Kira led him to a secluded workshop tucked into a natural hollow of a massive, ancient root. It was a space that felt older than the rest of the city, the walls lined with the skulls and carapaces of beasts that Sol didn’t even recognize.
"His na is Teshar. He’s the tribe’s best. There is nothing he can’t do with beast materials, but don’t mind his attitude. He’s a bit... singular." Kira warned.
Sol nodded, not caring much. In his experience, the more eccentric the craftsman, the better the result.
They stopped in front of a forge that looked surprisingly modest. Contrary to Sol’s imagination of a hulking, muscle-bound brute with a giant hamr, the man who stepped out to et them was lean, wiry, and carried himself with a dexterous, almost surgical precision.
He looked to be in his late 40s, his skin a map of fine scars and his eyes holding the sharp, analytical glint of soone that didn’t seem to see the people in front of him, only the materials they carried.
He didn’t even look up as they entered. He was busy polishing a piece of obsidian. After finally polishing, did he look up, but still, he didn’t bow, nor did he offer the Veynar salute. He simply gave a curt nod to Kira and a long, squinting look at Sol, as he wiped his hands on a grease-stained apron, and motioned for them to follow him into the dim interior of the workshop.
"You’re late," Teshar rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering over stone. "The essence in these hides doesn’t like to wait once it’s been awakened by the tanning salts."
"We had... matters to attend to," Kira said smoothly, though Sol caught the slight tint of pink on her ears.
Teshar grunted, before disappearing back into the shadows of his forge without a word.
"See?" Kira shrugged, her voice a whisper. "He only shows real respect to my mother. To everyone else, we’re just people who bring him things to cut and sew."
A few minutes later, Teshar erged again. He was carrying two large bundles wrapped in thick, protective cloth. He set them on a central wooden table, his movents suddenly losing their gruffness and becoming incredibly precise, almost holy, with a reverence that was entirely absent from his greeting.
Sol felt a surge of genuine excitent. In this world, equipnt wasn’t just aesthetic, it was a literal extension of one’s life expectancy.
With a flourish that bordered on the theatrical, Teshar pulled back the first cloth.
Resting there was a suit of light, segnted armor crafted entirely from the Great Badger’s hide. The material had been treated until it held a matte, silver-gray sheen, looking more like flexible tal than leather. It was reinforced with so tallic studs and lined with soft, sweat-wicking beast-fur.
"Look at it," Teshar whispered. His voice had transford. Gone was the stoic, disinterested craftsman, in his place stood an obsessive artist. He reached out and stroked the breastplate, his fingers trembling slightly. He actually leaned down and pressed his cheek against the silver hide, his eyes closing in a look of absolute, nauseating ecstasy. "The grain... the density... this hide rembers the tectonic weight of the Badger. It doesn’t just block strikes, it absorbs the force and distributes it across the entire surface. The strength! The defensive properties are... insane. This hide rembers the earth. It rembers the tectonic pressure of the Lord Badger."
"Without doubt, it is my second-best creation. Perfection. Absolute, silver perfection."
He looked up at Sol, his expression fierce. "You could take a direct hit from a Layer 4 warrior and walk away with nothing but a bruise. It is flexible enough for a scout and dense enough for a front-line juggernaut. It is... perfection."
Sol watched the man cuddle the armor and leaned over to Kira. "Is he... always like this? He’s literally cuddling my chest-piece." he asked quietly.
Kira didn’t even look surprised. She just shrugged, her hand resting on her hip. "Teshar doesn’t care about the war, or the Zharun, or the Zerith. He only cares about the things he makes. Even the armor my mother wears... the chitin plating... was made by him. He’s a genius, Sol. Just let him have his mont."
Sol recalled Warchief Veylara’s armor.... the way it seed to swallow the light. If this man made that, his obsession was well-earned. He felt a renewed appreciation for the wiry man currently whispering sweet nothings to his new chest-piece.
Seeing Teshar still lost in his embrace with the gray hide, Sol cleared his throat. "It looks incredible, the craftsmanship is... beyond anything I expected. " Sol said, trying to break the man’s trance. "Can I try it on?"
Teshar’s eyes snapped open. He looked at Sol with a suspicious, protective glare, his arms tightening around the armor like a mother shielding a child. He looked as though the very idea of a human body stretching his masterpiece was a personal insult.
But looking at both of them, he reluctantly nodded.
Sol gripped the shoulder straps, but Teshar held the waist-piece with a vice-like grip. Sol pulled gently, assuming the man was just being slow. The armor didn’t move.
Sol pulled. Teshar held on.
Sol pulled a bit harder, increasing the strength. Teshar, despite his lean fra, dug his heels into the dirt of the forge, his face turning a bright, angry red as he refused to release his masterpiece. For a full minute, it was a silent, codic tug-of-war. Sol would pull, dragging the wiry craftsman across the floor, and Teshar would scramble back, his hands locked on the silver hide as if it were a lifebuoy.
"Teshar, let go," Sol grunted, his patience thinning.
"Just... one more... check... on the seams!" the man wheezed, his eyes bulging.
Kira let out a loud, forced cough. "Teshar! The Warchief is coming! She’s right outside!"
The effect was instantaneous. Teshar practically jumped into the air with fright, his hands flying off the armor as if it had turned into white-hot coal. He snapped to attention, smoothing his apron and looking toward the entrance of the forge with wide, terrified eyes.
"Chief Veylara? I... I was just—" He stopped, scanning the empty doorway.
Kira doubled over, her laughter finally breaking through. "I was just joking, you old obsessive! My mother is still in the High Hall."
Teshar imdiately regained his grumpy, stoic composure, though his ears were burning a deep scarlet. "You... little girl. Always joking about serious business. You’ll give a heart attack before the Zerith even breach the first wall. See if I ever nd your boots again."
Sol didn’t wait for another round of the seesaw. He grabbed the armor before Teshar could reconsider and quickly began to strap it over his tunic. The fit was uncanny. It felt less like he was putting on gear and more like he was growing a second skin. As the final leather buckle clicked into place, he felt a profound shift in his physical baseline. The armor was heavy, yet it didn’t slow him down, instead, it seed to ground his center of gravity, making him feel as immovable as a mountain.
The silver-gray hide humd with a dormant, tectonic energy that resonated perfectly with the Great Badger soul in his core. He felt like he could stand in front of a charging rhino and not move an inch.
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