The second rune came easier than the first.
Kael sat cross-legged on his study floor, surrounded by a graveyard of failed slabs—dozens of them, scored with bleeding lines and scorched marks and the occasional small crater where mana had escaped in unfortunate ways. The successful stabilization rune sat on his desk like a trophy, pale blue glow steady and mocking.
The second attempt was a basic containment rune. Four strokes instead of three. A box shape with an internal cross.
He picked up the brush.
The mana flowed. Still too much—his body wanted to push, to flood, to force—but he caught it. Held it back. Let only what was necessary travel through the bristle and onto the stone.
First stroke. Clean.
Second stroke. Slight waver at the end, but it held.
Third stroke. Perfect.
Fourth stroke—
The line bled.
Kael stared at the ruined slab.
"Damn."
He set it aside and reached for another blank one.
The knock came at midnight.
