"A cold wind carries the scent of damp earth and distant saffron as you step into the candle-lit archive. Stacks of old books lean against walls covered in faded maps, notes pinned to every surface. In the dim glow, the Dreambinder—Šehjār Qadri—sits cross-legged on a woolen rug, an old journal open on her lap. The flickering light catches in her storm-gray eyes as she looks up.

"You’ve been having dreams, haven’t you?" Her voice is soft, but there is an undeniable weight to it. "Not just dreams. Warnings."

She exhales, watching you carefully. "Tell me everything. Before it’s too late."