Lyra walked through the city streets, her footsteps quiet against the stone pavement as the weight of the world seemed to hang over her. Despite the recent victory—advancing to E-rank, her first real recognition as an adventurer—it felt as though something crucial had slipped through her fingers. The whispers had grown louder again, more insistent, but they were no longer a source of guidance. Instead, they were a cacophony, a constant hum in the back of her mind.
She glanced at the armor resting on her back. It was heavier than before. Not physically, but in her soul. The whispers it held no longer felt like a blessing. They were a burden.
After the wolf's defeat, things had spiraled faster than she could comprehend. More missions followed—easy enough to complete, but none of them brought her the satisfaction she sought. And all the while, the whispers swirled and tangled inside the armor, seeking something from her. The pieces of her past, the fading memory of her parents, and the endless search for answers gnawed at her.
But she couldn't keep going like this. The armor had its limits, and she had reached them. She could feel it in her bones.
"I need to find him," she muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning the familiar city streets.
For days, she had tried to find the shopkeeper—the mysterious tailor who had given her the cursed armor—but every attempt was in vain. The shop never seemed to be where it had been before. At first, she thought it was just her failing to notice the hidden alcove where it once stood, but no matter how many alleys she searched, there was no sign of it.
It was the third night that brought her a semblance of relief. The streets were quieter now, the bustle of the day fading into the low murmur of night. The moonlight bathed the city in a silver glow, casting long shadows across the narrow streets.
Lyra's legs carried her almost by instinct, following the path she had walked so many times before. She turned a corner, and there it was. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light, a shadow cast by one of the nearby buildings. But no—there, at the end of the alley, stood the shop. The tailor's shop, appearing as if from nowhere, nestled in the heart of the city's forgotten corners.
She took a deep breath and walked towards it. Her heart quickened, though her feet remained steady. She didn't know what she was expecting to find, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the answers she sought lay within those walls.
The door creaked open, and Lyra stepped inside, the bell above the door ringing softly to announce her presence.
The shop was dimly lit, the walls lined with strange fabrics and materials she could barely name. There was no sign of the tailor, but Lyra didn't need him to guide her. She had been here before, and she knew the space as though it were a part of her now.
As she wandered deeper into the store, she spotted him in the back, near the farthest corner, bent over a workbench. His back was to her, his hands moving with practiced precision as he worked on something she couldn't make out.
He didn't acknowledge her at first, but she wasn't surprised. It was like him to remain distant, to make her come to him.
"I found it," Lyra said, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady, though the weight of the words made her throat tighten. "The obsidian shard."
At the sound of her voice, the tailor looked up, his expression unreadable as he slowly straightened.
"I see," he said, his voice low and soft. "And have you… done anything with it?"
Lyra hesitated, pulling the shard from the pouch at her waist. It was small but beautiful, its surface smooth and gleaming in the dim light. When she had first found it, it had felt like just another piece of the puzzle, an object of unknown origin. But now, it felt different—darker, heavier in her hand. The moment she touched it, it seemed to hum, as though calling to the armor on her back.
"I don't know what to do with it," she admitted. "I thought maybe you could—"
The tailor raised a hand, cutting her off. "No need to speak further," he said. "I know what this is. It is a piece of the armor. An extension of its power. And of yours."
He stepped closer, examining the shard closely before turning his gaze back to Lyra.
"You've already begun to change, haven't you? The whispers grow louder, more demanding," he said, his voice filled with a knowing calm. "The armor is asking for more from you. It wants to consume what it can, to grow, to take over. And yet, you have not yet understood its true purpose."
Lyra clenched her fists. The tailor's words cut through her like a blade, but they also made something inside of her stir—an anger, perhaps, or a fear she couldn't quite grasp. She wanted to ask him so many questions, wanted to understand the armor and the whispers and what they were pushing her toward, but the more she spoke with him, the less she felt she understood.
"I can't keep going like this," she said finally, the frustration bleeding into her voice. "I can't take any more whispers."
The tailor studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were weighing something heavy in his mind.
"You are right to be wary," he said. "But you must understand that this is not simply a matter of 'taking' or 'leaving' the whispers. They are bound to you now, Lyra. You cannot undo what has been done."
He reached out and took the obsidian shard from her hand, holding it delicately between his fingers.
"But there is a way to... manage them."
Lyra's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
The tailor's eyes gleamed. "You will merge the shard with your armor. It is the only way to stabilize the power it has taken from you. To extend the armor's limits."
She swallowed hard. "Will it hurt?"
He didn't answer her directly, but the look in his eyes was answer enough.
"Pain is part of the process," he said. "But you will survive it. You must."
Without another word, he took a step back and gestured to the armor on her back.
"Go ahead. Fuse the shard with the armor. It is the only way."
Lyra hesitated. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. But there was no other choice. She had to do this. If she wanted to control the whispers, to control the armor and the power it gave her, she needed to take this step.
With trembling hands, Lyra unstrapped the armor and placed it on the workbench. Then she held the obsidian shard in her palm and placed it near the chest plate.
At once, the shard began to glow, its light pulsing like a heartbeat. Lyra gasped, the sensation of the armor reacting to the shard's presence flooding through her. She could feel the fusion process beginning, the armor pulling the shard into its structure, but with it came a wave of searing pain. It was as if her very bones were being reshaped, the power inside her armor fighting to expand.
She cried out, clutching the edges of the workbench to steady herself, but the pain did not cease. The whispers in her mind surged, louder than ever, until they almost drowned out her thoughts.
And then, just as quickly as it began, it stopped. The fusion was complete.
Lyra collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath, her entire body shaking. But when she looked up, she saw that the armor was different. The shard was now embedded within the metal, a dark, shimmering core that pulsed with power.
The tailor was silent, watching her with his piercing gaze. Lyra's heart raced as she took in the changes. The armor felt... different. Stronger. More alive.
"You have done it," the tailor said quietly. "You have extended the limits of your armor."
"But what happens now?" Lyra asked, still recovering from the painful process. "What do I do now?"
The tailor gave a faint smile. "Now, you wait. The whispers will guide you."
And with that, he turned away and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lyra alone with her thoughts and the new power that pulsed within her armor.