Bahamut stared wide-eyed at the tall weapon lying on a raised stone platform in front of him. It wasn't glowing; there was no dramatic aura, no divine light, no oppressive pressure, no overwhelming presence like the treasures he had seen before.
And yet… it demanded attention.
The blade rested silently on a dark, rectangular rack carved from obsidian-like stone. Golden hieroglyphs ran along the base, faintly pulsing as if acknowledging the weapon placed upon it. The room itself was quiet, almost reverent, like a shrine rather than a simple chamber.
Behind the platform stood a man, tall, clad in fitted dark robes that hugged his lean frame. His face was partially shadowed, but his sharp jawline and calm, unreadable eyes gave off the presence of someone… dangerous. Not outwardly powerful like the elders, but controlled... refined.
Bahamut's gaze flicked between the man and the weapon.
"This is for me?" he finally asked.
