Muni Naga sat in the Crafting Alcove, a chamber carved from polished blackstone and lit by hovering flame-wisps. Around him floated seven lacquered boxes, their golden seals humming faintly with divine energy. The old Naga's tail coiled beneath him like a throne, while his clawed hands reached for tools that had not been used since the Fall of the Thunder Age.
He placed a jade slate before him — perfectly smooth, no thicker than a page, but laced with ancient formation veins. With a delicate stylus made from Swanbone, Muni Naga began to draw.
Not sketch.
Not outline.
But weave — layers of intention, spell-structure, balance, weight, and divinity into the form of the bow.
"This won't be a weapon... it will be a storm sealed in silence," he muttered.
From one box, he drew Voidsteel Dust, shimmering with specks of floating gravity — each grain heavier than regret. He sprinkled it into the slate's groove, letting the stylus channel it into lines that moved even after being drawn.
