One week later Jacob found himself in a room with Arthur, Abel and the grand scholar; he had just arrived, and when he stepped through the door the grand scholar sat there calmly with a cup of tea in his hand while Abel lounged nearby with his eyes closed as if the whole affair were barely worthy of his attention.

"I greet the grand scholar," Jacob said, inclining his head, and Arthur followed suit.

"Jacob, Arthur," Lazarus acknowledged with a slight nod as he set his cup down and pushed himself upright, "seems young Abel is much like me in one respect, he arrives early," and Abel, obligingly, rose to his feet and turned toward the doorway with that half-interested expression that never quite left him.

"I want today's lesson to be practical, so we'll move. Gather round" Lazarus continued, his voice dry and efficient, and the three of them clustered around him; with a casual snap of his fingers the small room was replaced in an instant by a wide training hall, the floors and walls and vaulted ceiling all hewn from grey stone and otherwise empty except for the four of them and the torches guttering along the walls.

"I asked each of you to learn a few runes before we met again; I expect to see each of you use two of the runes you've learned, in whatever way you find best suits you," he said as he walked to the center of the hall and faced them, "if the rune is offensive, use it on me; if it's defensive, I will counter with a rank ten rune; if it's something else, I will judge its merit. Abel, go first."

Without hesitation Abel stepped forward until he stood a few paces from Lazarus and bowed, "Grand scholar Lazarus—" he began, only to be cut off by Lazarus with a single, impatient word.

"That's too formal. Call me teacher."

"Very well, teacher, I will first display a rune meant for offense."

Lazarus inclined his head and, in response, a broad translucent field of purple unfurled around him like a visible thought made solid, the shimmering wall of energy humming faintly as it took shape. "This is a rank ten barrier," he announced, flat and exact, "I hope each of you will demonstrate the method you used to breach it."

Abel nodded, raised his hand, and began to draw a rune across his palm with such speed and precision that Jacob felt a momentary, sharp surprise before remembering that Abel and Arthur had spent two months practicing the drawing and deployment of runes, which explained the familiarity with which their fingers moved.

He, on the other hand, found that while the fire rune could be drawn with passable speed, the new rune Yggdrasil had recently shown him required far more preparation, several long minutes of steady tracing before it would properly take form, which meant it was not yet suited for any sudden exchange.

Abel, however, finished his in a little over five seconds, and when it was complete a dazzling rune of ghostly blue mana hovered above his arm, faintly pulsing with life, and as he closed his eyes and whispered "stronger" under his breath, Jacob noticed Lazarus's eyebrows lift slightly in visible surprise.

The attack itself was not outwardly dramatic, there was no blazing light or obvious projectile, for one moment the rune hung suspended and inert, and the next a deep concussive sound rang out, the kind of blunt impact Jacob imagined a battering ram would make if it slammed against solid iron.

From that single point of contact a lattice of cracks began to spread across the translucent barrier, thin at first but widening steadily, until the entire surface was veined with lines of strain, and though it seemed for a moment that the shield would somehow endure in spite of its fractures, a pale blue mist seeped out from within the breaks, crawling outward until the barrier itself grew faint and finally dissolved altogether.

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The mist did not vanish with the barrier, instead drifting further until it reached Lazarus, curling around him in slow, deliberate swirls, and though he allowed it to linger for a moment with something like quiet appreciation, he ended it with a simple wave of his hand, the vapor dissipating instantly.

"I assume this is a rune made by your father," Lazarus said in his usual measured tone, "what is its name?"

Abel's mouth curved in a prideful smile as he replied, "it wasn't made by my father, I made it myself, with a little help, and I haven't yet given it a name."

Lazarus studied him for a moment, then observed in a calm voice, "it begins with a standard strike that embeds itself almost invisibly, and after a delay it releases that mist, which carries a strong corrosive property drawn heavily from the concept of death itself."

Abel's smile shifted slightly, less pride and more tension, as he admitted, "yes, you are correct, though to know all that after a single use…"

Lazarus cut him off with little ceremony, "if I were to grade it, I would give it ten out of ten, but since you relied on a method to improve it, and since the others here cannot apply that same method, I would lower its value to seven."

Abel's composure faltered at that, his voice carrying the edge of anger as he spoke, "why should it matter what method I use? I could have broken your barrier even without it."

"Then try again," Lazarus replied without hesitation, and at once the purple barrier shimmered back into existence.

Watching from the side, Arthur leaned closer to Jacob and whispered, "what method is he talking about? Didn't he just use the rune normally?"

Jacob only gave a small shrug, murmuring back, "I don't know. Ask him yourself."

Jacob, for his part, was just as curious about the so-called special method, the detail that Lazarus had pointed out but which he himself had failed to notice, though in truth he had a faint suspicion, something that Yggdrasil had mentioned briefly in passing, and he wondered if his guess would prove correct once Abel tried again.

He turned his attention back just as Abel finished drawing the rune for a second time, and this time, as Jacob had expected, there were no words, only the immediate activation of the pattern the moment it was complete.

Once again the attack itself was almost imperceptible, only a dull, muted impact reaching Jacob's ears, noticeably softer than the sound it had made before, and while cracks did begin to spread across the translucent barrier, they were fewer and shallower than in the first attempt, unable to web across the whole surface.

The pale mist followed as before, leaking out through the fractures and clinging faintly to the barrier's surface, and for a brief moment Jacob thought it might yet force a collapse, but gradually it dissipated, leaving the barrier standing firm and untouched.

Abel's jaw tightened and his teeth ground together as he stared at the shield, unwilling to accept its resilience, and before the silence could stretch too far he raised his hand again, already sketching the outlines of another rune, his voice edged with frustration as he spoke, "this is a defensive rune that I also made."

Lazarus let out a low laugh, and in front of him a rune flared into being with no hesitation, its lines etched in vivid red and orange light, and Jacob recognized it instantly, a rank ten flame rune, simple, direct, and devastating.

Abel completed his pattern and, rather than release it outward, he pressed his palm against his chest, the rune adhering to him before pulsing rhythmically, and soon a blue light rose to cover his body, hardening as it settled until what resembled armour formed around him, bone-like plates wrapping him from shoulder to waist.

"Interesting," Lazarus remarked, his tone tinged with curiosity, "using a rune to solidify the dead souls you've already stored, reshaping them into armour. A clever adaptation, a proper remodelling of something rare, fitting of one from the Ranti family."

Even as he spoke, the rune before him completed its function, a single concentrated line of fire bursting forth at frightening speed, the flame compressed into a narrow streak that struck Abel squarely and drove him sliding backward across the stone floor as he fought to brace himself against its force.

A harsh creaking sound filled the hall as the bone-like plates cracked under the strain, fissures opening along the chest piece, yet to Abel's credit the armour endured, holding out until at last Lazarus's flame sputtered and vanished.

"It seems you have tailored the rune precisely to your aspect," Lazarus said, his voice even but approving, "the defence is far stronger than what I would expect from its base form, though you must know it would fare poorly against purification-based runes… nine out of ten. You must have practiced diligently."

Abel looked down at the fractured armour, the chest plate now lined with breaks, and let out a short grunt before releasing it altogether, the entire defence disintegrating into fragments of light as he turned and walked back to rejoin Arthur and Jacob.

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