{Well, this was a bust.} Gryff emptied his right pocket, carefully removing all the shards of glass from it. Both Red-eye vials had been shattered, but luckily none of the glass had dug its way into his skin.

Feeling defeated, he began ascending the metallic building with the nimbleness of a small monkey -practically jumping from platform to platform- when suddenly he heard a clinking sound.

{I still have those, don’t I.} The weight of the amulet and the necklace were like a glimmering hope as they hung from his pocket. Gryff quickly jumped into one of the several window-like openings at the top of the building, propping himself against one of the walls with a single leg swinging off the ledge. From up there he had a clear view of the entire district.

It was getting dark out, and most of the residents were heading back to the dumps they called home. The once searing heat was replaced by an almost winter-like wind, that bit at his skin as if he were naked. The odd thing was, that not a single fire seemed to have been lit, the very few sources of light that Gryff could see were like small glowing spheres of yellow, and even then there were only a hand full of them floating along the streets.

{Sigh, I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this.} As Gryff thought this, he removed the communication’s amulet from his pocket, its pink crystal frame pulsated faintly within his hands, a low humming sound echoing with every pulse.

Gryff waited for a few minutes, until everyone had gone back to their houses before descending from the building. It was dangerous running at night, so he stalked quietly, taking care to look around him before continuing. On several occasions he saw groups of men standing guard in front of metallic gates, these were the gang members ordered to make sure their scrap wasn’t raided during the night.

In every group there was at least one person holding something metallic, from Gryff’s distance they looked to be sticks of some sort, but Gryff knew all too well what they actually were.

After sneaking his way deeper into the district -where the spaces in between buildings were so small that he was sometimes forced to walk on the roof- he finally reached his destination. It was a very small workshop, squeezed in between two high-rise buildings. If one was not looking for it, it would be very easy to pass by it without noticing.

“Old man Jacob,” whispered Gryff, gently tapping on the door while looking around.

“Old man J-“ A number of clicks, and several whining gears interrupted his knocking. Before the door swung open, the silhouette of a short man stood in front of the door staring at Gryff.

“Go away, I told you I don’t run a charity here.” The man seemed to be holding something in his right hand, the moon’s light just faintly made it's metallic bronze surface shimmer in the darkness of the night.

“I need your help.”

“Gryff? What are you doing out at this time child? Come in quickly.” The old man put away whatever he was holding, opening the door even wider for Gryff to pass. After making sure no one was following Gryff, he closed his door, the metal gears whining once again, followed by several clicks.

The man grabbed something off the table, turning a knob at its base, and with that the room suddenly had light. The object was made of different types of scrap seemingly plastered together, there was no glass casing covering its core, instead, the glowing center was left exposed to the air, giving out a choking smell as it burned through its fuel.

“Well, speak up boy. As much as I like the scrap you bring me, I’m not inclined to let you sleep here. Too many of my plans lying around, and although I trust you enough not to try and kill me in my sleep, I wouldn’t trust you with even my most useless design. Now talk.”

A large table made from pieces of metal stood to one side of the room, several metal articles resting on top of it. However, unlike the metal articles at Ryzen’s base, these seemed to shine with a lively gold, indicating that they must still have some use to them.

On the ground, several odd-looking items were cluttered about, their designs looked altered, like they had been hit with a mallet several times to reshape them for another purpose. A shelf on the other side of the room fashioned out of metal and wood held several oddly shaped objects, although it was certain they had been altered as well, they were less crude than the ones lying on the floor.

“I-I need a scrap blaster.” Gryff pulled out the silver necklace from his pocket, handing it to the old man.

“Hmm, real Arcross, you could eat for a whole month if you sold this. Why are you so desperate for a blaster? What are you trying to do?”

“I-I need to pull off a dangerous job, and the only way I can do it is with a blaster,” replied Gryff, clenching his fists.

“Can’t help you. Even if I wanted to make you a blaster, it’ll need a power core, and Saren metal isn’t going to cut it.” The old man handed Gryff back his necklace, the greedy fire glowing within his eyes overpowered by something more tender.

“What about this? Will this work?” As Gryff said this he held out the communication’s amulet, offering it to the old man.

“Where did you get that?”

“I picked it off an enforcer.”

“One does not merely pick these off enforcers. They’re going to kill you the next time they see you, you know, and trust me they don’t forget faces.” As the old man said this, he began inspecting the amulet anyway, picking a monocle-like glass off his table.

“So can you do it?”

“I can, but I’ll be taking both the necklace and the amulet’s frame as payment. You tell no one about this, understood. Now wait here, it will take a few hours.”

“Wait here? I have things to d-“

“I’m not letting you put me in danger by moving in and out of my workshop. If you want your blaster you’ll have to sit your ass down and wait.” The old man sat on an uncomfortable-looking metal chair, before pulling out a few tools from a drawer on the side of the table.

Soon the room was filled by the sound of metal clangs as the old man began shaping a large piece of copper-brown metal. Although his taps were gentle and precise there was no escaping the crudeness that would arise from doing metalwork without the use of a furnace.

“I never understood where crafters learned how to do this stuff. I mean, sure, everyone else learned from you, but who did you learn from?” asked Gryff, looking at a spherical object on the shelf.

“I invented all this stuff boy, when you’ve been alive as long as me you figure out a lot of things. Like how stuff like this blaster never has the effect it was intended for.”

“I’ve seen it used well enough before, the intended target became fodder for the soil after a few shots. So I'd say it's good enough,” replied Gryff, rolling the sphere in the palm of his hands.

“And I suppose that’s why you want one? I thought you were smarter than all this Gryff, once you take up arms you should be prepared to die. You still have a lot ahead of you, why throw all that away?” As the old man said this, he never once diverted his gaze from his work, hammering away at a few dents on the metal piece he was working on.

“This isn’t life, it’s hell. And soon, it’ll become even worse for me.” Gryff touched the top of his head as he said this, placing the sphere back in its place.

“And you blame the enforcers?”

“I don’t, I blame the gods, it’s their fault we’re walking disasters. And if a blaster could kill them, then I’d stake my life to do it.”

“Kid, you don’t know what it means to be prepared to die,” laughed the old man, turning to look at Gryff for a second.

“Revenge is a terrible thing child, trust me. Eye for an eye-“

“Makes the whole world blind, yeah I know, you’ve said that a dozen times.” As Gryff said this he leaned against the wall, preparing himself to sleep.

{Then maybe none of us deserve to see.}