Erevan did this when he made his creatures here. He shared a small piece of his core magic with them. We have to be careful not to give away too much of our core magic. But on occasion, it is required. All gods have done it, eventually. Sometimes, it involves the creation of things that are harmful to other gods. On occasion, it’s assisting a god.
Erevan has never told me, but I know he has the core magic of fellow gods within him. I sense it when his guard is down. It is likely that he leveraged the other gods, striking a deal with them in order to keep their secrets from being exposed. After all, Erevan knew about the first demigod on Panthas.
For years, I drew nothing in the book until we watched the dragons burn the land. Charred bones surrounded me as I stood in the ruins of the burned mage city. With one touch, most of the bones would crumble. Burial was impossible.
These people would be nothing more than dust in the wind. No memory or place to grieve.
Nothing.
Defeated, I sat in the hot soil among the bones of mages who fought valiantly, only to be denied the sunrise.I held Erevan’s book to my chest, wishing for tears that didn’t come.
What’s done is done. Tears didn’t reverse it.
I pulled back the book’s cover. I yearned to create a protective rune that would prevent a repeat of the horror. I had nothing to draw with so I searched, grabbing a shard of a bone that didn’t crumble. The burnt end worked as a makeshift pencil.
The bone, once living, was brought back to life.
I last sacrificed core magic when forging the God Swords. The symbol represented my surrender and desire for peace.
I did it again when I held that book and drew the first rune.
This book he created was too precious to be just another sketchbook, so I used my core magic for the first time since we arrived. Forging something new, something to help bring peace. I changed the pages and glued my magic into the spine. The book became sentient, growing a mind of its own, just like one of Erevan’s creations. I, too, made a living thing. Then I drew a rune similar to the ones I used to decorate my creations with. While sketching, I envisioned the rune’s function and operation.The rune initially faded into the page. The book rejected it; it craved something more substantial. The pages desired more and more, a sliver of my mind.
I needed to give the rune more rules, a strong foundation to live upon. Hammer it, stretch it out, as a blacksmith does to steel when forging a sword to make it stronger.
The rune was a child I designed; I picked everything from the hair color to how tall it would be. I worked and reworked my drawing, making changes and additions. I had to keep my thoughts and intentions pure and focused. Only then did the symbol remain on the page. Together, our core magic created a book that had the power to transcend the pages and sink into whoever wrote the rune.
When Erevan asked what I made, I told him it was a rune that could be drawn onto humans. My intention with this first mark was to bind those strong enough to a dragon, thus giving the beast riders who could tame them.
I never wanted to endure the chaos caused by a wild dragon again.
And it worked. We created dragon riders.
That was how I made the first rune. A symbol strong enough to reforge Erevan’s magic creatures.
Erevan’s eyes smile, reliving the memory as I just did. I hug the gift he gave me to my heart. “You want to make another rune?” he asks.
The leather of the cover warms my hands as the magic-infused material glimmers in the light. Erevan magically ensured the book’s pages would never deplete. The book purrs with delight at being held. Erevan’s spine straightens as if he can feel my touch deep within his bones.
“Yes.” I nod. “What if I made additional runes to aid humans in defending against magic? Victory won’t be so simple anymore.”
His eyes pull tight as he listens. “Wouldn’t that create an imbalance?”
I rub my jaw, frowning in thought. He’s right. Magic has a way of seeking balance. Focusing solely on humans risks harming other creatures, and magic may retaliate. Creation is fickle. Once you set it free, it’s hard to catch again.
It’s a wildflower; you can pluck it, but the seeds have escaped into the wind. Thus, some are forever on the run.
“I’ll make runes for all of them to use,” I finally say.
“That seems unwise, my love. Look at the battles they have fought because we gave some of them magic.” He pushes off the door frame and comes closer.
I step back, keeping him in my full view. “We didn’t regard the consequences because we were desperate when we came. Think about it, Erevan.” My voice rises as I defend my vision. “All these wars are an imbalance. We gave them magic, but we didn’t counterbalance it. The runes can be that opposition.”
His brow lifts. “Or cause more wars,” he counters.
“Think of it this way: giving them magic was like giving one clan metal; they used it as a weapon and a tool to grow. The other clan still has sticks and stones. If we give them all metal, that will teach them how to progress, how to make peace, and how to come to terms with the fact that no one is above the other. Then, in centuries, once they have allied, we can make our plea to them.”
His lips press into a flat line. “But wouldn’t that go against our original rule, my love? We vowed not to erase a species to save our own. If we allow humans to possess magic, it will alter them.”
