Chapter One – The Memory That Burned the Sky
Part Three – When Glyphs Burn Inward
Date: Maelis 27, Year 204 PCR
Location: Veilguard Courtyard – South Spire Training Grounds
Time: 09:39 Veil Standard
Zephryn was on the ground again.
Blood at the corner of his lip.
Knees cracked from stone.
But he didn't stay down.
He forced himself up, spine shaking, ribs aching—but eyes locked on Buta.
And Buta?
He still hadn't used his second hand.
Not once.
—
The wind stirred around the glyph ring—subtle currents catching on invisible tension.
Zephryn's ∞ mark shimmered at his forearm, trembling like it didn't want to cast yet—like it was waiting for something inside him to catch up.
"You're hesitating," Buta said, stepping in a slow arc now.
Zephryn steadied his breath. "I'm calculating."
"You're lying."
Another strike came.
Clean.
Precise.
Zephryn dodged—barely. His shoulder burned from the graze.
Buta stopped.
"Tell me what that glyph on your arm is, right now."
Zephryn didn't answer.
Because he couldn't.
The ∞ spun once—slow, as if in pain.
—
Buta raised his staff.
"You're using a glyph you don't understand, flaring a pulse you didn't earn, carrying a name you don't remember."
Zephryn spat blood.
"You think I want this?"
"No," Buta growled. "I think you want it too much."
—
Selka's voice rang out, sharp from the courtyard's edge.
"Buta, enough."
But Buta didn't stop.
Because Zephryn was moving again.
Slow.
Controlled.
Head low, breath syncing.
And the glyph—
It stopped trembling.
It solidified.
—
Zephryn whispered—not to Buta, not to Selka.
To himself.
To the Veil.
To the shape inside him that screamed when Thrynn called him Ruinborn.
"I remember the sound."
His pulse ignited.
One cast.
One flare.
But it wasn't a technique.
It was a release.
His glyph burned into his skin—not outward, but inward, branding itself into bone. Not a flame. Not a lightshow.
Just a single, slow curve of memory scar.
And Buta saw it.
His eyes widened—just a fraction.
And he lowered his staff.
"…You idiot."
Zephryn looked up.
"What?"
"You're not casting anymore," Buta said. "You're anchoring."
—
Selka stepped forward.
"What does that mean?"
Buta turned, voice flat.
"It means he's not projecting his glyph anymore. It's not an art. It's a mark. He's anchoring it to his core."
Kaelen blinked. "That's a thing?"
"No. It's a problem."
—
Zephryn stood taller now, veins glowing from inside.
"I didn't mean to."
"Exactly," Buta said. "That's why you're going to break something."
—
Then the glyph flickered—
And so did the world.
Zephryn's vision spiraled inward—
He dropped to his knees—
And suddenly—
He wasn't in the courtyard anymore.
—
He was in a broken room made of memory.
Stone walls. Crystal windows. A half-finished song playing through shattered echoes.
And at the center—
Solara.
Not smiling.
Not crying.
Just staring at something outside the window.
She turned to him.
"You saw him, didn't you?"
Zephryn tried to speak.
She stepped closer.
"You're remembering too fast."
—
"Who was the first Ruinborn?" he asked.
Her eyes softened.
"…The one I betrayed."
—
Zephryn gasped and shot back awake—knees on stone, sweat on his neck, glyph dimming.
Buta stood over him again.
"…You saw her, didn't you?"
Zephryn nodded.
"She said… she betrayed the first."
Buta exhaled.
Deep.
Low.
"This world was never broken by power," he said.
"It was broken by what we remembered too late."