Aurene's Fang

Aurene's Fang rests on the workbench like a shard torn from a sleeping dragon, curved and obsidian-dark, about the length of a forearm but impossibly light in the hand. Its surface is glass-smooth, a whisper-thin sheen of blue that fuels the eye with cold stars whenever the lamplight catches it. Along the edge, delicate runes braid themselves into the metal, shallow and precise as if carved by a dragon’s own breath. The base is wrapped in weathered dragonbone thread, a reminder of the creature from whom it was born, and a tiny vein of warmth still threads through the grip, faint but undeniable when your fingers hover close. In the right light, you can see a pale internal glow that stirs as if the Fang were listening to a heartbeat you cannot hear. Lore winds around it as if the Fang were a hinge to a door long shut. Some whisper that it was torn from Aurene’s jaw during a moment of reckless curiosity, when the hatchling learned to bend starlight into something that cut night itself. Others speak of it as a relic passed down by those who stood at Aurene’s side during her first ascents—a keepsake of trust between dragon and rider, a talisman that remembers how quickly a child can become a legend. What endures in the whispers is not merely the image of a fang, but the sense that this shard carries a promise: that power, once awakened, is a living thing that seeks a partner who can listen. In gameplay terms the Fang feels like a small, patient revolution. When you slot it into the right crafting path or weapon upgrade, it awakens a dragon’s blessing that shifts how your gear behaves under pressure. It doesn’t shout for attention; it hums, brightening momentarily when you strike a decisive blow, storing that moment like a winter sunset in a glass, and then releasing it in a cascade of motes that skim across your next attack. The result is a weapon that rewards rhythm and restraint—the sort of tool that makes a veteran nod, because its true power arrives not in raw damage but in synergy with a player who learns to pace their strikes, read the battlefield, and weave those dragon-charged moments into a longer song of combat. Market talk follows the same quiet rhythm, especially in places where stories are traded as often as metal. I watched a handful of smiths and caravaneers circle Aurene's Fang in a sun-washed stall at Saddlebag Exchange, where seasoned traders speak softly about the current demand and the fevered itch for dragon-borne artifacts. The price ticks in small, cautious increments, a conversation of gold and silver coins, pawned memories, and the occasional glittering shard from a nearby dragon’s hoard. People don’t just buy the Fang; they buy the possibility of what it might unlock, the sense that they are tethering their own fate to Aurene’s legend, if only for a moment longer. So the Fang remains not simply an object but a passage. A remnant of a dragon’s childhood that still holds a charge of her future. A catalyst for a weapon that asks you to breathe with it, to time your strikes as carefully as you would tell a story. A reminder that in the world, even a single shard can become a map—leading inward, outward, and upward toward the next dawn where dragon and rider test the edge of what is possible together.