Songs of Souls

008: A Forge of Friendship

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!"