Nyxavere stared at the ring, but her gaze wasn't wide with fear or wonder. Not like Parker's. To her, it was familiar. Like a stuffed animal or an old lullaby. The shifting runes didn't overwhelm her; they glowed like harmless scribbles, cute even, like ancient symbols that danced and twirled just to keep her company.
She reached out without hesitation and picked it up.
The weight was real, yes—but it was hers. She'd worn rings like this all her life. Her entire existence, she'd been laced in concealments—crafted not by magic, but by Parker's own hands. He wasn't just her father. He was the most powerful Rune Master to ever breathe across timelines. These weren't just enchanted trinkets.
These rings were written from the Language of Existence itself.
The First Tongue.
The Oldest Code.
Runes etched from the marrow of reality.
