“Hey there, Thrymir. Ready to get to work?” I called as I stepped into the forge, giving the massive bear a wave and a grin.

He barely spared me a glance before nodding toward the anvil. “Hold this, boy.”

I rushed over, gripping the tongs he shoved into my hands. The metal piece within still held a dull red glow, freshly tempered. Thrymir turned away, grabbing a selection of smaller, intricate tools from his workbench, chisels, an engraving hammer, and a slender carving pen that gleamed under the forge light.

“Might as well show ya somethin’ while I finish this piece,” he muttered as he set to work.

I frowned, shifting the tongs slightly for a better grip as I studied the gauntlet he was working on. The craftsmanship was flawless, but what caught my eye were the shallow, curling engravings marking its surface. At first glance, they seemed like little more than decorative filigree, but the way Thrymir worked told a different story.

He picked up a fine-tipped chisel, resting its point against the metal, then gave it a measured tap with the engraving hammer. The result was a thin, precise line cut into the surface, a single stroke in a much larger design. He continued, strike after strike, each motion controlled, deliberate.

“These here,” he said, still focused on his work, “ain’t enchantments. They’re runes.”

I watched as he continued etching. “They don’t… do anything on their own?”

He let out a low chuckle. “Not a damn thing. Just pretty scratches without magic. But with an enchanter?” He lifted the gauntlet slightly, studying his work before setting it down. “They take hold. Deep. Without runes, magic fades quicker, don’t settle in proper.” He tapped the metal with a thick claw. “This? This makes sure enchantments stick. Enhances 'em. Strengthens 'em.”

I stared at the intricate lines, feeling the weight of his words. “And this is something I could learn?”

Thrymir snorted, setting the hammer aside. “Not yet, pup.” He shot me a sidelong look. “Runes ain’t just about carving lines in metal. You gotta know what you’re doin’, or you might as well be scribblin’ nonsense.” He grabbed the engraving pen, flipping it between his thick fingers. “You ain’t touchin’ this work ‘til you hit Master rank. Until then, just watch.”

And so, I did.

I watched every movement, every angle he held the chisels at, how he adjusted his grip, when he switched between tools. Every tap of the engraving hammer had purpose, every line he cut followed an invisible path only he could see.

When the chiseling was done, he stepped back, nodding toward the forge. “Reheat it.”

I moved quickly, placing the gauntlet back into the flames, watching as the metal darkened, then glowed a steady red. At his cue, I pulled it free with the tongs, placing it back on the anvil.

Thrymir reached for a thick leather pad, slipping it over his massive palm before picking up a new tool, a carving pen, its tip glowing faintly with a soft, eerie blue light. As he brought it closer to the hot metal, I noticed the way the glow pulsed slightly in response, like it was feeding off the heat.

Then, with slow, precise strokes, he traced over the etched lines, deepening them, smoothing out the edges where the chisel had left imperfections. The leather pad served as a barrier, keeping the heat from burning his hand as he worked. The moment the pen met the metal, the runes took on a faint shimmer, as if acknowledging the final touches.

It was methodical. Almost ritualistic.

When he was done, he had me set the gauntlet aside. “Right then, time to get to work on your armor. Wanna do chain or plate first?” He stretched, claws flexing as he rolled his shoulders.

A memory surfaced, the chainmail Theron and I had crafted back on Achui. The hours spent forging each link, the patience required. I had experience with chain, but working with Voltherium? That was a different beast entirely.

“Chain,” I said, nodding. “I’ve worked with it before, but interlacing this new metal is going to be a whole different world.”

“Aye, that’ll take the most time.” Thrymir gestured to a large crucible sitting in the corner of the shop. “Well, start by smeltin’ it all down. We’ll get to work on the links once it’s ready.”

Most of the night blurred by in a steady rhythm of forging, shaping, and refining. The Voltherium and Duriron were stubborn, resistant to merging at first. It took precise heat control, multiple foldings, and sheer determination to finally get the metals to accept one another. But once the process clicked, the result was striking.

The combination of the two metals didn’t just fuse; it transformed. What had once been two distinct materials melded into something entirely new, a black-steel laced with veins of silver-blue that pulsed like slow, steady breaths. It was heavier than standard chainmail, but despite its weight, the links moved seamlessly, maintaining the fluidity needed for unrestricted combat.

Mel needed durability without sacrificing flexibility. Strength without bulk. Something that would endure every devastating blow she took head-on. Yet also allow her to move with the spectral grace her ascension had given her.

Once the chain was complete, we moved on to reinforcing it.

Thin plates of the same blackened Voltherium alloy were forged and laced into the most vital areas. A reinforced plate sat beneath the chain at the chest and back, providing extra protection against direct strikes. Additional plating was interwoven into the thighs, reinforcing the front and rear while ensuring her movement remained unhindered.

The armor was heavier than anything she had worn before, but she was strong enough to bear the weight of something worthy of her stature.

Thrymir, satisfied with the craftsmanship, wasted no time picking up his engraving tools.

With precise, practiced strokes, he etched small runes into the plating, his clawed fingers deftly guiding the engraving pen. The Voltherium reacted subtly, the veins of silver-blue light pulsing ever so faintly as if responding to his touch. He kept the inscriptions minimal, only marking a handful of key places before setting his tools aside.

“If I did too much, the armor would reject someone as low in ascendancy as she is,” he explained, his single eye flicking to me. “You push too much power into an unready vessel, and it breaks. Simple as that.” He tapped a claw against one of the faintly glowing runes. “This? This is just enough. Enhances the way the metal channels force, makes it resonate better with enchantments. But nothing more.”

“So, if you were to inscribe the same kind of runes you used on that gauntlet onto armor for Mel or myself… it could actually kill us?” I asked, hesitation creeping into my voice.

Thrymir didn’t even look up, just gave a sharp nod. “Aye. That’s what I said.” Then he turned his single eye toward me and arched a brow, giving me the kind of look one gives a particularly slow-witted apprentice. “What, ya need me to spell it out for ya?”

Before I could respond, the door to the shop creaked open. As if drawn by some unseen force, Mel stepped inside.

“Hey, James, I was coming to…” She stopped mid-sentence, her turquoise eyes locking onto the armor laid out on the workbench. Her words died in her throat.

Thrymir jabbed a thumb in her direction. “This the one it’s for?”

I nodded.

The massive bear-man scrutinized her, then the armor. “Girl, you want more than the chest and leg pieces?”

Mel stayed silent for a long moment, her gaze never leaving the armor. I could see the gears turning in her head, the way her fingers flexed ever so slightly, itching to reach for it. Finally, she blinked, snapping herself out of whatever trance she had fallen into, and looked up at Thrymir.

“No, sir,” she said, her voice more controlled than I expected. “I’ve got some leather pieces to cover the rest.”

She was trying to be polite, but her eyes kept drifting back to the chain armor, her excitement barely contained.

Thrymir grunted, pushing himself up from his seat. He loomed over her, his towering frame a wall of white fur and sheer muscle as he circled her once. Then he glanced back at the armor, exhaling through his nose.

“Needs some adjustments,” he muttered before jerking his head toward a stool near the forge. “Sit over there and wait.”

Mel obeyed without question, which was rare in itself.

I watched Thrymir’s clawed hands moved with surprising precision, removing links, reshaping sections, making subtle yet necessary refinements to ensure the armor fit perfectly. Within minutes, he was done. He held up the finished pieces, inspecting them one last time before thrusting them toward her.

“Right. Come get it and get out.” His tone was gruff, but not unkind. “Got more teachin’ to do here, and he don’t got time for chit-chat.”

Mel was on her feet in an instant, practically snatching the armor from his grasp. “Thank you so much! I’ll start enchanting this right away!”

She turned to leave but then hesitated, shifting back toward me.

“Oh, right,” she said. “I was coming to ask if you wanted us to bring you anything to eat before we all head to bed?”

I shook my head, offering her a grateful smile. “No, I’ve got enough to get by, but thanks.”

She gave me a thumbs-up before turning on her heel and rushing out, her excitement radiating off her like heat.

Thrymir chuckled, shaking his head as he sat back down. “That one’s got fire in her.”

I smirked. “You have no idea.”

With that, I turned my gaze toward the remaining ore still sitting in the corner of the forge. “I, on the other hand, want all the pieces.”

Thrymir snorted, crossing his massive arms. “Before we do that, we need to get ya fitted with a gambeson. Can’t just slap metal on bare skin and call it armor.” He gestured for me to follow. “C’mon.”

I followed him through the village, passing several buildings until we reached a small shop nestled between two larger structures. The scent of fresh linen and dyed fabric drifted from inside as we stepped through the doorway.

The moment we entered, Thrymir raised a clawed hand in greeting. “Liyra, this is the boy I told ya about.” He gestured toward me with a sharp nod.

The woman behind the counter barely looked up at first. She was smaller, an elderly human with jet-black hair streaked with silver. Despite her age, there was a sharpness to her gaze, a keen awareness. She wore a finely made robe embroidered with a variety of colorful flowers, the intricate designs standing out against the deep indigo fabric.

“Right, right,” she muttered, rifling through a stack of neatly folded cloth. “Got the gambeson done up to the measurements you gave me.” She turned, retrieving a bundled package from behind the counter.

It was only when she set it down in front of me that she actually looked up. Her sharp eyes flicked over me, scrutinizing me in an instant before settling on Thrymir with an amused expression.

“Thrymir must really like you, boy,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Thrymir let out a deep grunt.

Liyra smirked before waving him off with a dismissive hand. “Oh, get out of here, ya grumpy old bastard.”

Thrymir let out a low, amused huff, but instead of arguing, he grabbed the package and shoved it into my chest, nearly knocking me back a step.

“Try it on,” Thrymir grunted, arms crossed. “Ain’t leavin’ ‘til we know it fits.”

Liyra scoffed, crossing her own arms. “You tellin’ me you don’t trust…”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

She didn’t get to finish.

“Old woman, I’m makin’ sure my old eyes ain’t deceivin’ me,” Thrymir cut in, waving a massive claw in irritation. “You hush and get back to work.”

Liyra huffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, piss off.” She flicked a dismissive hand at him before turning back to her own project.

I smirked at their exchange but said nothing as I pulled on the gambeson. The moment it settled over my shoulders, I knew, it was a perfect fit. The padding hugged my form snugly without restricting movement, the reinforced stitching layered just enough to absorb impact while still allowing flexibility.

I rolled my shoulders, testing the range. “Damn. This is solid work.”

Liyra turned just enough to shoot Thrymir a smug look. “Told ya.”

Thrymir grunted and turned, already heading back toward his shop. I lingered just a moment, glancing back at Liyra with a grateful smile as I mouthed a silent thank you.

She returned it with a knowing smirk, waving me off before returning to her work.

By the time we arrived back at his forge, I glanced up at the sky, noting the position of the moon. It was just past midnight.

I exhaled, shaking my head. “Does everyone in this town struggle with sleep?”

Thrymir snorted. “Nah. Just me and that old hag.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. It didn’t take a genius to see the bond between them. They spoke in barbs, but there was no malice in it, no sharp edge meant to wound. If anything, the insults carried more weight than simple words ever could, laced with the kind of respect that could only come from years of understanding.

We returned to the forge, the heat rolling over us in thick waves, the fire’s glow casting long shadows along the walls. Thrymir cracked his knuckles before grabbing a chunk of Voltherium and tossing it onto the anvil with a solid clang.

“Chest piece first,” he grunted. “It’ll take the longest. Need to get the thickness right before we shape the pauldrons.”

I nodded, already stepping forward to grab my hammer. The process began with heating the Voltherium to the point of softening, then folding it with the Duriron. The two metals clashed against one another, resisting at first, but as the heat increased, they began to merge. With every strike, the fusion deepened, darkening into a dense, black metal, its surface smooth as polished stone. But beneath the surface, something breathed. Veins of silver-blue ran through the plate, shifting and pulsing like rivers of energy, ebbing and flowing with each motion of the forge hammer.

It took hours, the repetitive rhythm of hammering, reheating, and quenching setting the only pace in the room. The weight of the metal was heavier than anything I’d worked with before, but that was what I wanted. Something solid. Something that could take a beating and not break.

By the time we had the chest plate’s final shape, it was nearly dawn.

Thrymir wiped his brow, eyes narrowing at the piece as he turned it under the forge light. “Good weight. Strong. This thing’ll outlast ya if ya don’t get yerself killed.”

I ran my fingers along the metal, feeling the way the veins within it pulsed faintly, like they were alive. “It’s perfect.”

He grunted in approval before setting it aside. “Now, the pauldrons.”

Unlike the chest piece, these had to be layered, rising high enough to shield my shoulders while still allowing for movement. The shaping was precise, meticulous. Thrymir handled the initial forming while I focused on smoothing the curves and reinforcing the edges.

When they were done, they weren’t just armor. They commanded presence. The black plates loomed just above my shoulders, the veins of silver-blue flickering faintly as if breathing in sync with the forge’s heat. The pauldrons felt like they belonged on a warlord, heavy yet perfectly balanced.

Finally, when the pieces were cooled and laid out before us, Thrymir grabbed his engraving tools.

“Now, for the rune.”

I watched closely as he etched an intricate design into the plate, his movements practiced, methodical. The engraving wasn’t just a simple rune; it sprawled across the chest in swirling, interwoven patterns, tribal in nature, almost like the old Norse designs I had seen back on Earth. The lines were fluid, curling and knotting together in an almost hypnotic rhythm, like rivers of power flowing across the surface of the black metal.

Worried about the sheer intricacy of it, I hesitated before speaking. “I thought you said…”

Thrymir cut me off with a grunt, not looking up from his work. “Some of it’s for show. The center’s where the real rune is. The rest? Just looks real pretty.”

Despite his casual words, I could tell it meant something more to him. There was a personal touch in the way he carved, like he was weaving a piece of his own history into the armor.

With the final strokes complete, he leaned back and ran a critical eye over his work. The engraved lines seemed almost alive, the silver-blue veins within the metal pulsing faintly as if responding to the energy of the rune.

Satisfied, Thrymir set the carving tools aside and stood, rolling his shoulders with a heavy sigh. “That’s enough for tonight. Rest. We finish the rest tomorrow.”

I nodded, but my gaze lingered on the armor. It was beautiful in its own way, heavy, imposing, powerful. More than just a piece of protection, it was a statement. A symbol of both strength and lineage.

The right pauldron extended a few inches higher at my neck, reinforced to protect the side I wielded Virellia. Its ridged design mimicked the layering of scales, offering both defense and an intimidating aesthetic. Small, thick protrusions curved outward, not purely decorative, but structured in a way that could catch or deflect incoming strikes rather than letting them glance directly toward my head.

The left pauldron, in contrast, was more traditional, rounded and built for flexibility, though it still retained the same scaled ridges for consistency in design.

The chest plate was crafted in overlapping layers, each one tapering into a sleek, ramp-like descent that hugged the piece beneath it. This allowed for greater movement while maintaining the armor’s reinforced structure. Despite the added weight, the design ensured flexibility without compromising defense. Beneath the plating, a fine layer of chainmail was woven in, preventing any blades from slipping between the layers and finding exposed flesh.

I smiled after admiring the piece one last time before setting it back on the bench. “Excited to start the rest tomorrow,” I said, then glanced over at the remaining ore. My brows furrowed; it was running low. “Do we have enough to finish?”

Thrymir let out a grunt, rubbing his chin as he studied the stockpile. “Don’t think so. Gonna need quite a bit more to finish the set. Duriron seems okay, but you should probably grab extra just in case.”

I nodded, already calculating in my head how much more we’d need. But he was much faster.

“I’d say about two-hundred pounds of Duriron and another three-hundred, maybe three-hundred and thirty pounds of Voltherium should do the trick,” he mused. “Might be overshootin’ a bit, but better to have too much than too little.”

I exhaled. “I’ll head out with my friends tomorrow, but depending on how long it takes, we might not be able to finish the armor until the day after.”

Thrymir gave me a skeptical look. “Shouldn’t take you that long with your elemental friend’s help.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, but I promised my wife I’d get any extra Voltherium to her. Means I need to bring back a haul big enough to have extra.”

He grunted in approval. “Fair enough. I’ll see you in two days then.”

With that, I left the forge and made my way back toward Brakor’s home. As I approached, I spotted the others gathered around the ever-present fire that Brakor seemed to keep burning at all times.

I waved with a grin before dropping down beside them with a satisfied grunt. “Hey guys, how’s it going?”

“Good!” Mel beamed, practically buzzing with excitement. “Got my armor all enchanted with the help of the village enchanter!”

I smirked. “Wanna test it out tomorrow?”

Her eyebrows shot up, and the rest of the group perked up as well.

“Nothing crazy,” I clarified, “but I need more ore. Gonna need all hands-on deck to get it as fast as possible. Leo, I’ll need you to help pull it up to the surface.”

I leaned back, stretching my shoulders. “We’ve got the whole day, so I want to bring in a massive haul. Enough to finish my armor, get some to Trish, and have some for future projects.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, I gotta wait on some potions to settle for a day or two anyway, so I’m free.”

Max grinned, flexing his fingers. “I’ve got some new toys I’d like to test out.”

Mel cracked her knuckles, her eyes gleaming. “Say no more.”

Trish leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Let’s get some rest and head out at first light.”

I smiled, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Sounds like a plan.”

The next morning, we wasted no time getting to work.

Leo’s elemental abilities made mining laughably efficient, within the first hour, he had already unearthed enough ore to match what we gathered last time. I worked to break it down into manageable chunks, while Max, Trish and Mel kept any curious beasts at bay.

By midday, we had surpassed our initial goal. By dusk, we had enough Voltherium and Duriron to last beyond my own needs, ensuring I could set aside a decent stockpile for Trish.

It was exhausting, but efficient. And as we finally hauled everything back to the village, I knew we had made good time.

The moment we returned, I barely took time to eat before heading straight to sleep.

At the forge Thrymir was already waiting, arms crossed, his ever-present scowl in place. He said nothing as I dumped the ore onto the floor beside the forge, simply grunting in approval before gesturing for me to start smelting.

With the Duriron and Voltherium melting down, we set to work.

The design came naturally. The heavy black metal gleamed under the forge’s glow, its veins of silver-blue flowing like molten rivers along the surface, breathing with each flicker of light.

We shaped the helm piece by piece, layering the metals into interlocking plates for increased protection without sacrificing movement. The faceplate was reinforced, sculpted with a subtle ridge down the center to deflect blows.

I designed the eye slits narrow but functional, enough to provide excellent vision while making direct strikes to the eyes almost impossible. A faint glow pulsed from the Voltherium’s veins, casting an eerie shimmer within the openings.

Thrymir took the engraver and etched intricate swirling patterns across the helm, similar to the ones on the chest plate. These were not purely for aesthetics, though beautiful, they followed the natural flow of the Voltherium’s veins, enhancing the armor’s structure rather than overwhelming it.

On the forehead, he inscribed a singular rune, smaller than the one on the chest but just as precise. “Anything more would reject you,” he muttered as he worked, carefully tracing the sigil. “This is enough to make the metal sing to you but not burn you alive.”

When it was finished, I held the helm up to the light. It was imposing, a piece worthy of a warrior. The layered plates ensured it would take more than a well-placed strike to crack it, and the weight was substantial, but not overwhelming.

Next came the gauntlets.

Rather than opting for segmented armor, we forged them as a seamless blend of overlapping plates, reinforced in high-impact areas to ensure durability without compromising dexterity.

The knuckles were reinforced with raised ridges, thick enough to provide an advantage in hand-to-hand combat but not so large as to hinder movement.

Unlike the chest plate and helm, the gauntlets had a more aggressive aesthetic, sleek, yet edged, with sharp angular designs etched into the metal rather than swirling patterns. The silver-blue veins pulsed beneath the surface, concentrated along the knuckles and wrist guards, as if channeling unseen power.

Thrymir added a smaller set of runes, barely noticeable unless studied closely. “Minimal reinforcement,” he explained. “Enough to stabilize the energy flow but not overwhelm you.”

We approached the leg armor with the same care as the chest piece, layered for mobility, but reinforced where necessary.

The thigh guards were composed of multiple interlocked plates, each layer sloping downward in a subtle ridge-like design, mimicking the structure of the chest piece. Chain was fastened beneath, ensuring nothing could slip through the gaps.

The knees were given special attention, Thrymir insisted on reinforcing them with an extra layer of metal, shaping them to curve naturally with movement. The Voltherium veins ran in structured patterns along the leg plates, glowing faintly as the heat from the forge met the metal.

When we tested them, they moved well, but their weight was undeniable.

“Won’t be the fastest thing in a sprint,” Thrymir noted, “but you ain’t gonna be fallin’ apart in a fight either.”

The boots were the final challenge.

Like the gauntlets, they were built for both function and impact. Heavy, durable, and reinforced at the toe and heel. The plating followed the same black metal design, with flowing Voltherium veins breathing along the surface.

To enhance traction, Thrymir worked a pattern into the soles, ensuring grip on uncertain terrain. The sides had layered reinforcement without restricting ankle movement.

When I slid them on, they felt natural, heavy, yes, but balanced.

Thrymir grunted in approval, giving the metal a final once-over before setting the engraver down. “That’s the last of it.”

I ran my hands over the armor laid out before me, a full set, complete. The craftsmanship was beyond anything I had ever worn before, sleek, powerful, resilient.

A warrior’s second skin.

Thrymir exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “That’s enough for tonight. Rest. I’ll make some adjustments to ensure everything fits properly. Pick it up tomorrow night.”

I nodded, taking one last lingering look at the armor before stepping away.

It was more intimidating than I had ever imagined.

By the time I stepped outside, the first hints of morning light were creeping over the horizon. We had worked through the night again. A grin tugged at my lips as I made my way back to Brakor’s, exhaustion finally creeping in now that the excitement had settled. The weight of my lids didn’t truly hit me until I collapsed onto the hay, literally.

I woke to the sound of voices outside.

Blinking against the midday sun filtering in through the hut’s cracks, I sat up abruptly. Noon?! I had slept far longer than I intended.

Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, I hurried outside.

Trish was already waiting, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face. “Hey there, babe. I was hoping you’d sleep longer, but I guess that spell wore off faster than I thought.”

I paused mid-step, narrowing my eyes. “Spell?”

She held up a small, empty scroll. “Yeah, something I picked up to make sure you actually got real rest.” Then, before I could protest, she lifted a hand. “Thrymir told me your armor won’t be ready until tonight, so don’t even think about getting grumpy with me.”

Before I could respond, Esmara let out an amused huff from her seat near the fire. “Should be grateful, pup. Just like my husband, always chasing strength but never taking care of the strength in here.” She tapped a clawed finger against her temple.

I let out a breath, feeling warmth flood through me. “Alright, alright. You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you, love.” I smiled, pressing a kiss to Trish’s forehead.

“That’s better.” She smirked, then kissed my cheek. “Now eat something and hang out with me for a bit. Give me some normalcy before we dive back into fighting and end-of-the-realms type stuff.”

A lump formed in my throat at that. She always knew how to ground me, remind me of what really mattered.

“That…” I exhaled, a slow smile forming. “That is something I would love to do.”

I sat down on the stump beside the fire, the warmth of the flames and Trish’s presence wrapping around me like a moment stolen from a simpler life.

Nightfall settled over the land, the last remnants of sunlight painting the horizon in soft hues of orange and deepening blue. The stars began to peek through the veil of twilight, distant embers scattered across the sky.

Trish and I lay nestled together beneath it, her back resting against my chest, my arms wrapped securely around her. The warmth of her body pressed into mine as I leaned against the boulder in the small clearing just beyond the hut.

A perfect moment. One I wanted to hold onto forever.

“It reminds me of home,” she murmured, her voice soft, wistful.

I felt her shift, and then she turned to face me fully, golden-brown eyes shimmering in the dimming light. “Heart to heart?” she asked, her expression hopeful, that familiar, adorable look that always managed to undo me.

I smiled, unable to resist her. “I’d like nothing more.”

Her face lit up, and in an instant, she wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms encircling my shoulders. I held her just as tightly, pressing her close, feeling her heartbeat against mine. Slowly, they synced, each beat falling into rhythm, steady, connected.

We stayed like that, breathing in each other’s presence, until she pulled back just enough to capture my lips in a deep, lingering kiss, one filled with warmth, love, and the quiet promise of always.

When she pulled away, her eyes flickered between mine, filled with nothing but love. “Thank you for today,” she whispered.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, she grinned and stood, grabbing my hands and pulling me up with far more strength than I had expected.

“Now,” she said, her grin widening, “let’s go get your armor.”

Excitement surged through me at the thought. Soon, I’d finally get to wear it, feel its weight, and prepare for the dungeons next.