(Dyn)

  Dyn cradled the shotgun in one arm, its barrel aoward the ceiling. The ma his other hand swayed gently with each step, the weight barely noticeable. He appreciated just how light the o.

  “None of the smithing armors will fit you, and we do not have time to resize them.” Wedge gave Dyn a sidelong gnce, his eyes scrutinizing the chubby man’s frame. “Besides, it would likely be too heavy for you, anyway.”

  Wedge swung the runelock door shut with a solid k and motioned for Dyn to follow as they resumed their search for armor.

  They reached another unmarked door. Wedge gripped the handle and pulled it open with a grunt, stepping aside for Dyn to enter first. Dyn wondered if the big guy had memorized the entire pce, or if there were magical signs only guild members could see. Or maybe it was just some other crazy magic shit.

  Wedge stacked yer after yer of stringed quilts over Dyn’s free shoulder. Unfortunately for him, the armor was exactly as heavy as it appeared. He estimated the overall weight for his armor and ons to be an additional twenty-five pounds.

  “Don’t you have lighter metal armor, like the ons?” Dyn adjusted the shotgun on his shoulder.

  “We do, but you are weak and misshapen,” Wedge said, almost ically. “Outfitting armor offers solid prote and will fit your proportions.”

  Dyn motioned with his head. “These are just heavy quilts with strings along the side.”

  “Correct.” Wedge nodded. “They will fit around your limbs and torso. We will tie the strings to secure them. The material is durable—softens blows, catches pierces on the mesh, and the fibers are cut-resistant.”

  Dyn frowned. “It’s going to make me look fat.”

  “It is not the armor that will make you look fat,” Wedge said dryly.

  “Hurtful, but fair.” Dyn sighed, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “And it looks like it’s going to be very warm.”

  “It will protect you.” Wedge shrugged and then added a nod. “Yes, you will be sweaty.”

  “What about the shotgun shells?” Dyn shifted the weight of the armor on his shoulder, still adjusting to its heft.

  “Ask Ni’ot. I am unsure what ammo your firearm uses. Wherial is plete, be sure to returhing to the armory.” Wedge said firmly as he met Dyn’s eyes.

  “What if somethis damaged? Or, you know, I lose it?” Dyn was out of limbs to scratch the itch at the back of his neck.

  “Equipment be repaired and repced,” Wedge said. “You are far more valuable. Use your equipment to make sure you do not get injured or worse.”

  ‘Been there, dohat, didn’t eve a t-shirt,’ Dyn thought with a wry smile.

  “What do I do with all this stuff?” He looked at the barrel on his right and then the mound of quilts on his left.

  “Pack it up and bring it tomorrow,” Wedge instructed, already turning toward the door. “I will find you a belt to hold your mace.”

  They exited the quilt room, and Wedge quickly secured the door behind them with a click. The echo of the closing door lingered in the air as they moved on.

  “Ni’ot will be at the smithing studios,” Wedge said.

  The big guy strode off toward the guildhall, his broad frame moving with purpose. Nathan had mentiohe crafting studios were oher side of the guildhall—opposite the dorms. So Dyn turned and made his way back to his room, eager to drop off his gear.

  He tossed the quilted armor onto the chair by his desk, their yers slumping into a heap. He propped the mace carefully against the wall o his wardrobe, gng down at the shotgun in his hand. Ni’ot would probably o see it to figure out the shells, so he’d keep it on him. Hopefully, no one would mind him wandering the stronghold armed with a gun.

  His stomach gurgled, reminding him he was overdue for a meal. He grabbed a loaf from the bed and unfolded the paper ing. As he walked, the aoving helped distract him from the fact he was chewing over-salted cardboard.

  Several guild members waved as he made his way toward the crafting studios. He couldn’t help but notice how every person he passed had ons stowed in increasingly creative spots—one drai even had a massive two-handed maul h in the air behind them.

  ‘Is that an ability or a magical on?’ he wondered, his gaze following the floating maul.

  As Dyn he crafting studios, his thoughts quieted. Each building had a sign above the runelock door, marking the profession inside. He approached the door that magically read “Smithing”.

  He knocked, and after a few moments, the door unlocked and creaked open, revealing a drai wearing aviatgles. Soot coated them from crest to toe, making it impossible to tell what color their scales were. A wave of oppressive heat billowed out from the door, and Dyn instinctively took a step back, the air scorg his skin.

  “What do you want?” the drai gruheir voice rough as they wiped a hand across their sooty face, smudging it further.

  Dyn had to raise his voice to be heard over the sizzling sounds from ihe studio. “I’m looking for Ni’ot!”

  “She’s not here,” the drai said ftly, already beginning to close the runelock door without a sed g him.

  Dyn spped his hand against the runelock door, a sharp jolt of pain shooting through his injury as he straio keep it from shutting. His firembled uhe pressure, but the door barely slowed.

  “ you at least tell me where she is?” Dyn strained as he fought to keep the door from smming shut.

  “Yeah, she’s out back,” a muffled voice called through the door just before it clicked shut, leaving Dyn standing awkwardly in front of the sealed entrance.

  He circled the building, his footsteps g softly on the gravel path. As he approached the open area behind the studios, the sound of heated voices carried on the air. Two elves and a well-muscled crimson drai stood around a fe, gesturing animatedly at each other. He reized the drai as Ni’ot—the woman he’d been looking for.

  He sed the area, reizing most of the equipment. A rge bvil domihe ter, while a wall lined with dark crystal tools gleamed nearby—chisels, hammers, punches, a hand ax, and far more tongs than Dyn could imagine anyone needing.

  Opposite the wall of tools stood a rge obsidian ring, its surface etched with pulsing e ruhe ter of the ring was eerily empty, its dark void humming with tent energy.

  ‘Is that a Stargate?’ he wondered. Dyn didn’t know the names of either elf, and, as usual, gave them niames.

  “I’m telling you, transmutation’s the best way,” Gal insisted. “You fe the on, shape it—without the need of expeools, and then turn it into crystal.”

  “Without expeools?” Guy balked. “Alchemist stones doly grow on trees.” He crossed his arms. “Plus, not everyone’s an alchemist, and Ni’ot keeps snag on my metal bars.” He gred at the fiery drai.

  Ni’ot crossed her muscled arms. “Maybe stop crafting with snacks?” Her tail flig pyfully behind her.

  “Or maybe just hide them better,” Gal shot back, smirking as they ganged up on him.

  “Any tips on where he should hide them?” Ni’ot asked.

  Gal ughed, shaking her head. “Not falling for it.”

  Ni’ot shrugged her well-developed shoulders, tinuing to smile.

  “Yeah, well, maybe if someo me use their demon core, I wouldn’t be stuck with b old metals,” Guy grumbled, griween Ni’ot and Gal.

  “Not gonna happen.” Ni’ot leaned back against the anvil, crossing her arms tighter, daring him to challenge her.

  “Fine.” Guy flicked a pebble with his boot. “Guess I’ll start saving up for a shaping hammer, then.”

  “Transmutation, dispt bonding, crystal shaping, molten iion molding—they’re all sed-rate pared to having an ability that lets you make crystal ons.” Ni’ot’s voice dripped with fidence as her tail swished zily behind her.

  Gal shot the obsidian gate an envious gnce. “Most of us aren’t as lucky as you.”

  Ni’ot straightened, her expression hardening. “Luck’s got nothing to do with it.” She held Gal’s gaze, her voice firm. “I’ve worked hard to influence my abilities.”

  “Hop’lin says if you want a banced powerset, you absorb all your orbs first, thehe glyphs,” Guy said, gesturing with his hands as if ying out a pn. “That way, they’ll pair with the orb that gives you the most synergistic ability.”

  “Sure, if you’re okay with leaving your abilities to ce, that’ll work,” Ni’ot replied with a fident smirk. “But I’ve got a very specific powerset in mind. Now, off with you both.” She waved them away dismissively. Her gaze flicked toward Dyn, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes. “There’s someone far more iing I’d like to talk to.”

  The elves grumbled as they returo their stations, leaving Ni’ot and Dyn alone. She fshed him a toothy grin, sending a shiver of fear—and something else—down his spine.

  “Hey there, handsome,” Ni’ot purred, her tail swaying zily behind her. “Heard you had a rough night in the infirmary after dinner. Gd to see you’re ba your feet.”

  ‘Goddamnit, Dyn, this is not the time to get a muscle mommy kink,’ he thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

  “Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat as he tried to shake off the awkwardness. “Wedge told me to e see you about getting shells for this shotgun.”

  “Give it here.” Ni’ot stepped closer, holding out her hand with a raised brow. Her gaze locked onto his, unblinking and intense.

  ‘Oh my. So that’s how it feels,’ he thought, swallowing hard as he handed her the shotgun. Her body seemed to radiate heat—whether from the fe or just his imagination, he couldn’t tell.

  She scrutihe firearm. “I remember making this one,” she said, turning it over with a nostalgic smile. “It was one of my firsts. Fires a scale to the left, if I recall. Never got around to recalibrating the sight.”

  The fiery drai strode to the wall of tools, her fingers lightly brushing past a row of tiny, dangling wrehey chimed softly as she found the one she wanted, plug it from the hook with a practiced flick. The wrench popped into the air, and with a quick motion, she caught it mid-flight. Her tongue peeked out from the er of her mouth in tration as she adjusted the front sight on the barrel

  “There,” Ni’ot said with satisfa. “Now she’ll shoot true.” She tossed the shotgun toward Dyn. “Catch.”

  He nearly fumbled the shotgun, scrambling to catch it before hugging it awkwardly to his chest—though not before it smacked him in the face.

  “That’s gonna leave a mark,” he muttered, rubbing his cheek.

  “I wondered if you were the ‘Dyn’ orial list,” Ni’ot said, her eyes sparkling with i. “Gd to hear you’re stig around. Means we’ll have time to… get to know each other better.”

  Dyn gnced away nervously. “Uh…”

  “Rex, I’m not hitting on you,” she said, though a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Unless… you want to be hit on. I’ve still got that bottle ba my room.” She raised an eyebrow, hooking a thumb over her shoulder toward the dorms.

  His cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Focus, Dyn. You’re here for shells, not… distras,’ he thought, shaking his head.

  “’t bme a girl f.” She shrugged. “Though I’m not sure we’d work out.”

  “And why not?” Dyn asked, surprising even himself with the sudden curiosity. ‘Is she negging me?’ he wondered.

  “Let’s just say… I don’t share well with others.” She leaned in slightly, her voice l. “While Meekan might be fih it, I’d need you all to myself.”

  Dyn blinked in fusion. “Wait, what about Meekan?

  Ni’ot chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, my sweet boy, it’s a good thing you’re so handsome.”

  “So, uh… about those shells?” Dyn cleared his throat as he awkwardly tried to steer the versation ba track.

  “We’ve got them stashed at the armory,” Ni’ot said, her teasing grin softening as she motioned for him to follow. “e on, I’ll show you.”

  Dyn followed the fiery drai out of the fe, the rhythmic king of tools fading behind them as they ehe quieter halls of the armory. Once baside the armory building, she quickly led them to another unmarked door.

  Ni’ot pced her hand on the nearby trol sb and the door clicked open, the familiar whir of spinning gears and shifting rods filling the air. They found boxes of ammunition stacked oal racks behind that door.

  “You got firearms ba Dirt?” She asked. Her cwed hand ran across the box bels until she found what she was looking for.

  “Yeah, my dad taught me how to use them,” Dyn said, his voice softening. That was before the fight, back wheill talked.

  Ni’ot snagged a leather pouch, unzipping it. Then she opened a nearby crate, revealing rows of multi-colored shells.

  “We’ve got three kinds of shells.” She picked up a yellow one and held it up between her fingers. “This one’s filled with small pellets—called light-shot.” She tossed it into the pouch with a casual flick of her wrist.

  “Then there’s the mid-shots.” She lifted an e shell between her fingers. “Larger pellets in these.” She dropped it into the pouch with a soft k.

  “And these beauties are heavy-shots, but I call them heartstoppers.” She held up a red shell, turning it over in her hand. “Just a solid slug—thid weighty, exactly the way I like ‘em.” She tossed it into the pouch with a satisfying thud. “And trust me, you’ll know when you’ve been struck by a heartstopper.” Her gaze drifted toward Dyn.