Swift hovered over the gloves laid out on Lee’s workbench. The tools were in place. The designs were drawn. But his mind was still weighing his options.

  After blacking out during his first attempt, the word indestructible felt too ambitious for his current level. He needed an easier blessing, more manageable.

  Something simple.

  Durable.

  It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t legendary. But it was real. Practical. Focused.

  He leaned in and began carefully carving the simplified pattern inside the first glove, modifying the intricacies based on what he learned from the vest’s blessing. When he pressed the last of the curves into the silk, the drain came hard—but not overwhelming. No dizziness. Just the distinct tug of BP draining away, like pressure bleeding from an inner reservoir.

  He checked his wrist. The tattoo had faded a bit, but not by much. Maybe thirty percent. A safe margin.

  Good.

  He repeated the process on the second glove—more confident this time. A faint shimmer pulsed along the stitches. The glimmer faded as he finished the second glove. There was a difference between attempting the gloves versus the vest.

  He turned and inspected the vest again, laying it flat and looking closely.

  There it was.

  The pattern was slightly off. One line jagged where it should’ve been smooth. A segment left unfinished.

  It didn’t work.

  The vest blessing didn’t take.

  So both gloves are successfully blessed.

  He was about to celebrate the small victory when the bell over the shop door jingled.

  Swift turned—and froze.

  Morrow stepped in, brushing road dust from his coat, a wide grin on his weathered face.

  “Well, now there’s a odd sight. Both of you in one place,” he said.

  Lee sighed. “Morrow.”

  “I need some boot work,” he said casually, stepping forward and unfastening his scuffed, reinforced boots. “They’ve been dragging through the forest again.”

  Swift’s eyes immediately flicked to the boots. Morrow told him a while ago that his boots are blessed—not unlike what he completed on his own gloves.

  “Those are blessed,” Swift said, almost instinctively.

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  Morrow glanced over, amused. “You’ve got sharp eyes. Yeah. Old pair. Speed and silence. Bit worn on the soles, though. Lee does the best repairs in the city.”

  Lee raised an eyebrow. “And yet you keep going to that cobbler across town.”

  “They’re closer,” Morrow grinned. “But yours hold up longer.”

  Swift stepped closer. “May I?”

  Morrow shrugged. “Sure. Just don’t steal ‘em.”

  Swift knelt and studied the boots. The material around the sole looked more intact than the sole itself.

  So maybe blessings only apply to the material they’re carved into? Not the whole item? Or maybe it depends on how the blessing was placed…

  He also noticed three distinct sets of markings layered in opposite locations.

  Three blessings. Confirmed.

  He could layer multiple blessings on his helmet: filters, protection, maybe even control toggles. But this leads to the next question:

  “How do you activate the blessings?” Swift asked.

  Morrow chuckled. “What, you think I’m sprinting through the city all day and night?”

  “Exactly,” Swift replied, deadpan.

  Morrow leaned back and scratched his beard. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like… I don’t think about it. I just move. My body knows what to do.”

  Swift pressed again. “What about the durability blessing? Is that one always on, or does it activate like the speed one?”

  Morrow paused. “Wait a second. How do you know it has a durable blessing?”

  Swift blinked.

  Morrow’s smile faded slightly. “I only mentioned speed and silence, not a durable blessing.”

  Swift looked to Lee, uncertain.

  She gave a small nod. “It’s okay. He’s one of us.”

  Swift exhaled and stood. “I’ve been researching. Experimenting. Just studying how it works. I haven’t gotten anything to stick yet.”

  I hate lying.

  Morrow's eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

  “I’m not breaking anything,” Swift argued. “I’m not using Church gear or trying to bless holy relics. Just gear I built myself.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Morrow said. “The Church protects that knowledge for a reason. If you mess with this and someone finds out—”

  “I’m being careful.”

  “You’re being curious,” Morrow said flatly. “That gets people vanished.”

  “I’m not stopping.”

  Morrow sighed and rubbed his temples. “Then don’t talk about it. Not out loud. Not to anyone else.”

  He paused, then tried again. “Promise me.”

  Swift didn’t answer.

  “I’m serious, Swift. I like you. You’re not stupid—but you are stubborn.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Swift finally said.

  Morrow nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”

  Lee handed back the repaired boots a few minutes later. Morrow pulled them on and tightened the straps.

  “Just… be careful,” he said as he left. “Both of you.”

  When the door closed, Swift turned back to Lee.

  “You think he’s right?”

  “He’s not wrong,” she said. “But he’s also not the one with your head.”

  Swift nodded. “I’m not done. I’m not even close. The helmet’s going to work. I’ll make it work.”

  Lee gave him a knowing look, then turned back to her workbench. Swift lingered near the front of the shop, letting his thoughts settle.

  Out of the corner of his eye, a flash reflected like a camera’s flash.

  Several of Lee’s older glass items—mugs, flasks, lantern lenses—had small decorative etchings across them. Swirling lines, stylized sigils, some faded by age or heat, but still distinct.

  “Can you teach me to do this?” he asked.

  Lee glanced over. “Etching?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  She gave him a long look, saw what he was thinking, and smiled. “Come on, then.”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening at the back workbench, working on discarded glass—some cracked, some chipped, perfect for practice. Lee showed him how to apply heat, pressure, and fine-carving to leave permanent designs. Swift’s hands were already steady from blessing work, and he adapted quickly.

  When she stepped out for a moment, Swift tested one or two small, harmless blessings into the glass—light patterns, visual amplifications. Nothing dangerous. Nothing powerful. But it was proof, blessings could be adapted to other mediums.

  The helmet is going to work.

  He left the shop tired, but energized in spirit. His mind was alight with combinations, layouts, sequences.

  But when he was almost back to the barracks, two guards approached and blocked his path.

  Did they come from the barracks?

  “Swift,” one of them said, hand resting near the grip of his sidearm. “We’ve been looking for you.”