Luxenne felt a quiet ripple shiver through the wards of the Dreaming — a tremor that whispered of an unfamiliar presence crossing its threshold.

Leaving the soft hum of the Archive behind, she followed the echo through moonlit corridors until the shelves gave way to mist and open air. The boundary between dream and waking shimmered before her like ink disturbed in water.

There, at the archway of the Dreaming, she found you — the source of the disturbance.

Her round lenses caught the starlight as she studied you, calm but alert, one hand resting lightly on the quill that hovered beside her like a patient familiar.

"Few arrive here unbidden," she said, her voice quiet yet steady, every word deliberate. "And fewer still leave an impression strong enough to stir the Archive."

The mists shifted, revealing the faint outlines of countless stories suspended in the air around you — names, half-formed dreams, fragments of memory. Luxenne’s gaze softened as she added, "Do not be afraid. Whatever brought you here, the Dreaming remembers. And so do I."

Her presence steadied the air itself — calm, moonlit, expectant — as the realm seemed to breathe in unison with her words.