He slowly moved towards another building, one that was bigger than the one he had resided in for the past... however long that was. Who knows. He was making sure he didn't step on any vines, and so he walked slower. He also decided to stick closer to the buildings; walking out in the middle of the street didn't sound like the best idea. The short walk of 100 meters to the building felt like an hour, but the street here was empty. He realized he was probably on the outskirts of the city, and the closer he moved to the throne palace, the stronger and more numerous the foes he would encounter. His scholarly interest peaked, and he wanted to explore the walls of the town to see the details of the destruction and also to try to leave this weird pocket dimension. But he would need to be stronger for that, and so he was ready to make a critical decision now.
He slowly entered the larger house. His focus was on maximum setting now, and his eyes were searching for potential threats. But it looked like nothing was here so far. He slowly walked through the great hall, and there at the end was something that piqued his interest. It was a painting. When he came close, he could see a gold plate with letters scribbled on it.
[The king of men]
[May glory be with him]
[Save us from Fear]
The context of the writing wasn't the thing that surprised him. What did, was how he could read what was said here. He was in some long-destroyed ancient city, possibly from some other world. He shouldn't be able to understand the language they spoke here or the runes they used to write. But he did. It was almost as if that language was embedded into reality and therefore was known to all.
A young man with bright, flaming eyes and short brown hair, crowned with a black royal ornament, was now looking at him from the painting. He felt power coming from the image—incredible power at that. But there was nothing he could do now. Perhaps after he somehow awoke some magical power, he would be able to interact with that picture. Leaving the painting behind, he ascended the stairs into the library. Nearly all of the books were destroyed, leaving only a few behind. He searched for a while; he wanted to find some instructions on how to use magic. There was a cooking book—that was incredibly helpful, thanks. He finally found something that said:
[ The primordial ... environment ]
It was unfortunately damaged, so he couldn't see the whole name, but there was a fire symbol on the spine, so he figured it could be magic.
'It's funny how the symbol for fire is similar everywhere; it's almost as if fire looks the same everywhere.'
He opened the book and read the portions that weren't damaged:
[ Shaping is a common tool for every young mover, the ... traced to the ancient people of Rum Alma where they ... Invoking the name or incantations in a common language to shape and bend reality to one's will. It is .... to start with longer incantations that fit the mover's ... the more circles and knots you have, the easier it is. ]
"So there is some magic after all. It has to do with the voice. To invoke names and incantations... so probably something like calling fire to summon fire. Makes sense. I think it should say: the more circles and knots you have, the easier it should be."
He was now looking at the dark crystal the monster wolf had left behind. It had one circle around it, and on that circle were two knots. It was sealed, then. He needed to somehow absorb this to gain access to the shaping skill. He sat down and focused on the crystal. After a while, he started to feel it—the fading knowledge letting itself be invited in. It was a battle of besting one's will against something inside that crystal. And so, he let himself be thrown into it.
The world was swallowed by gray fog, and he was suddenly standing nowhere at all. It was hard to describe for a human used to three dimensions of space and one of time. He was now in a place that had four spatial dimensions, and he felt as if time didn't flow. He was simultaneously standing on a black, cold floor and levitating in nothingness. The black fog around him was all-consuming. There was an otherworldly scream coming from all around him and, at the same time, from a distant place ahead that he couldn't see. He didn't hear the scream; he felt it. And with it came fear—indescribable fear. It wasn't a normal predator-prey instinct, or a life-or-death situation. It wasn't even "something unknown" type of fear. It was existential anguish, as if the very concept of his existence was scared—as if the concept of fear had solidified into four spatial dimensions and black fog.
The fear was overwhelming and drowning. He wanted to scream, but his mouth wasn't emitting any sound. He instead screamed on an existential level. It was the same scream he felt coming from around and ahead of him, but much less intense. It felt as if the place itself was something forbidden, something mortals were never meant to gaze upon. The something that emanated that deep, intense existential scream scarred him in a way that would never be healed, and he suddenly lost all hope. Only his intelligence remained.
Then, he felt something deep within him. It was as if his intelligence had solidified. It was a concept. A piece of the concept of wisdom and intelligence was burning deep within him in a form similar to a monster core; however, it was purely white. There were no circles around the wisdom core, that had embedded itself in his existence, and no knots. The lively and intelligent golden light it emanated was dim and weak at first, but then it grew stronger and stronger until it became a violent outburst of light.
With that, he was reminded of what he had read in the half-destroyed book, and he willed himself to win. His mouth didn't open this time; his being spoke on an existential level. He didn't know how, but he spoke words describing his very being. He spoke his name into existence.
'Maledictus Sanguine'—that was the base of his being upon which he could build. His will now clashed with the fear conceptualized as the black fog. It was a violent clash between the concept of wisdom and the concept of fear. The clash lasted centuries, then millennia and eons. He felt the wisdom core start to change. It began to consume the primordial fear and started to weave a purple, ethereal ring around itself. It was the same circle as on the monster core he had picked up. But it didn't end there. As the fear began to lose and the wisdom started to dominate, two knots were tied on the fully formed ring around his core. His evolution was complete, and he found himself gasping for air on the floor of the destroyed library, back in the world under the white sky.
He lay on the cold floor for what felt like two hours. The feeling of fear had washed away, but he was extremely tired and his injuries hurt like hell. He slowly concentrated on where he felt the core; an image formed in his mind of a white stone illuminated by a calm light and, around it, a purple ring with two knots. He concentrated even more, and he could feel the name written on reality where the stone resided. It was time to try the Shaping skill the book detailed. He now had a wisdom core with one circle, which seemed to fulfill the needed prerequisite.
'By casting incantations and names in common language... hmm. I don't know any standardized spells, if there even are any. I have a name now. I should probably try something to heal myself. Let's not expect the incantation to heal me right away, but if I find something that works, I should be able to get ready in a few days and I should have meat until then.'
Sanguine—that was his name now. Maledictus Sanguine. He wondered what that could mean for some time, but then left the futile attempt behind. He concentrated on his core again. He assumed the magic would do something with his core and that the rings were probably indicators of how powerful he now was. If that was the case, then that wolf was truly the weakest monster. What didn't fit for now were the knots. Their meaning eluded his mind, but there would be ways to find out later. He concentrated his mind once more, thought about the name as the base, and then spoke.
"Heal."
As the words left his mouth, he felt the ethereal ring around his core twist once around its circumference. Then, he felt a sharp pain in his head, as if it were being split in two. At the same time, however, he felt his injuries begin the process of repair. He sat on the ground with his head in his arms, trying to withstand that horrible pain.
'Why does everything in this damn place hurt me so much...'
It was about five minutes before the pain finally stopped and Sanguine fell to the ground. One of the deep cuts was now fully healed, while the others unfortunately remained. He recalled the book again to try and conclude what he had done so wrong.
He sat and thought for two minutes, then stood up, concentrated, and spoke again.
"Let the flesh heal, the gaping wound close. Let my blood flow once again through healthy veins and wash away my pain. Let it be so done by the will of Sanguine. I command my body. Heal."