Grub and Luthiel stepped through the door of the shop.
The interior was warm. Heat radiated from somewhere deeper in the building, carrying with it the faint smell of hot metal and burning coal. The walls were lined with finished weapons, tools, and pieces of armor in various stages of completion. Hammers hung from hooks. Tongs rested in racks. The floor was stone, darkened with years of soot and use.
Grub's eyes moved across the room quickly, cataloguing everything. Then they landed on the man behind the counter.
He was short. Very short. A squat, furry figure with a long, thick beard that hung past his waist. Round ears sat on top of his head and when he opened his mouth to speak to his current customer, Grub caught a glimpse of sharp teeth. His arms were thick and muscular despite his size, built for the kind of repetitive heavy work that came with shaping metal all day.
The customer standing in front of him was tall and wore the white vestments with ripped sleeves that Grub had come to recognize. A Guardian. The short man handed the Guardian a freshly forged sword, speaking a few words as he did. The Guardian took the weapon, turned to leave, and caught sight of Grub and Luthiel near the entrance.
His expression soured. A small scowl crossed his face before he walked past them and out the door without a word.
Grub quietly watched him leave.
After staring blankly at the door Grub walked casually toward the counter. Luthiel followed beside him, and then suddenly raised her hand and yelled.
"SIR URGOR!"
Her voice practically exploded through the room. The furry man turned to face the source of the noise and his entire face lit up.
"Ahh! Luthiel! How are ye, lass?"
He hurried out from behind the counter surprisingly quickly for someone with such short legs and waddled over to her with his arms open. Luthiel knelt down and wrapped him in a hug, her mitten-like hands pressing into his furry back. He was short enough that even with Luthiel crouching, the top of his head barely reached her chin.
Grub watched the exchange silently. Luthiel was already pretty short as far as he was concerned, and Grub himself was average to slightly below average height compared to the other survivors back at the Ridge. So this man was impressively small, almost comically so. Yet despite that, the way he carried himself made it obvious he was respected
Urgor pulled back from the hug and looked up at Luthiel with warm eyes. Then his expression shifted to something more professional. He studied her carefully, his gaze running along the seams of her arms and the stitching visible at her collar.
"Ye body holdin' up good?" he asked. "Come in for repairs, eh? That body of yours is one surprisingly hard thing to get right, ye know. Not used to workin' so much with softy parts."
Luthiel shook her head with a smile.
"No, no, I'm fine. This boy here needs a weapon. That's why we're here, Sir."
Urgor turned to Grub and examined him. His round eyes traveled up and down slowly, taking in the white coat, the lanky frame, the blank expression.
"Oh, ye's that weird boy, eh?" He stroked his beard. "Heard a lot about yer, boy. Definitely not a creature I know, but I won't pry about it." He scratched one of his round ears. "What is it ye want? If ye's with Luthiel here, then I suppose I can do ye a favor and give ye a good one for free. Only 'cause ye's with Luthiel, though."
He waddled back behind the counter and climbed up on a stool so he could see over it properly.
"So, what'll it be?"
Grub thought for a moment. What type of weapon did he want?
His mind went back to his old club. The trusty piece of wood that had been with him since the Ridge. He had carried it through the wilderness, through the Lacert camp, through everything. He had used it to kill creatures, carve tools, and defend himself more times than he could count.
And then Luthiel had knocked him out in the forest and he had never seen it again.
It hadn't occurred to him until now. He had been so busy since arriving at the village—the trial, the classes, the bracelet, the library, the Jangushut—that he hadn't even thought about it. But now, standing in a weapons shop, the absence hit him clearly.
He turned to Luthiel.
"Hey. What happened to my club?"
Luthiel looked at him, confused.
"Hm? What are you talking about?"
"My club. The wooden weapon I had on me when I got here." He stared at her flatly. "When you knocked me out in the forest, I never saw it again."
Luthiel thought for a second. Her face went through several subtle shifts before she replied.
"I think they disposed of it. It was just some wood, so they tossed it."
Grub scowled.
That weapon had helped him survive more than a few situations that should have killed him. Hearing it was just thrown away like garbage pissed him off more than he expected.
From behind the counter, Urgor spoke up.
"So ye wielded a club, eh?" He tapped a stubby finger against the wood. "I could make ye something like that. Something that hits like a club but is easier to carry and more practical. What d'ye think?"
Grub's mind drifted back to the Lacert camp. The sparring matches. The weight of the morning star in his hand. The way the balance had felt natural, the spiked head giving every swing a finality that a wooden club couldn't match.
He had chosen it on instinct back then. It had felt right.
"I'd like a morning star," Grub said. "Something like a mace. A spiked ball on top of a stick, essentially."
Urgor stroked his beard and nodded slowly.
"Aye, I hear ye. If that's what ye want, I can do it." He leaned forward on his stool. "What materials do ye have for me?"
Luthiel stepped forward.
"Did Master Morrigan stop by recently with a bag of ore? That's the material. She told me she would drop it off a while back."
Urgor nodded. "Aye, she did indeed. I thought the Great Chief wanted me to make 'er another weapon." He glanced at Grub. "So it was for the lad here, eh?"
He hopped off his stool and waddled toward the back of the shop, still talking as he went.
"Alrighty, I'll get the ore from the back and get started on it." He paused and scratched his chin. "Though, I gotta say, it's strange. The ore she brought me—it's the kind made to store massive energy. Much like the structure of yer body, Luthiel. Built to hold and channel, not just endure."
He glanced back at Grub.
"I can't say the grade'll be high, but the material supports growth. It's a good choice, but strange." He squinted. "I don't sense the boy havin' enough Anima to warrant that kind of material, but I'll do whatever the Great Sage asks. And whatever Luthiel wants too."
He grabbed a heavy sack from the corner and hefted it onto his shoulder with surprising ease.
"Not sure when it'll be done, but I'll be sure to get it to ye when it is."
Grub bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."
Urgor waved a stubby hand dismissively. "Don't mention it, lad."
Grub and Luthiel turned and headed for the door. Luthiel made it two steps before suddenly spinning around and running back to give the short man one more hug. Urgor laughed and patted her on the back with one thick hand before shooing her off.
"Take care, lass."
"You too!"
Then she hurried back as Grub let out a sigh.
"Do you just hug everyone?"
"Only people I like."
Grub wasn't sure how to respond to that. So he didn't. Outside, Grub sighed and slid his hands into his pockets.
"Where to next?"
Luthiel grabbed his arm again. Her golden eyes sparkled.
"We're going to the park!"
Then, without warning, she reached over and pulled up his sleeve.
The fabric slid back, exposing his forearm. The bandage beneath had shifted overnight and the burn marks were clearly visible—red, raw, and unmistakable against his skin. Grub's blood went cold. He jerked his arm instinctively, but Luthiel's grip held. Her golden eyes locked onto the burns. The sparkle was gone and something sharper had taken its place.
He was lucky. It wasn't the arm with the Mgbaaka Maara. But the damage was just as damning.
Luthiel's gaze lifted slowly from the burns to his face. Her expression hadn't shifted from its golden-eyed warmth, but her voice carried a weight that hadn't been there a second ago.
"There," she said quietly, still holding his arm. "We will continue our talk."