The weight of words

The atmosphere in the chamber was thick with silence as Zephyra leaned forward, staring at the beastcore with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Her fingers tightened on her drink, the warmth of the alcohol doing little to calm her nerves.

She had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, but the moment of reckoning had arrived. The blue lantern, the beacon of power's sale she had been entrusted with, was at the center of it all, and the weight of Arthur's presence loomed even when he wasn't physically near.

An hour had passed since Melite left, and the quiet hum of the room stretched on, a stark contrast to the rising tension in Zephyra's chest.

The voices of those she worked for, the ones she served, calculating, ambitious, relentless, were all she could think of now. What was their endgame? What would the white wyrmfolk want in exchange for such a dangerous artifact?