The upper library was quiet that afternoon. Only a few shafts of sunlight filtered through the high stained-glass windows, scattering patterns of blue and gold across the long wooden tables. Dust drifted lazily through the light, turning each beam into a slow, shimmering stream.

  Velthur sat alone at one of the side benches, his back straight, both hands resting on a strip of velvet cloth. In the center of that cloth lay the relic.

  The dragon-dreaming tooth.

  It was small enough to fit in his palm, shaped like a curved shard of moonstone. Its surface looked smooth at first, but when the light hit it a certain way, faint patterns swirled across it, lines like veins or rivers, glowing softly for a heartbeat before fading again.

  He had spent weeks studying it, sketching every line, cross-referencing every symbol. But no matter how many notes he took, something about the tooth refused to stay still. Some days it felt heavier. Some days it seemed to hum. Today, it almost seemed to breathe.

  At the far end of the bench, Magister Justinus was sorting through a stack of parchment, pretending to read. Velthur knew the old scholar too well by now. Justinus was watching him, quietly, carefully, without wanting to seem like he was.

  “Careful,” Justinus said at last, his voice soft and dry like parchment turning. “The relics know more than their keepers.”

  Velthur looked up from the tooth. “You mean it can sense me?”

  Justinus gave a small shrug. “Perhaps. The tooth belonged to something that once dreamed entire worlds into being. A shard of that memory remains. If you disturb it, you may find it watching back.”

  Velthur looked down again. His heart was already beating faster. He took a slow breath and reached toward it. The moment his fingers brushed the edge, a sharp pulse shot through his arm. Not pain, more like a wave of air pushing from inside the bone. He gasped and pulled away.

  For a single second, the world looked brighter. The dust in the air moved like it was following a pattern, the colors from the windows shifting as if the sun had breathed in and held it. Then it passed. The room fell silent again.

  He sat there blinking, his breath caught in his throat.

  Justinus didn’t move. “So,” he said, a hint of a smile on his lips, “it spoke.”

  Velthur rubbed his wrist, still feeling the echo of that invisible current. “It… felt alive. Like it was waiting.”

  “It often is,” the magister said simply. “Dream relics are strange things. They live half in the waking world and half in whatever’s left of their own. Best not to linger between the two.”

  Velthur nodded faintly, though his curiosity only deepened.

  A voice came from the doorway. “First time it’s spoken to you?”

  Velthur turned and saw a boy about his age leaning against the doorframe. He had straw-colored hair, a satchel slung across his shoulder, and an easy grin that made him look like he belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.

  Velthur had seen him around the college courtyard before, always carrying quills and scrolls that seemed too big for his bag.

  The boy stepped inside, his boots scuffing softly against the stone floor. “You’re Velthur, right? I’m Tarrow. I came in with Kalmuum’s caravan last week.” He dropped his satchel onto the bench opposite and glanced at the relic. “That’s the dragon tooth, isn’t it? You’ve been spending a lot of time with it.”

  Velthur hesitated. “It’s part of my assignment,” he said quickly. “I’m studying the inscriptions.”

  Tarrow grinned wider. “Studying, sure. I’ve seen how you look at it. Careful though. Some relics don’t like being studied. They study you back.”

  Velthur frowned but couldn’t help glancing at the tooth again. “You sound like Magister Justinus.”

  “I should hope not,” Tarrow said, dropping into a seat beside him. “No offense, Magister, but your lectures are long enough to put a troll to sleep.”

  Justinus didn’t even look up. “And yet the troll would still wake wiser than when he began.”

  Tarrow smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “I meant that as a compliment. I have trouble sleeping.”

  Velthur almost laughed, but his attention returned to the relic. He couldn’t stop watching it. It didn’t move, but something about it demanded focus. The air around it felt different, thicker somehow, as if reality bent a little to make room for it.

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  “Where did it come from?” Tarrow asked, his tone quieter now.

  “From Harbinth,” Velthur said. “But before that, who knows? They think it’s tied to the dreaming dragons, the ones who shaped the world before the Great War.”

  Tarrow tilted his head. “And you can feel it?”

  Velthur nodded. “When I touched it just now, it felt like…” He searched for the right words. “Like standing inside someone else’s breath.”

  “That’s how it starts,” Justinus said from his end of the table, finally raising his gaze. His eyes were tired but clear. “You’ll feel the breath first. Then you’ll hear the dream. But remember, dreams aren’t bound by kindness or cruelty. They simply are. They will show you what they remember, not what you wish to see.”

  Velthur swallowed, uneasy but fascinated. “Have you touched it?” he asked.

  “Once,” Justinus said. “When you first brought it. It showed me a city carved into the clouds. Beautiful and terrible. I didn’t sleep for three nights afterward.”

  That quieted Velthur.

  Tarrow leaned back in his chair, clearly intrigued. “So it gives visions?”

  “Not visions,” Justinus said. “Echoes. The difference matters.”

  Velthur looked again at the tooth, his thoughts restless. He wondered what kind of being it had belonged to, a dragon that dreamed whole worlds into existence, perhaps even Tergard itself. Did it still dream somewhere, or was this all that was left of it?

  He asked softly, “Do you think it’s aware of us right now?”

  Justinus closed one parchment, his expression unreadable. “Awareness is a mortal word. The relic remembers. That’s all.”

  Velthur nodded, but the answer didn’t comfort him.

  For a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were the faint flutter of papers and the distant creak of a cart outside the window.

  Then Tarrow broke the silence again. “You’re Nethira’s student, right? The dryad?”

  Velthur hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. She’s… away right now.”

  “On some mission with Maruzan?” Tarrow asked, a knowing tone in his voice.

  Velthur blinked. “How do you know about that? You seem to know a lot.”

  “Everyone talks,” Tarrow said simply. “The college isn’t as big as it pretends to be. Word spreads.”

  Velthur frowned. “She didn’t tell anyone where she was going. She didn’t want worry following her.”

  Tarrow shrugged. “Sometimes secrecy causes more worry than honesty.”

  That stung a little. Velthur looked back at the relic, letting the comment pass. He noted Tarrow seems to be smarter than he led on.

  He could feel it again, that faint hum at the edge of thought. Not a sound exactly, but a vibration that lived in his chest. Like something inside the tooth had turned its attention toward him.

  He spoke quietly. “When I touched it… I thought I saw light. Like the glass changed color. Do you think that’s normal?”

  Justinus set his parchment aside. “The tooth reacts differently to every person. Perhaps it recognized you.”

  Tarrow raised an eyebrow. “Recognized him? What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Justinus said, “that the relic responds to the soul it knows best.” He paused, letting the thought hang between them. “You’re young, Velthur. The world hasn’t told you yet what you cannot be. That makes you open in ways the rest of us are not.”

  Velthur felt a strange warmth in his chest at that. Not pride exactly, but a kind of cautious awe.

  “So it’s choosing me?” he asked.

  Justinus smiled faintly. “No, Velthur. Nothing that old chooses. It remembers. And through remembering, it may show you what it once knew.”

  Tarrow looked skeptical. “That sounds dangerous.”

  “It is,” Justinus said simply.

  Velthur sat back, his mind racing. He didn’t want danger, not really. But part of him wanted to see what the relic remembered. What did a dragon dream of? What did it lose?

  The thought wouldn’t leave him.

  Tarrow stood, slinging his satchel over his shoulder again. “Well, if it starts talking in your sleep, don’t come crying to me. I don’t want whatever nightmares come with that thing.”

  Velthur gave a small laugh, but his eyes never left the relic. “I think I’ll be fine.”

  Tarrow headed toward the door but stopped just before stepping out. “If you do figure out what it’s dreaming,” he said, half serious now, “maybe write it down. Someone should remember too.”

  He left, and the door clicked softly shut behind him.

  The light had shifted again, dimmer now, the sky outside painted in the soft colors of late afternoon.

  Velthur looked once more at Magister Justinus. “Do you ever think the dreams of old things can change us?”

  The old man gave a thoughtful hum. “They can, if you let them. But be careful, Velthur. The line between learning from the past and being pulled into it is thin.”

  Velthur nodded slowly.

  When the magister finally gathered his parchments and left him alone, the hall grew even quieter.

  Velthur reached out again, his hand trembling slightly, and let his fingers brush the relic’s surface.

  The hum returned, gentle this time, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his. The patterns under the surface began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter. For an instant, he thought he saw shapes in the light, mountains that moved like waves, a sky full of living flame, a shadow curling through clouds.

  Then the glow faded, leaving only silence.

  Velthur sat there, his breath unsteady, his hand still hovering above the tooth.

  He knew something had changed, not in the relic, but in him.

  And though he couldn’t explain why, he whispered softly into the quiet, “What do you want me to see?”

  The tooth gave no answer.

  But somewhere deep in its stillness, he thought he heard the faint echo of a dragon’s breath, slow, patient, dreaming still.