As they continued the tour, Venkat had marveled at the eyeballs that offered glimpses through time and space—but only if they were eaten raw—and the dagger that cut the thread binding the wielder to their destiny, at the risk of also cutting the thread binding them to their life.

Then he’d spotted the jar of fireflies like luminous soaring peridots. He’d lifted the jar, transfixed by the flickering jewels within. Dreamstones with wings!

No, corrected Nayan. Not dreamstones. Hearts that sought but never found, hearts that even now seek. Let these inspire you as you forge.

He’d purchased the jar for the price of a single scale and gifted it to Venkat.

The memory faded, replaced by the tangible vials of dream elements Venkat had selected for the next section of their project. They winked at him from the gilt-edged marble counter, brilliant-cut reds, greens, purples, and blues all brimming with potential.

Potential for what, though? Venkat frowned. While Nayan had encouraged Venkat’s experiments from the beginning, he still hadn’t shared the full scope of his own vision.

It is hard to spot a single leaf if you are ogling the entire forest, he’d noted a few months into the project. Let us glean wisdom from the sages of old and progress section by section, devoting ourselves fully to each one.

And he’d held to that, insisting if Venkat had expectations, they would stifle the story he was forging and force it into preconceived notions. When Venkat had argued that he could handle knowing, and Nayan should just let him in on the plan, Nayan had run him through a series of tests proving otherwise.

That didn’t make waiting to find out any easier, though. Or wondering what moving to the next stage actually meant.

The garland of small golden bells above the workshop’s back door jingled, startling Venkat. His first runner was downstairs. Somehow Lord Surya’s flaming chariot had already crested the horizon, and the pink striations of Ushas Mata’s dawn were feathering through the sky.

Though the shelves of elements hummed to him, each a tale in miniature, Venkat reluctantly put down his loupe. No matter how much time he spent here, it was never enough. He hadn’t even gotten to finish his floating couch.

But he was the closest thing to kin his dream runners had, so he pressed the button for the lift.

“And what did you get?” Venkat asked politely, studying the motley collection of dreamstones laid out before him on the rough-hewn table, wares he’d purchased from the four runners who’d stopped by earlier. They were the only spots of color in the stark cell of an evaluation room, so unlike the rest of the palace.

“Cats.” The runner, an athletic boy named Bharat, held up a topaz vial. “Worth a boon all by itself.”