The worn satchel's coarse grain rasped against Einntyr's palm, his fingers itching to reach the treasures within. Inside, three smooth crystals nestled against his fingers. A faint warmth, a gentle light, emanated from them. "These aren't just any lagrings, my dear boy," Gran’s voice echoed in his memory, "They're yours, meant for no one else..."

His thumb traced the faceted surface of one. Gran’s face, wrinkled with kindness, swam before his eyes whenever he looked at these stones. The day he received them, the crystals had felt warm in his palm, the tingling spreading up his arm until it felt like his whole body buzzed.

He could still hear young Hirua's scoff, "Hah! Look at Einntyr and his pebbles!" The sting of that memory made his grip on the lagrings tighten; he remembered the countless times he'd failed to channel energy like the others. But Deynfif had placed a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him like a stone anchor. He was different, true, but that didn't mean he was less.

A voice boomed out, deep and loud, "New recruits, eh? Looking for some proper weapons, are you?" A giant of a blacksmith stepped out from the workshop, a hammer heavy in one hand. "We've only got Inferior Grade Elemeniums here," the blacksmith said, a grin tugging at his beard. "But I guarantee you, our skills are graded superior!"

Hirua nudged him hard. "I need—"

No you won’t! But he was already clutching his lagrings, pushing Hirua's words aside. With a flourish, he presented three crystals. "Mister Blacksmith, sir! Tell us about these lagrings."

Hirua's impatience crackled like a poorly banked fire. "Look, Einntyr, we don't have time for your–"

"Hold on, Hirua," Deynfif interjected. He nodded towards him. “There might be a strategic advantage in hearing him out."

The blacksmith chuckled, his deep rumble echoing in the workshop. “Hmmmm… lagring you say?”

He watched with bated breath as the blacksmith’s meaty hands gently cradled the faceted lagring. The smith held it close to his eye.

"Well, well," the blacksmith boomed, holding the lagring closer, his gaze snapped wide like a startled hawk's. “Solus alight!” The smith’s fingers tightened around the lagring.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his gut twisted. Something was happening.

"Where in Craiddhol did you find these…?" The smith’s words trailed off, eyebrows drawing together.

The echoing silence pulsed with a strange hum, growing louder with each beat of his heart. His eyes darted to the blacksmith's face, the anticipation bubbling up inside him like a boiling cauldron.

The blacksmith's brow furrowed, lips pressed tight as if holding back a storm.

What is it? He could barely contain his energy, a grin threatening to crack his cheeks. This is too exciting! His toes curled inside his boots, legs bouncing.

“These lagrings..." The blacksmith began, his deep voice a low rumble that resonated through Einntyr's bones. "...are made of Pure Grade Elemenium!”

The words echoed in his ears like hammer blows. The lagring's hum resonated in his very bones. Its glow seemed to burn brighter, warmth spreading through his veins like wildfire. His eyes met Hirua's. For a fleeting moment, something flickered in those usually grumpy depths - maybe surprise?

But a new puzzle tickled at him, more exciting than any riddle. How could these crystals be worth so much? Grandma had always said they were special, but this? What else were they hiding?

He threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that echoed off the workshop walls. He clapped Hirua on the back with force, which made him grunt. "See, I told you they were special!"

The smith's smile, once wide and boisterous, tightened at the edges. "Aye, special indeed. Finest you'll ever find.”

"Purest grade, you say?" Hirua's voice rasped, his brow knitting together in a frown that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

The smith nodded, his beard bobbing. "Aye. Rare as a muckledeor in a meadow these days. War has a way of drying up even the most plentiful resources." He shook his head, gaze fixed on the lagring. "Back in the day, elemenium mines were everywhere. Now, there's only one source left, and everyone's scrambling for a piece."

The blacksmith's eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening as he held the lagring to the light. "Why, to own just one Pure Grade Elemenium the size of this lagring would be a fortune! Enough to build a whole castle, I reckon!”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

He bounced on his heels, a joyful whoop bubbling up in his chest. His fingers tightened around a lagring. He couldn't imagine parting with them, not for all the gold in Craiddhol. "Gran wouldn't want me to just get rid of them, y'know? They're like family to me!"

Deynfif's hand landed on his shoulder, a comforting weight. "A sound point, Einntyr. Value isn't always measured in coin. Sentiment can hold a greater weight in our emotional spheres."

The blacksmith chuckled, stroking his beard. "Aye, that's true." He leaned closer, his voice hushed as if sharing a secret. "Usually, it's reserved for the finest weapons and armor – powerful stuff!" The smith turned a lagring over in his hands, then paused, his voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur. His finger tapped lightly against the crystal. "But these..." he trailed off, his gaze fixed on the crystal. "Lagrings? They're not forged for battle. They store energies, see? More for everyday use, for tools and tinkering."

Different. The word wasn't an echo, but a hum, vibrating through the lagring in his hand. He clutched it tighter, its warmth spreading through his fingers. Maybe not a weapon, but still powerful. Just like him. Gran wouldn't lie. A grin tugged at his lips. These crystals were special. He could feel it in his bones.

Hirua rolled his eyes, scoffed. "Einntyr, come on! Shiny pebbles over a proper blade? You donkey!"

The familiar sting of Hirua's words barely registered. They bounced off him like pebbles off armor, a feeling he knew all too well. But the way Hirua gripped his breeches’ side pocket... his brother’s familiar wound he knew how to soothe.

His grin widened, fingers tightening around the lagring. They hummed against his palm, a warmth spreading through him like the first rays of kindling light. With a playful swoop, he caught Hirua in a headlock, mussing his hair. "Hey now, these pebbles pack a punch!" he chuckled, his shoulders bouncing with mirth. "Besides, with me around, you won't need a sword. I'm your walking, talking, fist-fighting fortress!"

The burly smith boomed with laughter. "Now that's the kind of camaraderie I like to see! A team that sticks together, that's what makes a true warrior. Maybe these lagrings aren't for war, but they sure say a lot about your friendship, eh?”

A sharp inhale of breath cut through the rhythmic clang of the hammer. "Hold on a moment," the blacksmith muttered, his brow furrowing as he held one of the lagrings to the light.

He bounced on his heels. “There’s more?” His heart thrummed in his chest like a blacksmith's hammer.

The smith's thick fingers tapped the lagring. It glittered under the forge's light. "Forged differently, that's for sure." The blacksmith's eyes gleamed, and he gestured with his hands as he explained. "Usually, lagrings need four smiths – one for Fire, Earth, Water, and Air. It's a dance of elements, see? They temper the elemenium with their combined energies."

Hirua's foot tapped a steady beat on the stone floor, the sound weaving in and out of the clanging hammers. "Alright, alright, let's get to the actual weapons already! Can we skip the—"

The smith's chuckle rumbled through the room, cutting Hirua short. "Patience, lad!" The blacksmith winked. "Not every day I see lagrings like these! A rare treat, aye, and a chance to learn something new!” With a swift hop, he moved to a workbench, setting the lagring down with care. "These haven't been tempered by the primary energies. Not even a whiff of the secondaries! It's a single, unknown energy.” He tapped the crystal. "Fascinating!"

"So now let’s—” Hirua started, but Deynfif held up a hand. "Is there more to this story, perhaps?” His brother leaned forward, eyes fixed on the lagring.

"Aye!" The blacksmith boomed, planting a hand on his hip. "A testament to a unique skill, or perhaps otherworldly energy. Either way, it's a sight to behold."

"Otherworldly energy", he repeated under his breath, Gran's words echoing in his ears. Hirua's foot tapped a rapid beat against the stone floor, but Deynfif just stood there, still as a mountain.

"Alright then, let's start crafting your weapons!" The smith's booming voice seemed to crackle with the forge's heat. "Choose the Emission Type first. Infusion, Extrusion, Creation, or Expulsion." The blacksmith's eyes crinkled as a hearty chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Then let's add one attribute..."

His gaze bounced between Hirua and Deynfif. He grinned, picturing the weapons they'd choose. The smith's hammer beat like his own excited heart. Though he couldn't wield elemenium weapons, he held his prized lagrings close. Hirua's foot tapped out a beat on the floor, faster and faster. His brother’s lips twitched. Was that a smile? He had to tease him about it later. Deynfif stood still, looking past the forge, past the tools, past everything. But a tiny muscle jumped near his brother’s eye. He was trying to look calm, but he was excited too.

Brothers. A good warmth spread through him, better than the forge. I'll keep them safe. He squeezed his lagrings. They hummed against his skin, strong and steady, like his heart.

The blacksmith’s booming voice cut through the air, "Consider it done," he declared with a wide grin. "These weapons will be forged with the utmost care, free of charge!" A wink landed on him. "A token of my appreciation for the opportunity to witness such exceptional craftsmanship."

He threw up his arms, letting out a whoop of pure joy, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement. He grinned, meeting Hirua's gaze. Maybe, just maybe, a flicker of a smile hid beneath that perpetual scowl. He caught Deynfif’s approving nod from the corner of his eye, a smile tugging at his lips.

Stepping out, he grinned as the smithy's heat gave way to the cool dimlight air. He glanced back, catching the blacksmith giving him a wink and a nod. A warmth spread through him, not from the forge, but from something deeper.

He bumped shoulders with Hirua, a playful jab that earned him a grunt and a shove back. He chuckled, the lagrings nestled safe in his satchel. Hirua, always grumbling, but always there. Deynfif, quiet, thinking, but with a hand on his shoulder when he needed it most. A team, that's what the blacksmith had said. He squeezed the lagrings in his satchel, a grin spreading across his face. Yeah, a team. Maybe he couldn't channel energy like they could, maybe his strength came from somewhere else entirely. But with Hirua at his side and Deynfif watching their backs, he didn't need to. They were his energy, strong and true.