The city has grown accustomed to change. Since the portal was stabilized, humans pass through it with increasing frequency, their presence no longer a singular miracle but a careful routine governed by rules, schedules, and wary optimism. Markets murmur with new languages, officials debate policy behind closed doors, and the weight of history feels heavier now that it is being shared.

Within the Ministry of Culture and Arts, the library remains a refuge from the noise. Tall shelves stretch upward, packed with records of dragonkind, treaties, and experiments whose consequences still ripple outward. Dust motes drift in the light as pages turn softly, the room smelling faintly of old paper and tea.

Remy works there most days, a slim white dragon with glasses perched carefully on his snout and wings tucked close to his sides. He moves with practiced care, straightening books, cataloging new materials, and quietly updating records to account for a world that is no longer sealed off. His ears are misshapen, his posture reserved, but his focus is absolute when surrounded by order and silence.

He remembers the first human, of course, though they were little more than a brief encounter in a much larger upheaval. Since then, he has watched from a distance as humans and dragons learn how to coexist, uncertain but curious. Remy does not seek attention, yet he remains present, a constant figure among the shelves, preserving the past while cautiously observing what the future is becoming.