The silence between them felt thick, anchored by the weight of what Lyn Zephyra had just agreed to. She hadn't spoken the words aloud, not in full, but her eyes, the quiet lift of her chin, and the way her hand had lingered a moment longer on Beli's armored wrist said more than enough.
Seisyll moved without speaking. From a recessed alcove in the chamber's wall, he drew a narrow, flat case made of layered silver and darkwood, its surface etched with tight braids of fire-hardened runes. He unlatched it with a faint click and opened the lid to reveal the instrument nestled within.
It was beautiful in the way some weapons are.
Long and slender, the carving knife's edge shimmered with a spectral tint, its core tempered from green coal and volcanic obsidian. Its handle was quartz, clean, pale, smooth, and wrapped at the end with a thin grip of braided kelp leather. The blade hummed softly, not with heat, but with awareness, as though it knew it would be used.
