Arthur grunted, sweat beading on his green skin. Coins...still jittery. Grok. He focused, visualizing the glint of gold, each coin a tiny sun in his mind. Grok Gold Control...strong.

  His Mana pulsed outwards, a gentle current instead of a harsh command. Finesse...not force. The coins, at first rebellious, aligned, orbiting him like miniature moons. He held the connection, a low hum vibrating in his chest.

  Tired...but must. Grok. This control, this mastery over the very essence of gold, was crucial. Births...soon. Grok Need strength. He dismissed the coins with a flick of his wrist. Cradle.

  He turned to the pile of scrap metal. Small...for little ones. All his wives watched, their swollen bellies heavy with his children.

  He made a clicking sound with his teeth, a gesture of reassurance to them all. They smiled back, their eyes filled with affection. They knew the importance of his training. Grok Gold Control...more than coins.

  He extended his Mana again. Metal...together. The scraps danced in the air, guided by his will. He pointed at one piece, then another, his wives watching with quiet anticipation.

  This wasn't just building a cradle; it was honing his control, extending its reach. Grok Gold Control...finesse, strength, control.

  He mimed the shape of a baby, then frowned. Noah...where? He hadn't seen his friend in days. A gnawing worry settled in his gut. Births...soon. He needed Noah.

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  He touched a piece of metal, then another, his brow furrowed in concentration. Strong...must be strong.

  He visualized the cradle, smooth and sturdy. He made another clicking sound, this time of frustration. The pieces weren't fitting. Wrong.

  One of his wives, sensing his frustration, approached cautiously. She pointed at a specific piece of metal, then mimed the act of bending. Arthur grunted, understanding dawning.

  Ah...yes. He manipulated the metal, bending it with his Mana. It fit perfectly.

  He made a small, rumbling sound of satisfaction. Almost...ready. He glanced at his wives, a flicker of worry in his eyes. He touched his own belly, then mimed the shape of a baby, his expression softening. Safe...must be safe.

  He would finish the cradle. He would be ready. Grok Gold Control...will protect them. He just needed Noah...

  A sharp rap on the training room door jolted Arthur from his focus. His bodyguard's urgent voice echoed through the wood, announcing Noah's arrival.

  Arthur hadn't seen Noah in three days, an unusual absence that had been nagging at him.

  A wave of concern washed over him.

  Abandoning his training, he burst from the room and sprinted out of the palace. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the grounds.

  Then he saw them.

  A small group of goblins shuffled slowly, bearing a frail figure between them. It was Noah, but he was almost unrecognizable.

  The robust friend Arthur knew was gone, replaced by a gaunt, ashen-skinned man.

  His clothes hung loosely on his frame, and dark circles ringed his eyes. He looked like he was on the brink of collapse. Arthur's blood ran cold.

  Three days... what could have happened in such a short time?

  "What in the world grok...?" Arthur breathed, his voice barely a whisper. He turned to his bodyguard, who had followed him out.

  "Get him inside.. grok, immediately!" he barked, his voice tight with worry, directing the bodyguard and the goblins to carry Noah to a vacant chamber within the palace walls.