines began to blur. I saw the outer boundary acting as a cage—the Fairy Tail style rule holding the power in check. Inside, the core of the symbol glowed with a pure, white light—the Fate style origin of absolute stillness. And wrapped around the whole thing were thin, terrifying threads of dark purple energy, the Marvel style cosmic anchor holding it to the timeline.
My head began to throb immediately, but I didn't look away.
"I see it," I whispered, my voice sounding distant. "It's... it's a command. A law that says nothing inside this space can change or age. It is frozen in time."
"Very good, hatchling," Odin chuckled. "Now, replicate it. Not on the ground. Draw it in the air using your own Ethernano. And remember: do not push. Agree."
I stood up and took a deep breath. I raised my hand, my fingers tingling.
Great Sage, do not calculate. Just help me hold the shape of the lines.
[Understood. Diverting processing power to visual stability only. Good luck, user.]
I began to draw. I didn't push my magic out like a firehose this time. Instead, I let it leak out like a slow, steady stream of ink. I drew the outer boundary first, feeling the air resist slightly. You are a cage, I thought. You hold the stillness.
The world didn't push back. The pain in my head was a dull ache, not a spike.
Then I drew the core. I poured the concept of absolute zero, total freeze into the center. The air around my fingertips turned instantly frost-covered.
Finally, I drew the tiny, complex cosmic anchors at the edges, tying the whole thing to the spot in the valley.
The symbol hung in the air, glowing with a soft, steady white and purple light. It was beautiful. And it was absolutely terrifying.
"Perfect," Odin whispered, his voice sounding genuinely impressed. "You have drawn the word. Now... speak it."
I looked at the symbol floating in front of me. I reached out and tapped the center of it with my finger.
"Freeze," I whispered.
The symbol didn't explode. It just expanded in a silent, rippling wave of white light. A ten-foot circle around me was instantly covered in a thick layer of pure white frost. The wind stopped. A passing butterfly was frozen mid-flap in the air, its wings perfectly still.
I didn't feel tired. My head didn't hurt any more than it already did.
I looked at the frozen butterfly hanging in the air and gave a wide, genuine grin. I was ten years old, trapped 400 years in the past, and I had just rewritten a small corner of reality.
I laughed, looking up at the dragon. "Bring it on, lizard breathing. I've got plenty of time."