I rubbed my eyes, checked the candle was still burning strong, and then settled down to read.

  Entry XVIII – The Art of Runecraft

  Runecraft is the language of the Void made flesh. It is not mere inscription or the scratching of shapes into stone or paper, it is the act of binding a fragment of the Void into the fabric of the world. A Rune is a promise, a demand, and a curse all at once. It is a word that reality cannot ignore.

  You will fail. Let me make this clear from the beginning. You will craft a Rune and it will burn, or sputter, or lie dormant in defiance of your will. You will wonder if you are mad, or worse, a fool. But do not despair; failure is the first proof of learning. The Void does not suffer the unworthy, but it relishes persistence.

  Form is Function

  A Rune’s shape is everything. Each curve, each angle, each stroke carries intent. To carve, draw, or etch a Rune is to give it form, but every line must be precise. A deviation, even the thickness of a hair, can distort the effect or invite unintended consequences.

  Begin simply. A single stroke is safer than many. Complex Runes are for the desperate and the foolish.

  The Medium Matters

  A Rune carved into stone will endure. A Rune drawn in chalk will fade. A Rune etched into flesh will consume. The medium you choose is not simply a tool, it is a partner in the power you Craft.

  Alloys conduct. Wood breathes. Paper whispers. Flesh hungers. Learn these truths before you commit to any Craft.

  Every Rune Needs Fuel

  A Rune is lifeless without power. To awaken it, you must feed it. Blood is the simplest fuel, it carries the essence of life and the will of the caster. But beware, for the more blood you give, the more the Void takes.

  Other sources of power exist: heat, light, breath, even pain. Each has its cost and its consequences. Choose wisely, for the fuel determines the strength and nature of the Rune.

  Intention is the Key

  Runecraft is more than copying symbols. Your will must align with the Rune’s design. To craft without purpose is to invite chaos. The Hollow spoke of intent as a knife, it must be sharp, honed to a single point.

  Before you etch a line, ask yourself: What do I desire?

  The Rune Is Never Alone

  A single Rune is a whisper, but a sequence of Runes is a song. Runes can be combined, but the greater the complexity, the greater the risk. The lines must flow, the meanings must align, or it will unravel.

  Begin with pairs. Test their harmony. Only the reckless attempt a chorus.

  I could barely contain my excitement now. Here it was, exactly the knowledge that I had been blundering around in the dark searching for! It seemed I had subconsciously done some of the process correctly. But I had never considered the medium of my Runes. Perhaps, that’s why my experiments with the stones had failed on the roof. Could it also be why my Bang Rocks seemed to work better now than when I was using pebbles? I had stumbled upon the use of intention and it was gratifying to know I had been right, although seeing it so clearly in words clarified my understanding of the process. My heart was beating faster now. Fuel. That explained why I was so tired when overusing my equipment. The Runes fed from me. That could also explain why no matter how much I slept I still felt tired.

  I stretched out my neck and continued to read feverishly.

  Prepare Your Tools

  

  
• A blade for carving or cutting.


  

  

  
• Ink infused with salt or ash for drawing.


  

  

  
• A surface that can endure the weight of your will.


  

  Etch the Rune

  Follow the pattern exactly as you have learned it. Do not rush. The act of creation is as important as the shape itself.

  Fuel the Rune

  Offer blood, breath, or another source of power. Feel the Rune awaken beneath your hand.

  Speak Its Name

  Each Rune has a name, though it cannot be spoken in mortal tongues. Instead, the name is an intention. Hold that intention in your mind, let it fill you, and then release it into the Rune.

  Observe the Effect

  Did the Rune answer your call? Did it burn too brightly or fade too quickly? The Rune will always teach you, if you are willing to listen.

  I had used salt water when etching my Zap Knuckle plates, is that why they seemed to work better than my other enchantments? The world of possibilities was opening up before me… then I felt a cold lump of ice hit my stomach as I continued to read.

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  The Void hungers for understanding, but it will never feed you without cost. Each Rune you create brings you closer to its grasp. It whispers to you, not in words, but in the ache of your fingers and the weight of your thoughts.

  And remember this: Runes do not die when you leave them behind. A forgotten Rune is never lost and always dangerous.

  Proceed with care,

  The Hollow Tongue

  The more Runes I discovered and used… the closer to the Void I became? Was the Void that eyeless monster? Was that the Hollow? I shivered and felt a presence on the back of my neck. Is that why my nightmares were becoming more intense? The more I learned, the more powerful I became, the more attached to the wraith I was? The feeling made my mouth go dry. I swallowed painfully and sat back from the book.

  I had been seen. And I would return. That was what the thing had told me. It was right.

  I yawned deeply, my jaw cracking as I did, and my shoulder throbbed intensely. My eyes hurt and itched, and I felt drained, as drained as I had been when I was overusing my powers. But I wanted more. I was hungry. Even just the little bit of knowledge I had gleaned from the book so far had widened my understanding, and I was already feeling the pulse of endless possibilities from that new knowledge.

  I flipped over to the next page, expecting to see a continuation of the Runecraft, but the page was blank. I flipped to the next page, and the words were all in some strange jumbled order. The next page was just wild scribbles and scratches. I needed to stay focused. Everything I'd learned so far had been about intention and concentration. I closed my eyes and forced myself back into a state of alertness, dispelling the exhaustion creeping in, ignoring the pain of my various wounds and the ache at the base of my skull. I wanted something new, something new to practice, something new to incorporate into what I had just learned. Something I could use against the Syndicate.

  I flipped through the pages again slowly, willing the book to reveal its secrets to me. The candle flickered, and I tried to push everything else out of my mind, staring at the pages, pouring my intention through my fingertips as I methodically turned them. Finally, I saw a picture. It looked like it had been drawn with dark ink and depicted a forest at night. There was a large moon hanging in the sky, and all the trees were bare of leaves. At the bottom of the picture, I saw a figure creeping through the forest, veiled in an ethereal darkness.

  I looked at the picture and felt like I could see it moving. I could see the trees swaying in the wind and the figure creeping, blanketed in some sort of black mist. I kept watching, my eyes focusing and unfocusing. Exhaustion was pushing me to my limit now. My eyes were going blurry. But then I saw it. There was no way I couldn't have seen it. There were four Runes.

  There seemed to be a main one in the middle. It looked like a triangle with three arrows going downwards, and then around it, there were three smaller sigils in a triangular pattern. One was a circle with a dot inside of it, the other was a thicker circle with no dot, and the third was a ring of three circles, each getting thinner as they went into the centre. I quickly grabbed my pen to begin jotting down what I was seeing, but there was no pen. There was no desk. I looked up, and the only light was the guttering candle, and I knew with chilling certainty where I was.

  In the distance, I saw the tree, its claw-like branches stretching towards a moon that was far too big but gave off no light. And there was the silhouette. It turned its eyeless face towards me and smiled… I jumped in panic, snorted, and sat upright. I looked around. The book was closed, the candle was still flickering. Had I fallen asleep? What happened? I began to turn my head and remembered the warning of the book: do not turn into the darkness.

  I scrabbled for my WristPod and hit the torch button, and a light filled the room. Suddenly, everything felt normal again. I looked out the window and saw that it was pitch black. How long had I been asleep for? I didn't even remember falling asleep. I wiped drool from the corner of my mouth, and I felt like I hadn't slept for days or eaten in weeks. I felt fragile, like someone suffering from a really bad flu. My muscles ached, my stomach churned, and bile gurgled into the back of my throat. I rubbed my eyes and I saw that my fingertips were coated lightly in ink.

  “Ugh”, I groaned.

  I pushed myself back from the desk, stood up, and stretched mightily before hiding the Codex away in its special place. Turning the light on in my bedroom felt much better. I opened my door and walked to the bathroom, turning all the lights on in the flat as I went. The electric bulbs buzzed, dispelling the paranoia and anxiety that darkness brought to me nowadays.

  Images of the tree and that thing smiling at me kept flashing across my vision. I felt panic rising in my chest. I blinked furiously and shook my head, the sudden motion caused pain to flare from my shoulder. That dispelled the fog of terror. Pain was good. Pain was real. At the sink, I checked on my shoulder wound. It wasn’t healing well. I grimaced, clenched my jaw and went through the arduous process of cleaning, sterilising and bandaging it again. By the time I was done, I was panting and sweating and in too much agony to even think about the nightmare. I checked my head wound, went through the same process, and then checked on my various bruises and lumps to see if they were healing. After that, I brushed my teeth and washed my fingertips. As I went to dry my hands, I noticed the ink was still there. It was very light, just more of a discolouration of the fingertips than anything. I went back to the sink, pumped more soap into my hand, and scrubbed at my fingertips, but the ink wouldn't budge. I scrubbed and scrubbed and soaked them and scrubbed them until they began to turn pruney, but the ink wouldn't budge.

  I raised my fingertips up to my eyes. That didn't seem good, it didn't seem good at all. I dried my hands and limped back to my room, fear gnawing at the corners of my attention. Then suddenly, I remembered the Runes. I pictured the figure in the forest crouching in the darkness, obscured by that ethereal black mist. Hastily, I grabbed a pen and one of my journals and etched down the Runes exactly as I saw them, remembering Hollow Tongue's advice that the Runes must be absolutely precise. As I drew them, I could see the crystallised image in my mind and I replicated it with immense care. When I was done, I looked at the pattern and chewed on my lip before writing above it: "Cloaking spell?"

  Even that little bit of will required to keep the image in my mind and copy it precisely left me feeling sickly and weak. I wanted to hit the streets tonight but I could barely keep upright. I slumped on to my bed and fell into a deep sleep haunted by inhuman silhouettes and whispers in the darkness.