I stood in the middle of the imperial treasury, surrounded by glittering artifacts, enchanted relics, and absurdly expensive nonsense.
The air smelled faintly of polished silver and ancient magic, crackling softly in the background like static electricity.
"Anything I want?" I asked again, just to be sure.
Saelira smiled indulgently. "Anything, little one."
"Anything at all?"
"Yes," Ilythia confirmed. "Choose wisely."
Eryndor crossed his arms. "Or just pick the most dangerous thing."
Veylen tilted his head slightly. "Or the most practical."
Four grandparents. Four conflicting opinions.
I rubbed the back of my neck and scanned the shelves.
They were filled with every kind of magical item imaginable:
• Glowing crystals pulsing with faint blue light.
• Ancient rings inscribed with glowing runes.
• Blades that seemed to hum softly, like they were impatient to be held.
• Amulets crackling with captured lightning.
