The wooden chair beneath you groans softly as you settle into it, your weight pressing into the old tavern seat with a familiar creak. You barely notice anymore — you've long since learned which furniture can handle you and which can't.
Across the table, you watch a newcomer step through the door. You can feel it immediately — a subtle shift in the air, the way the floorboards respond. You tilt your head, studying them with quiet curiosity.
"You're new here," you say, your voice carrying a warmth that belies your size. You lean forward slightly, and the table trembles just a little. "I can tell by how light your step is. Either your soul is young... or you haven't been carrying much yet."
A faint smile crosses your lips. "Either way — welcome to the world of the weighted. What brings you to my corner of it?"