Velthur woke with a sharp breath, as though someone had shouted his name. His heart beat hard against his ribs. For a moment he lay completely still, staring at the dim outline of the ceiling above him. The dream clung to him like a weight on his chest. He closed his eyes again, trying to let the details settle instead of slipping away.

  He had seen Bram standing in a chamber he did not recognize. The light in the place had been strange, almost like firelight but colder, with no warmth at all. Half of Bram’s face had been covered in shadow, and he had stood completely still, looking down at a hammer. The hammer had not been made of normal metal. Velthur could still picture the shine of it. It was dark like obsidian but gleamed with a deep softness that reminded Velthur of something ancient and unreachable. The word that echoed in the dream still rang in his ears.

  Starfall.

  He sat up in bed, rubbing his face with both hands. The dream felt heavy, similar to the visions he had when the Dragon Dreaming Tooth spoke to him, but not exactly the same. This dream had not come with a voice pulling at him or guiding him. It felt more like someone was showing him something important, something they wanted him to understand.

  Sleep was gone now. Velthur swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. He lit the small lantern on his desk and watched the wick catch. The soft glow steadied him. He reached for his robe, shrugged it on, and slipped out of his room into the quiet hallway.

  The college at night always felt strangely peaceful. The wide stone hallways, usually full of footsteps and voices, were now empty. Only the lanterns mounted on the walls gave off a soft circle of light. Velthur’s boots tapped lightly on the stone floor with each step, echoing quietly in both directions. The faint smell of wax and parchment seemed to linger everywhere.

  He walked through the main corridor, turned at the statue of the first Arnathean scholar, and pushed open the wooden double doors of the library.

  The room stretched deep and wide, full of shadows between tall shelves. Velthur paused in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. The library always calmed him. Here, everything felt possible. Answers to almost any question were tucked away somewhere, if he had the patience to search long enough. Tonight, that thought steadied him.

  He moved between shelves until he reached the history wing. Then he set the lantern on a long wooden table and began pulling out books. At first he grabbed the texts he knew had something to do with dwarven craftsmanship and old legends. Then he reached for scrolls that listed relics known to be lost or rumored to still exist. The pile grew, and he pulled another chair closer so he could spread the books across two tables.

  When he finally sat down, he took a deep breath and opened the first heavy tome.

  He read quietly, turning pages slowly. His eyes traced old illustrations and blocky dwarven script. Some of the texts were clearly copies of older stories, written by scribes who did not fully understand what they were translating. Bardic retellings had added dramatic details. But sometimes, even the exaggerations carried a truth hidden inside.

  After a while, the same term began appearing again and again.

  Starfall Iron.

  Some books called it Keln Varr. Others translated the word as Stone of the Sky’s Heart. Velthur frowned slightly as he read. According to the oldest accounts, the metal had not been mined from the mountains or forged from earthly ore. It had fallen from the sky long before written history began. The fall had lit half the northern horizon, and for weeks afterwards the ground in that land had trembled with aftershocks.

  Velthur leaned closer to the page, resting his chin lightly on one hand. Dwarven miners had discovered the metal buried deep in the earth where the star had landed. They said the metal sang when struck. That detail appeared in several independent texts. Velthur tried to imagine what that meant. Maybe it vibrated or gave off a tone like a bell. Or maybe it was something more magical. The thought made his stomach tighten.

  No forge made by mortal hands could shape the metal. It required dragonfire or a deep magma vent to reach the right temperature. Only a handful of items had ever been created from it.

  Velthur flipped through another book and stopped when he saw a sketch of a hammer. The proportions caught his attention immediately. The head of the hammer was wide and compact, the handle wrapped in some kind of leather. It looked nearly identical to the one in his dream. His breath caught for a moment, and he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

  Beneath the sketch, the caption was in ancient dwarven script. Velthur whispered the translation under his breath.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “The Hammer of Tir Terrum.”

  He thought he recognized the name, maybe from stories the dwarves had told over the past two years. Velthur pressed his fingers against the page and read the passage slowly.

  The hammer had belonged to the first dwarven kings. It was said that any wall could break under its strike. Some texts claimed it had the power to weaken enchantments or even destroy certain forms of magic, although Velthur knew scholars often argued about how true the details of magic in ancient texts could be.

  He leaned back in the chair, letting the information sink in. If the relic from his dream was truly this hammer, then something serious was happening in the mountains. He didn’t know where the dwarves were at this time, but maybe they were there. Maybe with his father.

  Velthur felt his mouth go dry. He imagined Bram standing on some stone ledge or inside a dim forge, staring down at something that was not meant for ordinary hands. The dream felt too clear to be random. Velthur had received warnings through dreams before. They were part of the connection he carried with the Dragon Dreaming Tooth, although the dream tonight felt slightly different. It felt like something had reached out to him specifically because of who he was, not only because of the artifact.

  He sat in silence for a long moment, only the soft hiss of the lantern accompanying him.

  After a while, he pulled another book closer. It described the fall of the last united dwarven realm. The pages told the story of a kingdom tearing itself apart when different clans fought over succession. The hammer had been lost in that chaos. One legend said it had been buried with the final king. Another claimed it had been taken away by a wandering blacksmith who believed it was too powerful for kings.

  Velthur felt a small ache in his chest. If Bram was involved with this hammer, then he might be standing in the center of something that could change the course of the kingdom. Bram was brave and loyal, but Velthur had also seen how deeply responsibility weighed on him. If Bram felt that the hammer could help him protect his people, he might be willing to take risks he would not normally consider.

  Velthur pushed both hands into his hair and closed his eyes. He did not want to imagine Bram getting pulled into something dangerous again, not after everything the warband had already been through.

  He thought of Maruzan next. His father would tell him to be patient. He would tell Velthur to learn more before jumping to conclusions. But Velthur could almost hear the worry in his voice anyway. His father carried the weight of leadership heavily.

  He imagined telling Nethira. She would probably study the dream with a calm seriousness and ask if he felt any connection to the artifact. She had her own visions and would understand how unsettling they could be. Maybe she would even know what questions to ask to help him make sense of it.

  Finally, he imagined Magister Justinus. The Magister would listen carefully, then ask for every detail, wanting to know if this dream bore any of the signs of dragon influence. He would warn Velthur, again, to be careful. He would probably insist that dreams were not always trustworthy, yet he would not dismiss the possibility that they carried true meaning.

  Velthur felt a growing impatience settle into him. He wanted to do something. He wanted to move, not just read. But he had learned enough from Justinus to know that rushing forward with half an understanding could cause more harm than help.

  He rested one hand on the open book with the sketch of the hammer. He stared at the drawing again, letting the shape burn itself into his mind.

  If Bram really did find this relic, then deep forces were moving in the mountains. Not just political anger. Something older. Something connected to the relics Velthur had been studying. Something that, in time, might reach all the way to the college and beyond.

  He stood slowly from the chair and stretched his stiff legs. He needed more information. Something connecting the relic to the present movement. Something that would tie his dream to what was actually happening.

  A soft sound pulled his attention to the far side of the library. He turned and saw a familiar shape moving between the shelves.

  Teya, the junior librarian, peeked around a corner with a candle in hand. Her long dark hair was braided over one shoulder, and she looked both wary and curious when she saw Velthur standing among the books.

  “You are awake very early,” she said in a cautious voice.

  Velthur nodded. “I could not sleep. I needed to look something up.”

  Teya stepped closer, eyeing the wide spread of books. “These are heavy subjects for the middle of the night. Are you working on an assignment”

  “Not exactly,” Velthur said. “I saw something in a dream. Something that scared me a little. I needed to understand it.”

  She frowned, the tension in her shoulders softening a little. “Dreams can do that. My brother used to have dreams that felt real enough to shake him the next morning. Do you want help searching”

  Velthur hesitated. He did not want to tell too many people about the relics, not until he was sure what the dream meant. But Teya was trustworthy, and she had helped him find obscure texts before.

  “Maybe later,” he said. “Right now I just need to keep reading.”

  Teya gave him a small nod. “I can stay nearby if you need anything.”

  Velthur appreciated the offer more than he expected. When she went back between the shelves, he returned to the table and pulled another scroll toward him.

  The dream had shown him Bram. It had shown the hammer. It had spoken the word Starfall.

  Now, the rest of the truth was somewhere in these books. He only had to find it.

  He settled back into the chair, lantern glowing beside him, and began reading again as the shadows in the library stretched slowly across the floor.