Viktor's lips thin. "Ah, isn't it like the entitled to treat what is real as a toy." He has quite a lot of feelings about that, though he imagines it is all far more complicated. Then again it was an old tale, power and the people with it, the games they played and those they crushed underfoot.

His attention stays on the bundle, surprised by its contents when the cloak is pulled away. A piece of art, yes, but one of dangerous, sharp lines, thorns in more than name.

"This is a land begging for revival," he muses, tempted to reach out and touch but so far keeping his hands to himself. "What remarkable craftsmanship, this is. From your home?"

He's always appreciated metal more than the organic.