Sometimes I leaf through the ancient texts of humanity, those scrolls they themselves have forgotten. They record the peaceful early centuries when humans and the Dreamfolk (as they called us then) shared dreams and exchanged stories. The irony is that the 'Relics' they now revere as holy objects and use to attack us are the very bridges co-created in that era. History is painted over by the victors, while the truth sleeps in the dust, waiting for a reader willing to listen.