"AAAAAHHHRR!"

A flurry of wings ripped through the leaves above as Einntyr roared again. He gritted his teeth, pushing, straining, trying to draw it up from some unknown depth. His gut churned with emptiness. Sweat stung his eyes, mixing with the dirt caked on his skin. Their escape that night, the rush of energy, the sheer impossible power. Had it just been a fever dream? A cruel joke?

Fury erupted from him in a guttural growl, swallowed by the silence of the woods. He slammed a fist against a tree trunk, then another, and another still. Come on, come on! His thoughts were a relentless barrage against his skull as he struck the unyielding wood. Breath hitched in his chest, muscles screaming their protest. He slumped against the tree, the rough bark digging into his back, each breath a shallow gasp. Useless.

"Bah! Stuck again!" He grumbled, kicking at a loose rock. "Feels like I'm always fishing in a dry well, hoping for a magical fish to jump out and solve everything.”

"Better head back," he muttered to himself, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "No use flogging a... uh... dead wolf-boar?" He scratched his head. "Gran’s sayings always sounded better coming from her.”

Beyond the gate, Deynfif knelt by the yeferans, those grumpy forest horses actually letting him check them over. One even nudged its barky head against Deynfif's hand, like it wanted a good scratch behind the ears.

"You finished with those mounts yet, Deynfif?" He forced a grin, hoping his brother wouldn't notice how the words caught in his throat.

His brother looked up, Deynfif’s usual calm gaze meeting his. "How was it?”

"No luck," he muttered, fingers tightening around the satchel strap; the lagrings thumping against his side.

His brother's hand landed on his shoulder, a silent offering of comfort. "Don't stress it. You'll discover it soon.”

Deynfif was right, as always. But… It was frustrating! He clenched his jaw, tasting dirt and disappointment. From the gate, shouts of soldiers mixed with the continuous clang of hammers on metal drifted away. They were patchin' her up, makin' her strong. The Empire… could attack anytime.

The gate. Just looking at it… took him back to that night. Kyura and those crazy vines, exploding outta the ground with enough force to turn this whole fort into splinters and dust. They snagged those Miers soldiers like a spiderweb catching flies. That's what he needed, that kind of strength! But how did Kyura do it, without a fancy elemenium weapon like everyone else?

“Einntyr?” A hand slapped his shoulder, jolting him back to the present. "Come on, let's pay the smithy a visit.”

Boots pounded the dirt, orders flew through the air like angry sparrows, and the hum of energies from the elemenium tools thrummed everywhere they went, a constant, low drone in his head.

"Say, Deynfif," he started, scratching his head as he eyed his brother, "About Kyura... those vines she did... We sure it's smart, keepin' that a secret?”

Deynfif, quiet as always, stared up at the sky for a moment, fiddling with his scarf. "Have you noticed Hirua these days?" he finally said. "He burns with feelings now, with Kyura in his world.”

"True, true!" He grinned, giving his brother a playful nudge. "Hirua, always the grumpy one. Though, gotta admit, gettin' a rise outta him is kinda fun.”

Deynfif was smiling. "There's a joy there I haven't seen in him…” he uttered softly. "A joy I hope he never loses.”

His brother’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But you see, Einntyr, if word got out about Kyura, about her power…” Deynfif trailed off, shaking his head. “Kingdoms fought over elemenium, over power. Who knew what they’d do for someone like Kyura?”

"They'll never lay a finger on her!" He slammed his bandaged fist against his chest, the thud echoing his vow. “We'll protect her, right?” He had to be stronger, tougher. A shield for Deynfif’s calm and Hirua’s fire. For Kyura's… different kind of flame.

Deynfif just nodded, his usual calm replaced by a frown that could turn a blacksmith's forge cold. “That's why we need to get stronger. Even stronger than that Imperial with a wind blade.”

“Dungbreath jackal!” His bandaged knuckles rubbed against each other. Worthless. Their clash that night, the way the Imperial’s laughter had grated on him, sharper than the wind blade. Useless. Useless.

Clang! Clang! Clang! The hammer sang against elemenium as they walked into the smithy. The rhythm did a jig on his worries, those worries that had been doing a war dance on his insides ever since that dungbreath Imperial… Hold on a tick, something's not quite right…

Where the old blacksmith usually loomed like a mountain of muscle, there was...well, a slip of a thing. Brown hair chopped short, a band around her head with colorful patterns. And she couldn't be much older than him and Deynfif, hammering away like it was second nature, as if she'd been doing it since they learned to walk.

"Good zenlight! You two. D'ya need somethin’ forged?" The girl grinned, and even he had to admit, it was a grin that could make a rusty old sword think it was a shining hero's blade again. The kind of grin that made you believe in impossible things.

"Eh? Where's the old smith?" His head did a little wobble as his eyes scanned the workshop. Tools were everywhere, but somehow, it looked like they all knew exactly where they were supposed to be. Organized chaos - Gran used to call it that.

"Ya mean father? Out for a bit, buyin' supplies—" She glanced at Deynfif's staff, a twinkle in her eye. "Hey, that's the staff I forged! How's it workin'?”

"It performed well," Deynfif replied. "Though it has limitations.”

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"Of course! Inferior-grade elemenium, what can ya expect?" She shoved her face at the staff, examining it like it was some rare bug.

"Is there a way to enhance it, Miss Blacksmith?" Deynfif asked. Even surrounded by all this heat and grime, his brother was cool as a cucumber.

“Miss?” A giggle, like the tinkling of small bells, momentarily drowned out the rhythmic clanging. The girl's cheeks took on the rosy hue and her grin could've outshone the forge itself. “Just call me Tiedara, an apprentice earthsmith.”

"Unfortunately, once forged...” She shook her head, words spilling out in a rush. “Can’t do anything. I could only reforge it, but, uh, quality takes a dip.”

He stifled a yawn. Leave it to his brother to understand the ins and outs of elemenium forging. All those types and attributes made his head spin.

“A gentleman like you…” She grinned, diving into a crate of odds and ends. “Aha! Low-grade elemenium ore. Bit better than what’s in that staff of yours.”

Now that was interesting! He leaned in, curiosity bubbling like a potion on the verge of overflowing. The ore nestled in Tiedara's palm, was a shade of gray lighter than the inferior stuff – almost as if someone had polished away some of the dullness. Smoother, too.

"That's..." Deynfif's usually steady voice took on a slight wavering pitch. "A finer ore than I expected. You would part with it so readily?"

"That's what I said!" She winked. "Though it would cost you lots of yannies. Now tell me what you have in mind. You can add two attributes too.”

"Two?" Deynfif paused, fingers twisting in his scarf. "A Creation staff, with Direction and something... to increase the number of energy objects I can create.”

Tiedara tapped a finger against her chin, her brow crinkling. “That’d be... uh... Optimization! Yeah, that’s the word. It’s like, making the energy flow better.”

"Also, can you reforge this," Deynfif handed his staff. "A wand with an attribute that will inflict negative effects?”

Tiedara snatched the staff, flipping it between her fingers. "Certainly can! Affliction's what you'd call it, a support attribute… But listen closely," she whispered, leaning closer. "Support attributes are tricky. Only works on others, not on the wielder." Einntyr nodded, trying to follow along. Right. That was Deynfif's knack, not his. "And the effect depends on the user's energy type.”

"Wow," he breathed, “who knew there were so many ways to tweak these things?”

“Aye!” Tiedara counted with her fingers. “There are at least ten known attributes.”

"That many?" He cleared his throat, suddenly finding it hard to contain the question bubbling up inside him. "Miss Tiedara, any chance you could enhance these lagrings?" He held them out, a silent plea in the gesture.

"Aw, quit it with the 'Miss' already!" Tiedara fluttered her hand, fanning rapidly in front of her face, cheeks even redder than before. "But, no can do.”

His hands fell. Yeah, figured as much. Useless.

"Father mentioned ya," Tiedara continued, her eyes flicking from the lagrings back up to him. "Says ya can't emit energy yourself, but can only release the ones stored in those pure-grade lagrings of yours.”

He just nodded, that night replaying in his mind: throwing everything he had... and getting absolutely nowhere. Nothing.

"If only pure-grade lagrings had reactions when you touch ‘em," Tiedara whirled Deynfif’s staff. A polished rock appeared before them, as if mimicking an ore. "Maybe a pure-grade weapon will do the trick? Though, that's just me spittin' out ideas, eh?”

He imagined wielding a weapon forged from that ore, a tingle running up his arm. Could this be the answer? "Where do I get my hands on pure-grade elemenium?”

"Rare, but," Tiedara pointed in the Tower’s direction, "maybe you’ll find one in Luzterria. Only place with an elemenium mine, y'know.”

"Luzterria..." He tested the word, the strange sound of it rolling around in his mouth.

"Aye! The Archanate of Luzterria." Tiedara's hammer landed with a final ring, the silence after pressing in like a physical weight. "Ruled by the Archan, son of Solus, or so they say.”

He glanced at Deynfif. Yep, furrowed brows, same as always when something’s brewing in that brain of his. Luzterria… Now there was a thought. Maybe, just maybe, that was the key to knowing more of his condition. The Imperial jackal’s laughter echoed in his ears again. Useless. His lagrings, mere trinkets against such power. But leaving his brothers now, with the Imperials at their doorstep, and Luzterria too far away…

"Thanks a bunch, Miss Tiedara.” He forced a smile, "See you later.”

Stepping out of the warm smithy, the fort hit them like a wave. Soldiers zipped this way and that, faces set, a forest of serious frowns. Elbow to elbow with his brother, he got jostled around by the crowd. Every clang of metal, every barked order, made his stomach twist. What use was he, really? A useless sack of potatoes, that's what he was.

"You're quiet." Deynfif's voice cut through the noise. "Thinking about Luzterria?”

His fingers dug into his satchel, bandages straining. "Deynfif... what if I went to this Luzterria place?”

Deynfif's hand felt like a slab of stone on his shoulder, firm and reassuring. "You're worried.” A ghost of a smirk played on his brother's lips. "About leaving us behind?"

He scratched at his collar, suddenly feeling too warm in the crowded courtyard. Leave it to his brother to separate his worries from his thoughts, like sifting gold dust from riverbed gravel.

"After our escape... you haven't been the same.” That steady pressure on his shoulder was the only constant in a whirlwind of chaos. "If it would help you, then you should go.” Deynfif went silent, words jammed up like a clogged pipe. “We’ll hold the fort,” his brother muttered, a strained grin on his face. “The Captain’s tough as an ancient rock, remember? They won't be able to defeat him.”

"Thanks, brother. I’ll think about it.” He could do that. Think. Maybe thinking hard enough would magically turn him into an energy ball, exploding with different energies! He gripped his brother’s shoulder, forcing a grin. "Just gotta find me some of that fancy ore first, eh? Then it's 'move over, Empire! Einntyr's bringing the boom!'”

“Absolutely!” A glint of shiny stone caught his eye. Deynfif was unclasping his Eardian Bracelet. "That's right, you lost yours back in that mess." His brother held it out. "Here. I'll have Fyrvren make a new one, when we visit Eard.”

"Thank you, brother. I'll never part with this." His fingers tightened around the stones, their weight a sudden, crushing pressure. This was it then? Deynfif. Hirua. Kyura. Eard. He'd become strong for them. He had to. But north? Alone? His stomach twisted, tighter than a knot. What if - no. He wouldn’t think about that. Not now. Luzterria. The word echoed in his mind, bouncing around like a blacksmith’s hammer in a metal drum. Each breath felt heavy, like he'd inhaled a lungful of forge smoke. But the Empire…