Two days after his talk with Inara, Swift walked through the misty morning streets of Crescent City with Excalibur slung across his back. He arrived at Lee’s workshop just after sunrise. The streets were still sleepy, but his mind was buzzing with anticipation and tension.

  Today would be the first test—the first real blessing.

  Lee was hunched over the final touches of the helmet, brass pivots glinting beneath her magnifying lens as she adjusted the mask mechanism.

  She didn’t look up as he entered. “You’re early.”

  “I slept like someone who didn’t piss off a room full of spiders,” he replied, setting the vest on the workbench.

  She smirked. “Perfect. I’m almost done with the helmet. You might pass out after seeing it.”

  Swift didn’t respond. He was already deep in focus, unfolding the vest with precision, laying it flat with the inner lining exposed.

  He’d decided to start here. The vest had the largest internal surface, and it was closest to his center mass. It wasn’t about looks—it was about function.

  And he wanted just one word.

  Indestructible.

  It had taken him all yesterday to draft the symbolic interpretation. He couldn't simply carve “indestructible” in English—or any other spoken language. Inara had told him blessings had to be meaningful, not just labeled. Through what he’d gleaned from the old book and her warning, he crafted a circular sequence of symbols—each character not spelling the word directly, but representing its core:

  Resist. Withstand. Endure. Survive.

  He took a breath, finger trembling slightly as he began to carve the symbols into the silk-reinforced inner lining with a heated blade.

  Each stroke burned more than fabric. His pulse slowed. Breaths came heavier. A faint ringing bloomed in his ears—familiar, like blood rushing through tunnels.

  His BP was draining.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Swift didn’t stop. He pressed harder, dragging the blade through the last curve of the last rune, letting his mind lock onto the echoing of a single word.

  Indestructible.

  A tunnel closed in on his vision, removing all light from his sight.

  He woke up to shaking.

  A voice.

  “Swift—Swift, hey—are you okay?”

  Lee’s hands were gripping his shoulders, her face only inches from his, brow furrowed with worry.

  He blinked slowly. His heartbeat pounded like war drums in his ears. His vision returned in waves.

  He looked down.

  The vest lay beside him, still intact. The inside marked up from the attempted engraving.

  Instinctively, he turned his wrist and looked at his tattoo.

  Still two dots.

  They were faded, almost translucent, but not smaller.

  And even as he stared, the ink slowly darkened.

  He waited.

  And waited.

  The BP was… replenishing.

  Lee’s voice came again, low but insistent. “Swift, you passed out. What happened?”

  He sat up slowly, still groggy. “I’m okay,” he muttered. “I just… need some air.”

  She helped him to his feet. “Sure. Don’t push yourself. You looked like death for a second there.”

  He stepped outside into the bright morning light, squinting as the sun hit him.

  And then it clicked.

  My attributes don’t get worse.

  His wish—his gift, granted by the god who brought him here. No regression, decay or permanent loss. Which means loss of BP.

  I can bless every piece of gear I own. No tradeoff. No sacrifice.

  He grinned faintly.

  A hidden advantage no one else in the world had. But the blackout had been real. The cost still existed—it just didn’t leave a scar.

  Maybe ‘indestructible’ was too powerful. Too ambitious for my current BP pool.

  He’d need to be more careful with the next ones. Moderate the intensity of the effect to avoid burning out mid-process. When he walked back into the workshop, Lee was waiting, arms folded.

  She eyed him critically. “That wasn’t just a nap.”

  “No,” he admitted. “That was… deeper.”

  “You need to tell me what you’re doing,” she said.

  He met her gaze. “Not everything. Not yet. But I do need something from you.”

  She raised a brow. “Let me guess—secrecy?”

  He nodded. “No one can know what we’re doing here. Not the military. Not the church. Especially not the church.”

  Lee tilted her head, then gave a soft chuckle. “Relax, kiddo. I’ve been making weird stuff longer than you’ve been alive. This—” she gestured around at the gear, the scraps, the book “—this is the most fun I’ve had in forty years.”

  Her words hit unexpectedly.

  Swift exhaled slowly, realizing again how young he looked. This body wasn’t even twenty. But inside, he was…older.

  “Thanks,” he said quietly, genuinely. “I mean it.”

  She nodded. “You going to try again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it work?”

  Swift hesitated. “Not sure yet. I need to test it.”

  Lee didn’t press, but she gave him a knowing look. “Well… keep trying.”

  He moved back to the workbench, unrolling the gloves and picking up the heated blade again.

  His hand trembled less this time.

  There was still so much to figure out.

  Did it work?