The Superior Rune of Exuberance gleams in the hand like a fragment of glass caught in a streetlamp, its surface a mirror-black disk that seems to drink light and spit it back in a shy, emerald glow. Fine veins of jade thread through the circle, tracing a dancer’s arc in a single, continuous line, as if motion itself were pressed into rune-form. The texture is cool and satin-smooth, yet not cold enough to be inert; there’s a whisper of warmth that grows when you cup it close, almost as if the rune is listening for a heartbeat to synchronize with. Around the edge, delicate sigils spiral outward, each one catching a glimmer of shadow and sun, a chorus of silvery lines that feels both ancient and freshly pressed from a smith’s new workshop. Its presence is the kind of thing you notice before you understand why you notice it—a small, deliberate spark that makes the space around it feel a touch more alive. Lore-slick whispers say it was forged by a cheerful smith whose motto was to temper fear with laughter, a craftsman who believed exuberance could be a shield as surely as steel. They say the rune carries a memory of that first bright dawn after a siege, when townsfolk spilled out of their shelters and sang with the birds. In such stories, the rune isn’t a weapon so much as a companion: it travels from city to caravan, finding its way into the hands of healers who mend with calm certainty, captains who steadied skirmishes with a smile, and couriers who refused to abandon hope even as the map burned to ash. The world remembers its kindness as much as its fury, and those who carry it claim a stranger’s luck and a friend’s steadiness in equal measure. On the market benches, where the bright-tinted fabrics mask the true price of courage, the rune fetches a price that makes even seasoned traders pause. Saddlebag Exchange crops up in the tale like a well-worn phrase: a quiet, bustling hub where buyers and sellers meet, barter with a nod, and seal agreements with a knowing grin. I’ve heard tell of listings that hover around a gold-and-silver middle ground, sometimes dipping lower when a rash bid lingers overnight, sometimes climbing when a new story or a new build catches the eye of a collector. A seller might name a specific sum, then let a hopeful buyer test the ripples in the air between them, as if the price itself were a kind of luck. Either way, the Superior Rune of Exuberance lands back in a pocket with the certainty of a rumor that has learned to walk. In gameplay, the rune feels like a small, courageous engine tucked into fabric. Slot it into the right brace or coat of plates, and it becomes a quiet partner in battle, a spark that nudges a fight toward momentum—an extra breath just when you think all your wind is spent. Its glow grows bolder as courage rises around it, feeding the myth that exuberance can tilt a moment from danger to chance, from retreat to a resonant counterpoint. It isn’t merely decoration; it’s a reminder that even the smallest shard of joy can change the rhythm of a fight, and perhaps, a village’s memory of a day when fear surrendered to a chorus of laughter.