It had been three days since they left the forest, and they were getting close to Virehall.
"How far are we from that place?" Ashai asked from Suhra's back.
"Not far, little star. Only a few more hours of walking and we'll be there."
She often carried him using a Myhn-construct called a Glyft[1], formed through her mastery of Sygros. The floating platform shimmered faintly under his weight, carried by carefully woven glyphs that supported him when his small body grew tired.
A blur of motion slipped through the forest—silent, precise, and focused.
Arkan.
He stepped into the clearing where Suhra's old cabin once stood. As his feet touched the earth, a protective formation collapsed beneath him. Sygros glyphs, once invisible, flared for an instant, casting a pattern of myhnlight before hissing out in a burst of sparks and fading resonance.
"I'm too late," he muttered. "That's clever, Suhra—but it won't stop me."
He crouched and traced two glyphs with his fingers—one for speed, using Myhnscribe to mark both boots in a swirling loop, and a second glyph that synced with his legs for controlled motion and weight distribution.
Next, he wove a Terran[2] form—a sigil of jagged, stone-like shapes that shimmered over his calves and spine like echoing fragments of rock. The earth responded with a low hum.
Whoosh.
He vanished into the trail ahead, glyphs flaring and Terran shapes solidifying around him as he ran.
Suhra halted mid-step.
The air around her shifted—the Myhn itself adjusting, as though a wrong note had entered the chord of the world.
She closed her eyes and listened through the strands.
Someone is at the cabin. This feeling is familiar.
She gently lowered Ashai from the Glyft and guided him a few steps away.
"Someone is approaching," she said. "You'll know him by the stone in his voice."
"Do we run?" he asked, his eyes wide.
She smiled faintly. "No. If he wants you, he'll have to take me first."
He stepped through the treeline, silent and composed. His armor bore the fractured patterns of Terran shaping, pieces of his form outlined in hardened, elemental stonework. Over his face was a mask etched with Sygros-like circuitry, its lines glowing faintly like active runes, and its edges jagged like carved stone. His hood was up, but Ashai caught a glimpse of his eyes—focused, calculating.
"Still playing in the rocks, Arkan?" Suhra said evenly.
"At least I'm not hiding from what I could become," he replied.
Ashai observed from behind her. She was right, he thought. His voice does have a crunching sound, like rocks tumbling down a cliff.
And he hides his face.
Without warning, Arkan lifted a hand and cast a Sygros bind glyph, a clean symbol traced in air toward Ashai.
It fizzled and collapsed before it could touch him.
Arkan's expression shifted. "That… shouldn't happen."
He turned to Suhra. "What is he?"
She didn't answer.
"You could come back. The Order would take you again. With him at your side, you'd be untouchable."
"You've forgotten why I left," she said. "And who taught you to carve your first glyph."
"I haven't forgotten," Arkan said. "But I've surpassed what you abandoned. I'm Adept now—Terran, Myhnscribe, and Inkthreading.[3] I didn't come to drag you back. I came to see what you've been hiding."
Suhra turned to Ashai. "This will be a teaching opportunity," she said quietly.
With a flick of her wrist, she shaped a long blade of swirling ink, a weapon formed entirely of Inkthreading. Her other hand shimmered into a clawed construct, black as shadow, lines of glyphs crawling along its joints.
Arkan struck first. As he moved, Terran shapes bloomed beneath his feet—stone ridges that boosted his leap, sharp spines erupting behind him to block escape. Myhnscribe glyphs appeared in quick bursts across his limbs, enhancing movement, anchoring his strikes.
Suhra didn't meet strength with strength. She set Bind glyphs behind her retreat, over stones, on tree trunks—glyphs that flared as Arkan passed them, aiming to hinder, not stop. She moved deliberately, letting the terrain narrow the space between them.
Ashai flinched. Then a whisper curled into his ear.
"This is Choralyn," Suhra's voice said, soft but clear. "It lets me speak directly to you."
"He's fast, stronger than I am. But that's fine. You don't need to outmatch someone—you only need to outthink them."
"See how he lifts his foot before a strike? That's when you leave a thread. See how he leans left when channeling Terran? Leave a trap there."
"Inkthreading requires contact," she continued. "If I let go of my weapon, the form vanishes. But if I master it... I never let go."
Arkan crashed toward her with momentum carved from rock and glyph, his own Inkthreaded weapon shimmering—a heavy halberd-shaped creation, imperfect but forceful.
Suhra matched it with elegance, her sword bending mid-swing to deflect and counter. She never stopped moving. The ink in her clawed hand dragged along the ground, leaving subtle trails of influence, unseen by Arkan.
There was a pause.
Both fighters stood still, breathing hard, Myhn flickering across their bodies like heat.
Suhra closed her eyes. The claw in her hand twitched.
From beneath the soil, the claw's shadow-thread surged forward, undetected, and latched around Arkan's ankle.
His eyes widened—but too late.
She moved in a blink.
A single, controlled slash across his chest, deep and clean. His stone-reinforced armor cracked under the ink-hardened edge.
Blood bloomed. Arkan fell to one knee.
"You were always quick to chase," Suhra said, standing over him. "But you never learned where the path leads." She looked at the fading ink around her hand and added, "Just because you have to stay connected to Inkthreaded weapons doesn't mean they can't reach further than your grip."
She turned.
The Inkthreaded weapons dissolved behind her, returning to the Myhn.
Ashai stepped beside her, silent.
As they resumed their journey, Virehall's spires appeared in the distance—glowing gold beneath the afternoon light.
Suhra smirked slightly. "So, did you like the show?"
Ashai nodded, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.
They walked on, the sun dropping behind them.
Virehall waited before nightfall
[1] A shape used to lift items/people crafted through sygros glyphs. In this case, it is a cradle that floats on her back.
[2] Earth element form from the veythra discipline
[3] The use of myhn to shape weapons, it will change appearance according to the casters intentions. An example would be Suhra's use of inkthreading appearing like black or silver Ink.