I carved the link beside the containment script, connecting them, and thereby creating a channel. The metal orb hummed faintly, and I felt the Anima in my hand respond as the containment effect of the script I had just created grew.
Links were one of the most important runes in Inscription because scripts like containment scripts were dense, and most materials would not be able to handle multiple containment scripts, and multiple containment scripts would clash, and instead of increasing the effect of the Inscriptions, the effects would be degraded.
Linking scripts were the answer to this problem, as they served multiple functions. It could expand the reach of a script and connect two different scripts.
I finished the link script and waited to see if there were any obvious leaks in the etchings I made. This was one of the problems that any Engraver would face. If any carving had slight errors in the carving, the Anima that was pressed into any cut would start to leak.
What was important to note, however, was that every Inscription leaks Anima, and the degree of that leakage was how you tell how good an Inscription was. The first Inscription I made would last for twenty years before it was fully degraded, and it was not because it was perfect, but it was due to the containment rune that could passively draw essence from the surroundings to replace the Anima that was lost.
However, in time, this constant exchange of essence would degrade the scripts until it fails. I could extend the lifespan of the Inscriptions by using Anima, since Anima does not degrade Inscriptions, but no mage would devote their time to feeding Inscriptions their Anima, and would rather get better at carving Inscriptions, ensuring that the amount of work the containment rune had to do to preserve the Inscription was greatly alleviated.
The more I looked at the two runes I had carved, the more I was satisfied with what I was looking at. I could barely feel any of my Anima leaking from it, and these etchings may just last for maybe fifty years.
I did not care that I was smiling, and I began carving the third script, which would be a trigger script.
I carved it on the other side of the orb. It would hold the command I would give it. A trigger script was one of the most important metrics to judge the power of an Inscription, as simple triggers like what I gave my first Inscription to wake me up precisely at the sixth hour every morning made it a simple Tier 1 Inscription.
The more complex the trigger script, the more scripts it was managing at the same time.
I was carving a Tier 1 script, but with the accuracy and power I was placing inside it at the moment, this would most likely be a peak Tier 1 Inscription, which was both rare and expensive.
I showed the orb to the Moon Fox, and she looked a bit disappointed. Maybe she was expecting more, and I grinned, knowing this was just the beginning.
With the basic foundation of the Inscription made, I began to carve more. Dozens of scripts, layering them, connecting them, building a structure that was simple but functional. Multiple link scripts, two more containment scripts, and another trigger script as a fail-safe.
The most important scripts here became the link scripts, as it was the glue that tied all of this together. The bone spike was not a perfect tool; it was too soft and brittle, as I noticed that it began to degrade as I used it, making me divert a part of my attention to ensure that I did not use too much force, but it was enough.
Each line I carved was precise, each curve deliberate, and over the next minutes, I could barely hear the soft scratching of the spike on the metal orb. It was simple and familiar, and for a moment, it was as if I had returned home.
The fox watched in silence, her silver eyes tracking my movements. "You’re good at this," she said.
I shrugged, "I’ve had practice."
"Not like this. You’re... you’re making something, and it is easier for you than killing things."
I paused. She was right. This was the first time in a long time that I had created something after what seemed like an eternity of battle. By the heavens, the disciplines I had chosen before the loop were noncombat disciplines, and I always wanted to be a Craft Mage, not one who called down Tribulations from the sky.
I knew that behaviors can be changed, and personalities could be rewritten, but it was surprising how much I had changed without me knowing it. I had been fixated on the big things, my fear of killing people, and the fate of the world, and I had slowly ignored the small things that gave me joy and purpose.
"I used to do this all the time," I said. "Before the loop. When the chores were done at home, I would carve things for myself and my sister; sometimes I did it for my parents. Small things, just to see if I could."
The fox pressed her nose against my hand. "You miss them."
"With every breath I take, a part of me longs for home. The world is too big, and the monsters that are within it are beyond counting."
I went back to carving. The scripts grew denser, more complex, as I worked. I decided to push the Inscription to the limit of what I could do. The containment scripts reached ten. I made four trigger scripts in total, and the link scripts slowly reached one hundred.
I remembered that a true peak Tier 1 Inscription should have at most 120 scripts. Of course, this did not mean you could not create a peak Tier 1 Inscription with a lesser amount of scripts, but 120 was the limit, and I had nearly reached it.
The bone spike grew warm in my hand, and the orb began to glow with a faint, steady light. When I was finished, I held the orb up to the dim light. It was rough, uneven, the scripts glowing faintly with the Anima I had infused into them.
The metal ball was too rough, and the scripts may not be the most beautiful, but by the heavens, it felt alive.
I reached into my chest and pulled a thread of Anima, just a thread, thin as a hair, and fed it into the orb. The scripts brightened, flared, and then settled into a steady, pulsing glow.
"Now for the voice," I said.