The library of the King’s College was quiet that evening. Dust hung in the golden light coming through the high windows, and the air held a faint warmth from the day’s sun. The building had once been a temple, long before King Aerlane’s family had claimed the throne, and its bones still carried that memory. The tall columns, the arched ceilings, the mosaics of stars and vines, all of it felt older than the city itself.

  Velthur sat cross-legged on a cushioned bench in one of the upper alcoves, a long scroll spread across his lap. The writing on it was cramped and dense, every line a careful study of old dwarven stonework. His finger traced the same sentence again and again before he sighed.

  Regional Excavations of the Second Dwarven Era, by Magister Justinus. Required reading.

  He had nothing against the dwarves, but the writing was thick as syrup. The scroll wasn’t meant for students like him, not really. Justinus loved memorization, not learning. Velthur could already recite most of the key terms, but it felt empty, like repeating a song he didn’t understand.

  He tried again, focusing on a section about keystone pressure loads, but his eyes drifted.

  Through the open archway, he saw her, Nethira.

  She was pacing across her study, her long pale-green robes brushing the stone floor. The evening light caught the edges of her auburn hair, giving her an almost soft glow. She wasn’t frantic, but she wasn’t calm either. There was something in the rhythm of her steps, slow, then quick, then stopping altogether, like she was trying to remember a melody that kept slipping away.

  Velthur watched for a while. He’d learned a lot in two years, not just about spells and theory, but about people. He’d learned to notice things others ignored. How someone’s shoulders tensed before bad news. How quiet didn’t always mean peace.

  And he could tell, even from here, that something was wrong.

  He rolled up his scroll, tucking it under his arm, and made his way toward her. His boots made soft sounds against the old temple stone. When he reached the doorway, he hesitated for a breath before stepping through.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. His voice was gentle, not timid, just careful.

  Nethira stopped mid-step. For a second, her face was unreadable, then she gave a tired smile. “Am I that easy to read?”

  “Sometimes,” Velthur said. “You pace when you don’t want to worry anyone.”

  She laughed quietly. “That obvious, is it?”

  He nodded. “You used to do the same thing in the glade behind the dormitory. And in the apple grove last spring, when the council vote didn’t go how you hoped.”

  That caught her off guard, and her smile grew a little more real. “You remember that?”

  “Of course,” Velthur said. “You were mad enough to make the bark curl.”

  She gave a soft hum of amusement and turned toward the open window. The courtyard below was beginning to dim, lanterns flickering on one by one. From this height, the city of Arnathe looked calm, steady. But something about her posture said the calm was an illusion.

  “The dreams have returned,” Nethira said quietly. “Stronger this time.”

  Velthur tilted his head. “Dreams like before?”

  “Yes,” she said, her tone careful. “The same kind. The ones I had when I first searched for you.”

  That made him go still. He remembered that time, even if it felt like another life. The sense that something greater than either of them had drawn them together.

  He stepped closer. “Because of the artifact?”

  “Most likely,” she said, folding her arms. “Being near it… stirs things. I thought I could live beside it without feeling its pull, but lately, it presses closer. Even when I’m awake.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Velthur frowned. “What kind of things?”

  She took a slow breath. “Images. Shapes I don’t recognize. A storm that isn’t a storm. Voices I can’t place. They sound… familiar, though. Like echoes through a wall.”

  He stayed silent.

  Nethira continued, her voice softer now. “It’s not only the artifact. Something else is moving. Something deeper.” She ran her fingers through her hair, then across her temples, as if the motion could help her think. “The air in my dreams feels crowded, like too many souls are trying to speak at once.”

  He thought for a moment before asking, “Have you told anyone? Magister Justinus? Or even Vane to let him know we may need to prepare?”

  “I’ve written to him,” Nethira said. “He hasn’t answered. He’s still stationed in the north, dealing with the trolls near the Green Hills. And I didn’t want to trouble him without reason.”

  Velthur shifted his weight, the old wood floor creaking faintly underfoot. “That doesn’t sound like ‘no reason.’”

  She smiled faintly at his tone, half concern, half challenge. “You sound more like Maruzan every day.”

  He looked down, embarrassed but pleased. “He would’ve said the same.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “He would have.”

  They stood in silence for a while. Outside, the light had faded to a blue-gold dusk. The window’s stained glass reflected faint stars that had begun to appear over the city.

  Finally, Nethira spoke again. “I tried reaching out to the others. To the grove matron, to Ylla, even to the Seeker, if he still listens from wherever he’s gone. But the connection feels… different. The trees don’t answer easily anymore. It’s as if the whole forest has turned its face away.”

  Velthur’s eyes moved to her desk. It was covered with half-written notes in flowing Dryadi script, a few open books stacked at odd angles, and a cluster of herbs bundled with twine. A small blue feather rested on top of a parchment.

  He remembered that feather, it wasn’t from any bird that lived near Arnathe. She had said it came from a dream, the same night she first felt the artifact’s pull.

  He spoke softly. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”

  Nethira hesitated. “I think danger and discovery are often the same thing, depending on how you meet them.”

  Velthur frowned slightly, not entirely satisfied with the answer. “And you’re meeting it by staying awake all night?”

  That earned him a small laugh. “Touché.”

  He shrugged. “You taught me to notice things.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, her expression shifting between pride and concern. “You’ve grown quickly, Velthur. Sometimes I forget how young you are.”

  He met her gaze. “Sometimes I forget too.”

  The honesty in his voice made her quiet. She turned away again, leaning against the window’s edge, looking out into the courtyard where a group of students passed carrying lanterns. “I don’t want to frighten you,” she said finally. “Dreams reveal what they will, in time. But the feeling I have now, it’s like the world is waiting for something to wake up. Something old.”

  Velthur swallowed. “From the Dreamscape?”

  Her eyes flicked to him, a hint of surprise there. “You’ve been studying.”

  “I’ve been listening,” he said simply. “You and Magister Justinus both talk about it. The Dreamscape isn’t just a place, right? It’s a reflection of thought, memory, spirit. The space between what was, is, and what might be.”

  She nodded slowly. “That’s one way to describe it.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “So if something’s moving there… then maybe it’s something that was never meant to rest.”

  Nethira didn’t respond right away, but her expression changed, not fear, exactly, but something close.

  After a long pause, she said softly, “There are some truths you feel before you understand them. You may be closer to one than you think.”

  Velthur didn’t know what she meant, but he didn’t push. He could tell she’d said as much as she was ready to.

  Outside, a bell rang from the lower tower, three chimes for the evening meal. The sound rolled through the halls like a slow heartbeat.

  Nethira sighed, brushing her hand across her papers. “It’s getting late. You should eat before the kitchens close.”

  Velthur nodded but lingered by the doorway. “If you ever want someone to talk to,” he said, “I know how to listen now.”

  “I know. And I’m glad for that.”

  He gave a small nod, then turned to go. His footsteps echoed lightly down the hall.

  As he descended the staircase toward the refectory, he thought about her words. The world is waiting for something to wake up.

  It sounded like a warning, but also a truth, one he could feel in the back of his mind, like a faint hum that never quite went away.

  He passed a window overlooking the western courtyard. From there, he could see the outline of the college’s bell tower, the lamps glowing against the night sky. For a moment, his eyes caught on the faint shimmer of something above it, a ripple, almost like heat in the air.

  He blinked. It was gone.

  Velthur stood still for a long time before moving again.

  He didn’t tell anyone what he’d seen. Not yet. Some things, he’d learned, needed time to settle, even dreams.