His brows lift. A gesture to the staff — much looser than that which had unbound it. Sickly blue light gleams from two halves, sheared through. It must have been an ugly break. It's been uglier repairs.

"Have you seen raw lyrium before?" Isaac lifts one end the wood, squints experimentally before offering it out. "This has been worked, of course, but I shouldn't advise touching the core directly. Does a number upon the rifted."