Velthur sat at the edge of the high-backed chair, his hands pressed firmly against his knees as if steadying himself. The chair was too big for him, carved for the Magisters who had used this office for generations. The tall shelves around him were filled with old scrolls and leather-bound records that stretched to the high ceiling. A soft lamp stood on Justinus’s desk, its light sending long shadows across the walls.

  Magister Justinus watched him from across the desk. The older man’s face showed every year he had lived. Deep lines curved around his eyes, and his brow held a crease that never seemed to fade. He looked thoughtful more often than he looked anything else. Tonight, there was a tired heaviness around his eyes, as though Velthur’s words had reached someplace difficult.

  Velthur took a breath, hoping it would steady the tremble in his voice. “I felt something in my dorm room,” he said. “The artifact changed. At first it was only a hum, but then it pulled me in. I did not mean to reach for it, but when I touched it, everything shifted. I heard a voice. It sounded rough. And cold. It felt like it was calling toward me.”

  Justinus leaned forward slightly. His fingers tapped once on the arm of his chair, slow and steady. Velthur knew that habit. It meant Justinus was thinking through several ideas at once.

  Velthur continued, “And then there was a vision. I saw the warband. They were in ruins somewhere. I saw my father there too. He looked like he was in danger.”

  The Magister’s eyes narrowed in a careful way, not with anger, but with a kind of quiet focus. “A voice spoke to you,” he repeated. “And the artifact responded at the same time.”

  Velthur nodded. “Yes. It felt connected. Like the artifact opened a door and something on the other side noticed me.”

  Justinus allowed the silence to stretch. He looked toward the back of the room where shelves rose in uneven stacks. It reminded Velthur of how Justinus often looked when searching his memory, as though the answers were tucked away in the cracks between books.

  “And the artifact,” Justinus said at last, “this is the tooth you brought from Harbinth?”

  Velthur swallowed and answered, “Yes. It is the dragon dreaming tooth.”

  The Magister’s expression changed. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes. Something like caution followed it, though he did not speak right away. When he did, his tone carried weight. “I have read accounts of it, though what survives is incomplete. Old scholars could not agree on how much of its power was myth or truth. Some believed it allowed the living to touch the dreams of the ancient dragons. Others believed it allowed the dragons to reach toward the living if the power grew strong enough.”

  Velthur felt the words settle in him like stones. He remembered the dreams he had felt over the past months. The forests. The mountains. The strange voices that seemed to speak in a language he almost understood. He wondered if the Magister knew how frightened it made him at times.

  Justinus continued, “What you describe is rare. Magic that bridges places and minds does not happen by accident. It happens because something has awakened.”

  Velthur shifted in his chair. “Then the visions were real. They were not just dreams.”

  “They were real enough,” Justinus answered. “Dreams, visions, memories, warnings… all of these have blurred edges when magic is involved. The important thing is that you felt something powerful. And the voice you heard troubles me.”

  Velthur leaned forward. “Have you heard of anything like this before?”

  The Magister turned his head, staring at the far shelves again. “Only in fragments,” he said. “Pieces of old writings. Royal records. Notes from Magisters who lived long before either of us. There were whispers of relics that carried the memory of those who created them, and others that carried the anger of those who tried to claim them. Relics like that can be dangerous if awakened without guidance.”

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  Velthur felt a sudden tightness in his chest. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “What if the voice I heard belongs to someone who means us harm?”

  Justinus brought his gaze back to him. “Then you must guard yourself. And you must learn as much as you can. I have studied magic all my life, Velthur, and I have never felt its pull the way you do at your age. The power in you is not small. If you choose to follow it, you will become stronger than any Magister from this college has seen in some time. But your strength needs direction.”

  Velthur felt heat rise in his face. He did not know if it was pride or fear. “I only wish I could help them,” he said. His voice came out quiet. “If they are in danger, I should be there. I should not be sitting in a room far away while they face someone like Nezzarod.”

  Justinus lifted a hand to stop him. “You misunderstand. I do not keep you here because you are not ready. I keep you here because this is where you are needed most. If you go now, you risk walking into danger that you do not yet understand. And if the artifact has awakened, then you may be the only one able to learn its secrets before it is too late.”

  Velthur looked down at the floor. He understood the reasoning, but it still felt wrong inside him. It felt like he was leaving his family to fight alone.

  The lamplight flickered. Dust drifted in the air between them. Justinus spoke again, his tone quieter. “Tell me about the dreams. The ones from before this. The ones you kept to yourself.”

  Velthur raised his head. He had not told many people about those dreams, but withholding them from Justinus suddenly felt foolish. “I have had them since before the artifact reached me,” he said. “I even dreamed much when I was younger, but after Elzibar, constantly. Strange dreams. Forests at night. Mountains alive with light. Voices that speak in a tongue I do not know, but somehow I feel like I should. Sometimes the dreams feel peaceful. Other times they feel heavy, like someone is watching me.”

  Justinus nodded slowly. “These dreams may be connected to the Tooth. Dreams can reach across time, and maybe you were affected even before you came in physical contact with the artifact. Or they may be something older still. Either way, the line between dream and warning is already thin for you. You must learn to walk it without losing yourself.”

  Velthur felt a swell of concern. “How do I do that?”

  “With discipline,” Justinus said. “And with time. And with guidance. That is why you must stay here. If you leave too soon, you will not be able to choose which voice in your dreams belongs to truth and which belongs to danger.”

  Velthur rose from the chair. His legs felt stiff. He straightened his tunic, trying to hide the way his hands shook. “Then I will go to the library. I will start reading as soon as I can. There must be something in those records that can help us understand the artifact.”

  Justinus nodded. “There is much to learn, and little time. Whatever touched you tonight will not be the last to reach for you. Do not walk that path blind.”

  Velthur hesitated. “Do you think the danger will come here?”

  The Magister’s answer came slowly, as if choosing each word mattered. “I think the danger will reach every place with ties to these relics. And that includes this college. But you aren’t alone.”

  Velthur nodded, though the words unsettled him deeply. He turned toward the door. His boots made soft sounds on the stone floor as he stepped into the hallway. The corridor felt colder than the office. The torches on the walls gave off weak light. He walked forward with a fast, uneven pace.

  His thoughts moved in circles. He tried to picture his father and the others. He tried to guess where they were and what they were facing. Each time, he saw the same image from his vision. His father lifting his sword. Nethira kneeling in pain. Winnum struggling to stay standing. It made his stomach twist.

  He slowed his steps. The college halls had never felt so large. He thought of going outside for fresh air, but something inside him pushed him toward the library instead.

  If the artifact was connected to ancient dragons, then there had to be records. And records meant answers. And answers meant he could help. Maybe not this moment, but soon. He had to believe that.

  As he reached the far end of the hall, he glanced back toward the Magister’s office. The door was closed. A faint glow from the lamp still seeped beneath the doorway. Velthur wondered if Justinus would spend the whole night searching through the shelves. The Magister often did when something troubled him. Velthur had seen him do it many times.

  He faced forward again and kept moving.

  Tonight, he felt something new. Not only fear. Not only hope. Something in between. Something like responsibility. If the dreams were reaching for him, then he needed to be ready.

  He walked toward the library doors, the stone floor cold beneath his feet, the hum of the artifact still faint in the back of his mind.

  Whatever had called out to him earlier had not been a mistake. It had been the beginning of something.

  And Velthur knew he could not turn away from it.