"Finally!" Kael muttered as he finished, the word coming out in a breath that sounded more like he'd been holding his lungs shut for an hour than actually working at a desk.
His shoulders ached in that dull, unfamiliar way that came from repetitive precision rather than heavy labor. Construction work was simple in its cruelty: lift, carry, swing, repeat. This was different. This was the kind of effort that demanded focus. One wrong cut, one wrong seam, and he'd waste material that had taken blood and risk to earn.
In front of him, he had three decent-sized pieces of Black Basilisk Leather instead of the damaged ones. The transformation still felt a little unreal. A few taps with Brokk's hammer and something that had been half-ruined, chewed and torn and rotted at the edges, turned into clean, usable sheets like the Tower itself was reluctantly admitting he'd earned the right to make something decent.
