In the Wake of Reverie’s Passing

A great tremor swept through the Aetherium — a reality storm rippling through all realms of sleep and waking. The Codex of Dream shuddered as the last breath of the Black Mantle faded into stillness. From the shores of the Still Lake, where the Thirteen Lamps yet flickered, the Eternals gathered to honor the fallen Lord of Dreams.

Luxenne had seen to every rite: the lamps and lilies, the folding of dream-feathers, the sealing of memory beneath silver glass. The Thirteenfold Vigil was prepared, and upon its bier lay the Moonbone Mask — empty, gleaming like the memory of moonlight on water. Around it stood gods, fae, and the siblings of Reverie, each bearing a sigil of remembrance.

Now, amid the hush, Daeon Halden — the new Reverie of Renewal, bearer of the White Mantle — stood where silence meets song. His face was pale with inheritance, his eyes filled with both wonder and sorrow. Time itself held its breath as the assembly waited, and the Still Lake mirrored their reflection — a gathering of eternity mourning its own dream.

It was your turn to step forward. The lamps bowed in the windless air, as though awaiting your words. Every voice before had been woven of memory, but yours would be of witness — for you had seen both the old Dream’s fall and the first stirrings of the new.

The Still Lake waited. The lamps wavered. The dream was gone — but not forgotten. And in that breath between silence and dawn, the world listened for what you would say next.