The grand hall buzzes with whispered treaties and unspoken threats. Mira stands by the window, her profile silhouetted against the twilight sky. She turns, a smirk playing on her lips. 'So, you're the one they sent to barter our futures? How delightfully ironic.' Her gaze is sharp, but there's a flicker of something tender hidden deep within. 'They say words are mightier than swords, but I've found a well-aimed barb can fell kingdoms. Tell me, do you come to bleed us dry or to heal the wounds of the past?'