Conor bolted upright in a cold sweat. How long had he been asleep? Was he still asleep? Where was he?

Slowly, he began to come back to himself. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes but was now awake, and he was in his shabby little room at the inn. He struggled to remember why he had woken up in such a panic. It came back to him after a moment like a punch to the stomach.

It was a large, scaly creature with wings larger than the house Conor had grown up in. Two long, crooked antlers poked out of its huge head, and a tail three times as long dragged against the ground. The beast had claws sharp enough that it could probably slice boulders in half. Grey scales shimmered in the dim sunlight as the creature opened its mouth, letting out a roar loud enough to shake mountains.

A forester dragon.

Conor knew dragons had gone extinct centuries upon centuries ago, so he didn't quite understand why he was seeing one in his dreams. It wasn't like he was too interested in them, meaning there was nothing to prompt the image. He was into nature and the way the world worked, not giant winged lizards.

The adventurer swallowed hard and laid his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes in a weak attempt to fall back asleep. It took a while, but his mind eventually eased, and he fell back into the careful world of rest.

A glance around a pillar. The dragon was still there, huffing and stomping around. It was looking for something. Was it looking for him? Its large, agitated eyes flicked across the dark temple, or whatever they were in.

When Conor looked down, he realized with a start that these were not his hands. Conor's hands were calloused and tan from being under the sun. These hands were pale with long, delicate fingers, the skin hardly abused.

This train of thought was soon broken as a roar erupted from behind him. His heartrate picked up as he heard the dragon shuffle closer. Conor wanted to run, wanted to flee and never look back. He could have sworn the dragon was right behind him. A soft puff of smoke confirmed this hypothesis, and Conor wanted to scream.

His hands would not move. His feet were glued to the ground. His heart pounded as his brain malfunctioned.

The pillar tumbled to the ground in bits and pieces.

Conor woke up once more to the soft light of early morning. He wasn't quite as scared as he was before, but was now frustrated with his lack of good sleep. At least he now knew that this dream was likely to reoccur. The news was not exactly refreshing nor relieving, but it was something to think about.

He carefully climbed out of bed. Then sat back down. Then stood up. He was tempted to sit back down again, but instead took a detour to the window, gazing out of it for a moment.

The dream was unusual. Conor did not like dragons, he had no reason to dream about one. He never had reoccurring dreams. As for the cherry on top, Conor had never dreamed through someone else's eyes. He thought for a moment that maybe it was just a trick of the light, but he was sure those were not his hands.

With a weary sigh, he shuffled over to his bag which had been carelessly tossed against the foot of the bed, hauling it over his shoulder. He wanted to see if there were any documents on forester dragons. Better yet, any ancient journal entries somewhere. With dark humour, Conor realized he'd probably find an actual journal on the Black Market, but he didn't intend to check there.

He was going to pay a visit to the library.

Again.

The familiar smells of a library were comforting to Conor. For a while, he hadn't known how to read or write, and so a library had been entirely useless to him. That was until he'd found a friend in southern Eura who'd been willing to teach him. It was a success, and Conor found he was able to read signs in windows and the titles of books on spines. Better yet, he could finally read the texts he'd always been interested in, even if a couple words did stump him.

Now, he was leaned over Erdas' Greatest Tales of Dragons, a thick book which did not live up to its name. The tales were not very good, and were most likely myths, but based on another book he'd glimpsed through, Lives of Euran Dragons, the facts seemed okay. The only page that truly interested him was a page about a wandering traveler who had stumbled upon a humongous grey dragon with large tan antlers throughout his travels. The dragon had not harmed him, but rather taken him to its chamber and housed him for the night, letting the fortunate traveler continue on his journey the following morning. Lives of Euran Dragons had stated that forester dragons were docile dragons and did not often harm humans, which seemed to be shown in the stories told about them.

If that were the case, Conor had no idea why the one in his dream had been so aggressive. Had it been something he'd done? Was the dragon being controlled by something?

Was the dragon in his dreams still alive and breathing at this very moment?

Conor leaned back in his chair to stretch his back after being hunched for so long, the old wood squeaking in complaint. He thought he'd found enough information for today. He stood up from his chair, closing the open books in front of him and stacking them in his arms. He thought about putting them back, but then realized he'd forgotten to take notes, and thought better of it.

Conor hauled both himself and the books to the librarian, starting a quick and cheerful conversation as he checked the books out. Even Erdas' Greatest Tales of Dragons, with all it's bluffing.

After he'd left the library, he began walking his usual route around town.

Then, he stopped.

An angry grunt came from behind him as a man nearly collided with him. Conor saw him shaking his head out of the corner of his eye.

Conor thought he knew whose hands those were, and also who loved dragons and everything that could kill because he found those creatures beautiful in a way no other could. The boy that Conor both missed and resented, despite realizing how messed up that probably was. He needed to leave Betarvius. He needed to get to Trunswick.

He needed to find Prince Devin Trunswick.

Conor could remember him rambling on and on about dragons as Conor had dusted his room, nodding along.

He could be of help.