Essence of Black Citadel rests in the palm like a drop of midnight rain, a teardrop of glass that glimmers with imprisoned storms, its surface slick and cool to the touch. Inside, a slow swirl of obsidian motes glides over a lattice of silver filigree, as if the fortress's own breath were bottled inside. The container's cap bears the crest of the Black Citadel—two towers flanked by an iron gate—carved with careful runes that pulse faintly when it catches candlelight. Lore says it is the distilled memory of the citadel's stone, pressed into a single shard during a siege when the fortress finally learned to listen to the people outside. They carry it not for display. In the hands of a seasoned crafter, the Essence becomes a quiet catalyst, powering an infusion that tempers rare metals and awakens long-buried sigils. Used at the right forge, it may grant a temporary veil of resilience, sharpen the touch of a blade, or steady a spell's breath for a few heartbeats longer. For builders, it unlocks recipes tying weapon or armor to the citadel’s memory, imbuing gear with a subtle storm-gray glow that marks it as touched by history rather than by brute force. Adventurers have reported that the shard changes hands most often when a siege grinding through the city gates is fresh in everyone's mind, as if memory itself becomes a form of currency alongside coin. On the field, the essence weaves into the world’s ongoing narrative. A companion might pull it from a satchel after a skirmish, tipping the scales not with raw power but with a whispered pact—an agreement that the citadel’s ancient wards will guard their next venture. Some factions prize it for the alignment it brings to their quests, turning expeditions into a duet with history rather than a simple patrol. And there are those who follow rumors of a hidden stockpile beneath the citadel’s market floors, chasing a legend that the shard can someday unlock a doorway to a forgotten archive, or to a defense forgotten by time. The Saddlebag Exchange, a corner of the city’s trading network where traders swap stories with their wares, is where the essence most often changes hands. If a hunter strolls through its aisles and lays claim to one, the price shifts with the tide of rumors and the weight of supply: in bustling weeks it might command a small fortune, a handful of silver and a remembered tale, and in lean stretches it slips toward mere copper or a favor owed. Yet even at its most modest, the Essence of Black Citadel remains a token that binds past and present, a ripple that travels outward as soon as it’s carried away. A single shard can seed a new plan, a fresh alliance, or a quiet vow to defend a place that remembers itself. Wherever it travels next, the essence keeps the citadel’s heartbeat alive in the world outside its stone. Its memory travels on. The tale of its making travels with every trader who holds it.