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((Double Wednesday -- Page 2 of 2))
As he searched for something else of use, he practiced lifting other objects with the glove on. It was simple enough to avoid crushing something. He just had to be extra gentle. He could see this glove being a double-edged sword, potentially. A mad part of him wanted to test it on himself--to see if he would have to worry about unconsciously grabbing his own arm or hand, perhaps--but he decided to forego that experiment, at least for now.

His gaze eventually stopped on a pair of boots and a sword with a sequined hilt.

Now why did this sight look so familiar? He shut his eyes and tried to recall.

Yes, he’d seen a drawing of these items--or ones like them, at least. Those long, curving boot buckles with straps that went all the way around--that was a distinctive design. If the book he was thinking of was correct, then these were the Boots of Karugetti, and they supposedly had the power to “defy the heavens”--whatever that meant.

And the sword. That thin and faintly curved blade. That was the Sword of Hamenszoon, and it supposedly had the power to cast illusions. He remembered thinking how ugly it was and how unpleasant those sequins on the hilt would make it to wield.

Indeed, he was unfortunately proved right. It felt like reptilian scales against his flesh. He considered using his gloved hand, but it seemed a waste to occupy it with a weapon when it was probably more threatening without one. He instead decided to remove his green scarf and wrap it around the grip.

That was better.

He still had no idea how to wield it, though. He’d never trained in any manner of swordsmanship, nor did he know how to draw out its power. Assuming it truly had any.

But he knew something of ardor. The force and fuel of the planet. He knew of its debatably magical properties, and he knew of its extraction, refinement, and infusion processes as well.

Most importantly, though, he knew that to manipulate ardor required concentration in one’s very soul. It required a degree of focus and “oneness” with the planet itself. A sense for the world’s “pulse,” as some described it.

It required training, in other words--training which he had undergone many years ago, though he had not understood its significance until much more recently. Back then, it was still an experimental thing, one of many “cutting edge” forms of training which he had been forced to undertake, lest he lose his job as an iron miner.

There had been a span of nearly five years straight where it seemed like he had to go through some new type of training every week, and the vast majority of them were a complete waste of time--if not physically painful.

But that one. That one had been something. He still remembered that initial feeling, the first time he’d ever truly sensed ardor.