The runes do not just glow. They sing.
A low, resonant hum rises from the floor beneath us, vibrating through the stone, through my bones, through every thread of magic inside the air. The ruins shake. Dust rains down from fractured stone beams overhead. Hairline cracks crawl up the walls like veins waking under skin. My pulse slams in my chest, frantic and raw.
Hazel crouches beside the runes, her hands hovering inches above them. Lines of gold and black flicker beneath her palms, shifting like liquid metal. Every symbol rearranges itself in real time, runes folding into new shapes, words rewriting themselves without sound.
She pales. “These runes are alive.”
Her voice trembles as she reads, eyes darting left and right, following the glowing sigils like they might tear free from the f
