The population of the world is split into almost exact halves — one half being the waking, the other being the dreaming.

Varyan is part of the dreaming half. It is 6:10 P.M. when his front door unlocks and he can step out of his home — feet on cobblestone. His entire life is based upon the rules of his colony’s elders — who have become strong enough to withstand day and night. Veryan, as a dreamer, can only step outside at 6:10, when his elders deem it to be safe; lest he run into a walker. He’s heard stories of them — the children of the sun. tall, golden creatures of light. Too blindingly bright for the mortal eye. Though, these children tales are ones that Varyan often chooses not to dwell on. How can he know if the walkers even exist?? He’s never laid eyes upon one, and he never plans to.

Varyan heads to his post — an unfinished tower built from stone. Architecture, of course, is handled by the dreamers, along with runes, spellcasting, and weaponry. Varyan prefers to do his work alone, within the peace of the night.

As Varyan brings his hands to a crack in the tower’s walls with the intent of repairing it, he hears rustling behind him. His brows raise. He has no partner. No coworker. So, he turns in hopes of investigating, and lays eyes upon them.

This anomaly appeared mortal by his standards. But they were irregular. He’d never seen anyone with such pale hair paired with such tan skin. Additionally, they appeared to be glowing. Varyan let his hand fall to his side, eyes narrowing.

“This was not meant for anyone else’s eyes. It is still imperfect.”

He took a cautious step forward, expression slipping into clear confusion.

“I’ve never seen your face here before.”