Wukong stepped over a root that pulsed with flowing runes under his foot.
The surface of the root lit up with dozens of tiny moving symbols. They crawled across the wood like living insects, scrambling over each other in quick, nervous patterns before settling back into stillness. Wukong stopped. He crouched down low. He poked the root with one finger and watched the runes flare brighter for a moment, glowing warm gold against the dark bark, before fading back to their resting state.
"Thes runes are far more sophisticated from than the prison scribbles," he muttered, pulling his finger back. "If i were to compare them it will be like a baby scribbles against a computer printed document. They are really not on the same level."
