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~~Christmas Day Special - (page 23 of 24)~~

This was why he'd tried to start with the Forge, first. Going through all of these texts was obviously going to take ages, but there'd been a chance, at least, he could have learned what he needed from the Forge right away.

A shame.

At least he could relax his mind a little while he let the reaper read. The strain of that dive through the ardor was probably not something he should ignore--even if he'd been about to do just that. He could handle another two or three dives, most likely, before requiring real rest.

Meditation was a fair substitute, though.

Or it would have been, if he didn't have so much trouble settling his thoughts.

Even at his age, with all his experience, he still encountered this problem, sometimes. His younger self would probably have expected to grow out of this by now. But worries only ever seemed to grow with age. And power.

What would become of his kin? That nagging question lay at the root of every concern that crossed his mind.

Before this war had come to their doorstep, Abbas had harbored an idea. It was an absurd notion at this state in time, far beyond his or Haqq's ability to achieve. But if he'd pushed for it more, if he'd worked harder... then perhaps they wouldn't have had to flee from their homes. Perhaps they wouldn't have had to suffer such disgrace--or not to this extent, at least.

It wouldn't have stopped Morgunov, most likely. But it might have stopped his horde of madmen.

This armor. Creating copies of it, lesser ones if need be. That was the idea.

That had always been the ultimate goal when designing it: to one day make it usable by much younger servants. Or perhaps, dare he imagine it, even non-servants.

The Mudarra'un--or the Armored, in Mohssian. An entirely new warrior class. An elite group of soldiers, trained in the use of his armor.