Running feels different when you're not just running from something.
It feels... sharper when you're running toward something.
My boots slapped against the cracked stone streets of Ashspire as I tore through the shadows, heart hammering.The Stone glyph thrummed under my skin — steady and solid, anchoring me to the ground even as my mind spun out of control.
Gangs would be searching for me by sunrise.The Authority too, if any of those glyphrunners ratted.
Didn't matter.
I wasn't going to be here.
Not for much longer.
I needed a way out. A real one this time.
The idea had been festering at the back of my mind for months, even before tonight.
Glyph Academies.
They weren't just for rich brats from the upper towers.
Technically, anyone with a glyph could apply — if you survived the entrance trials. If you proved you were worth training.
Normally?
No shot.The entrance exams were brutal and you needed a glyph to even enter the selection grounds.
No glyph? No chance.
I hadn't had one.
Until tonight.
Now?Now, I had Earth glyph burning under my skin.
Weak or not, it was mine.
And if I played it right, it could be my ticket out of the slums — out of Ashspire — out of the bloody nightmare I'd been born into.
I could go to an academy.Learn real glyphcraft.Get strong enough that nobody would ever make me run again.
Strong enough to climb the goddamn towers myself one day.
The dream sparked hard in my chest — painful, stupid, impossible.
But it was all I had.
The problem was dreams don't mean squat when you're still bleeding and broke in a gutter.
I needed a plan.And fast.
I ducked into a crumbling ruin off Smoke Alley, one of my old hideouts. A hole in the wall, literally. Small enough that even gutterkids had stopped using it.
Inside, it smelled like rot and dust and moldy blankets.
I collapsed into the corner, back against the wall, pulling my hood lower.
Gotta think.
First: I needed supplies.
Food for at least two days.
Water.
A pass-token to the Outer Docks — only way to sneak out of Ashspire without getting glyph-scanned.
And a way into the damn Academy trials without tipping off every bounty hunter between here and there.
Simple.
Only not at all.
I rubbed my hands over my face, feeling the raw edges of exhaustion biting into my bones.
The Stone glyph pulsed faintly under my ribs, a slow, steady beat.
It gave me strength — sure.But it was draining too.
I needed training.
Real training.
Not just "swing a rock and hope for the best."
Which meant getting to an Academy wasn't just a good idea.
It was survival.
I pulled out a scrap of cloth from my jacket.
Old, grimy, torn.
On it was scrawled the sigil of the Ashpire Academy — the smallest, most desperate glyph school still operating near Ashspire's outer rings.
Not a fancy place like Solspire Academy or the Ivory Towers.
But Ashpire Academy was known for taking in scraps.
Street rats.Orphans.Runaways.
People like me.
And once you got in...You were protected.The Authority couldn't just snatch you off the streets anymore.
Students were property of the Academies until graduation.
It wasn't freedom.It was a contract.
But it beat bleeding out in a gutter.
And it sure as hell beat getting glyph-marked by Morn's gang.
The entrance trials started in three days.
Location?The broken arena just outside Ashspire's south gate.
Open to any unaligned glyphbound who dared show up.
Survive the preliminary trials, impress a recruiter, and you got a sponsorship token, enough to get you into the Academy.
Lose? Best case scenario, you end up with broken bones.
Worst case?Dead.
Simple odds.
One in a hundred made it.
I didn't like those odds.
I grinned to myself in the darkness, the first real grin I'd felt in days.
"Three days to make it out."
"Three days to stop running."
"Three days to start fighting for real."
The problem was, I couldn't just show up like this.
No food, no backup, barely any practice with my glyph.
And no weapon.
A Earth glyph wasn't like Fire or Lightning — flashy, dangerous, instinctive.
Earth was stubborn. Heavy.It took work to make it move.
Right now, all I could do was maybe throw up a rock shield or slam the ground. All the stunts I pulled became before became difficult to replicate
That wasn't going to cut it against desperate streetfighters packing full glyph combos.
I needed an edge.
I needed to train.
And I had less than seventy-two hours to figure out how.
I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, breathing deep, letting the Earth glyph's steady pulse sink into me.
No mentors.No manuals.
Just instinct and raw grit.
Lord please help me.
Anyway ,that's how I have always lived.
I spent the next two hours experimenting.
Slow.
Careful.
Pulling on the glyph inside me, feeling how it connected to the world around me.
It wasn't about yelling commands at the glyph.
It was about listening.
The Earth didn't move because you told it to.It moved because you became part of it.
I knelt on the cracked floor, placed my hands flat against the stone, and whispered:
"Move."
Nothing.
I gritted my teeth, focusing harder, letting my anger bleed into the glyph.
"MOVE!"
The ground shuddered — just a tiny tremor.
But it was enough.
A pebble near my hand quivered, rolled a few inches.
I laughed loudly a hoarse, half-mad sound.
Pathetic?
Sure.
But it was a start.
By the time the first dirty light of dawn seeped through the cracks in the ruin, my hands were raw, my arms trembling, my body screaming in protest.
But I could feel it now, the connection.
Small, Fragile.
But growing.
I could make pebbles dance.Raise little stone spikes.Harden my skin in patches when I braced myself just right.
Nothing fancy.
But it would be enough.
If I moved fast and didn't get caught first.
I pulled my battered coat tighter and slipped back into the city before the sun fully rose.
Ashspire was already stirring , traders shouting, street markets setting up, glyph gangs stalking the alleys.
I moved like a ghost, head down, heart steady.
First stop was the food stalls. I snagged two meat rolls and a waterskin off a sleepy vendor, leaving a few coins behind. (I might be a thief, but I wasn't a monster.)
Next were the docks. I needed a pass-token.
Which meant I needed to visit someone I hadn't seen in a long time.
Someone who might hate my guts.
Someone who might sell me out for a better price.
But right now? I didn't have the luxury of better options.
I ducked into a low tavern near the canal bridges — a place called The Broken Fang.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and old glyphburn — the smell of failed spellcraft and worse decisions.
Behind the bar, polishing a cracked mug, was Mira.
Sharp-eyed.Sharper tongue.Former streetrat turned informant.
She spotted me the second I stepped through the door.
And her face twisted into a grin that was all teeth and no warmth.
"Well, well, look who the dogs dragged in."
"Hey Mira," I said, sliding onto a stool, keeping my hands where she could see them."No trouble. Just looking for a favor."
Her eyes flickered, noting the faint glyph glow under my skin.
"Finally got yourself Marked, huh?"She whistled low."Didn't think you'd survive long enough."
I shrugged.
"Neither did I."
She leaned closer.
"So what's the favour, Kid?"
I smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
It was the kind you wear when you've got nothing left to lose.
"I need a pass-token."
"And a way into the Arena Trials