Polyluminescent Undulating Infusion (Black) sits in the palm, a compact prism of midnight glass that seems to breathe. Its surface holds bands of color that drift and tuck under one another, a silent aurora trapped in a cube. The black itself is a velvet shadow, alive rather than flat, as if a night sky folded into a tiny well. When you tilt it toward the light, spectrum spills along its edges—green, violet, gold—oil on water, never settling. The texture is smooth as a river stone, cool to the touch, with a faint resinous scent that hints at old workshops and candle smoke. Lorekeepers speak of it as a memory container, a shard captured from a shadowed loom where artisans wove light and darkness into one artifact. In the hands of a wearer, the infusion becomes a visible heartbeat. It threads into armor or accessories to emit a subaquatic glow that shifts with motion, a ripple of color clinging to plate and cloth. It is prized less for raw power and more for story and presence: a sign that the bearer has walked beyond the ordinary path, sought rare craftsmen, and earned a place on the market’s gleaming shelf. In practical terms, it acts as a multidimensional seal, a focus for a player’s aesthetic and a marker in guild halls and street markets alike. In combat, the glow can catch the eye of foes and friends, guiding attention toward the wearer and away from companions, shifting the mood of a skirmish as the hues pulse with each step and swing. It’s the kind of infusion that makes a raid boss feel less like a routine grind and more like a chapter of a larger, shared myth. The market around it has its own rhythms. On calm mornings, traders in the city square whisper of bids and barters, while the Saddlebag Exchange threads through the crowd with a steady hum. They talk of scarcity, of re-skins, of demand across servers, and of the curiosity that draws people to the Black Polyluminescent as if to a lighthouse in a fog of coins. Pricing drifts with mood and season; a well-presented listing can fetch several gold, while a brighter week or server-wide event can push the price higher. Buyers haggle with a patient, almost ceremonial calm, muttering that this infusion is not merely a thing but a portable legend. As they trade, a craftsman might pull from a cart a tarnished old badge, hinting that next season’s patch could tint its magic anew, and suddenly the infusion’s value is measured not only in credits but in the stories it carries, the hands that showcase it, and the whispered lore that follows from Saddlebag Exchange to the inn where the evening crowd gathers. There, by lamplight, the Black infusion hums faintly, a pocket-night carried into every story yet to be told.