NightEye

The Armor of the Hraskiln

Pux's POV

The armor gleams like the morning sun.

Instead of the silvery metallic iron of the other soldiers, my armor shines with ribbons of color. Yellow, gold, rose, red, purple, silver, gray, black, white, blue, green. All the colors of a morning sky at dawn.

The sunrise colors start at the top of the armor, on the shoulders. It darkens as it goes down, turning into the darkening sky of the west. Tiny pinpricks of white-stars-lace the greaves and boots. Even the leather straps are decorated.

My hand goes to my mouth against my will. The armor is gorgeous, without a doubt. Though I have no idea how Onyx got those colors on the iron, since the metal seems to not have lost its luster, so that rules out paint.

Onyx smiles at my reaction, then glances to Sam, who pokes his head in from the front. Sam’s green eyes are wide, and when we look at each other, we’re wearing the same surprised expressions.

“It took a while, but I finally got it right. Stayed up all night. You need to stand out, hraskiln, no matter what. It’s what you were made for,” Onyx says. I shake my head, still in shock. 

Onyx continues to look at me, and I force words out, though they’re not the ones I thought of. “Rie will never agree to this.” 

The armorer snorts, startling me. His small eyes glint with anger, and he says, “Rie can deal with it. If he has any complaints, then he’ll take them up with me. It’s because of my family that he’s even here. His disgraceful father took away any chance he had of fighting for his country. It was my grandfather, a famed general, that convinced the king to allow Rie to be a commander. So, he owes his place here to me.” 

I stare at the man, surprised by his fierce anger and pride. I glance over at Sam, who’s staring at me. My friend nods to the armor, and I feel my hands shake as I reach towards it.

Putting on armor is hard, I’ll say it now. It’s heavier than I thought, and I instantly dislike it. I’m used to free movement, to being light and quick as the wind through the trees. Not hulking around, straining to reach my bow and quiver, which I set down before I pulled the armor on. 

Onyx clicks his tongue, eyes skimming the armor. “Don’t reach for it,” he says, stepping forward to block me from getting my weapons. “Lose the knives. They’re jabbing into your hips,” Onyx continues. I snarl, but Sam woofs. 

I look over at him, and read the plea in his eyes. I mutter curses in Tilvani, which makes Onyx smile. I unhook the knives and sheaths from my belt, and place them on the ground at my feet. Even though I trust Sam with my life, I don’t want him to delve into the asara again. The one time was scary enough. 

Onyx circles me, placing his hand on certain places. I tense, but the man says, “Stay loose, NightEye. It’ll make it easier.” I snarl, but relax my body by sheer force of will. 

It takes a moment, but then I feel the metal soften, forming to my body even better. Onyx keeps his hand on my armor, his eyes glowing with a pale green light that shines from veins in his brown irises. Sam watches him, this weird descendent of a TerraEye. 

Once Onyx finishes his magic, the metal is practically a second skin. I can move freely, and I consider laughing at the strangeness and wonderfulness of it. Onyx smiles, though his face droops with tiredness. Like me, using his magic weakens him.

“Now, the metal is grafted to your skin. It can still be taken off, of course, but only by you. If anyone else touched you, then they would feel only metal,” Onyx says. Sam huffs a laugh and says, “So they’ll think she’s a robot.”