The parchment curled at the edges, fighting the heavy stonesteel paperweight pinning it to the table.
The ambient heat in the open-air pavilion cooked the moisture directly out of the vellum.
Below, suspended in the sensory feed of his proxy's pendant, Zephyr watched the quill hover over the inkwell. The black liquid boiled. Tiny bubbles surfaced and popped, staining the glass rim with dark residue.
Envoy Karris, representing the Imperium's diplomatic corps, wiped a drop of sweat from his brow before it could fall onto the treaty. He wore the standard dark iron-grey uniform of the Ashvane War College, modified with lighter fabric for the eastern deployment. It provided little relief. Sulfur and scorched dust coated his throat, leaving every breath as harsh as inhaling straight from a forge bellows.
"The terms are acceptable," Emissary Sorik said.
