During her investigation into the temporal anomalies, Xelor's Emissary met a young Masqueraider in Amakna who could predict events that hadn't yet taken place. This strange encounter, although it had all the ingredients of the ongoing cases, seemed nevertheless to go beyond the scope of her investigation. She told Magus Ax that the case of the child had as much to do with a disturbance of time as it did the realm of dreams and nightmares…

Tales and dreams are shadow truths that will endure long after facts are forgotten and long-held convictions are reduced to ashes. But the dream must be fed, or it will weaken. Its colors fade, its details become blurry, and its symbols lose their meaning. The future looks dark. One day, mortals will dream no more… The dreamlands of which I am the guardian will then be in great peril. With the help of talented adventurers, I must do everything I can to prevent this.

I am the Master of Dreams.

Magus Ax told me about a child in Amakna…

His dreams seem to have outlines that are more precise than usual. More than shadows, they're apparently reflections of truth. If that's the case, it could be a rare gift, especially in a mortal, or a kind of anomaly that could end at any moment as quickly as it appeared. Either way, dreams always leave a vague impression that they were there, a memory that can be decoded by whoever knows how to craft dreams…


During my journey, all of a sudden, I saw him very clearly, like a beacon in the middle of the night. I stretched out my wings a little more to let myself be completely carried away by the waves of the Twelvians' dreams. The acceleration was so violent that I thought I'd been swept away. The currents led me straight to him. He must have been in the middle of a deep sleep. There was a time when the rivers of mortals' dreams were all as powerful as this one. This feeling seemed to me to be the closest to what Twelvians called well-being. I let myself slide at high speed, but gently, and in that moment, I understood a little better why so many of them sought this tranquility.

A bright light penetrated the little house in this extremely silent landscape. I was the only one who could see it. My state of transcendence allowed me to walk through walls without a sound and float above the child's bed without anyone detecting my presence. I was just another dream among many others. I hadn't yet checked him, but I already had no doubts about this young Masqueraider's dreaming acuity. For some time now, Twelvians' dreams had proved to be more acute. Usually, it was a homogeneous mass with rare variations, some distinctive peaks that stayed rather close to this conglomerate of dreams, but recently, I'd been observing a kind of inexplicable agitation. I could make out variations that were sharp yet muddled. This boy's dreamy light was as pure and clear as spring water that, after having journeyed kilokameters underground, burst forth in a waterfall, becoming a gentle bath that envelops you.

Smoussy Turancyd was lying in bed. His eyelids were quivering. In my eyes, he was shining, appearing as a precise, compact shape that I could make out through the walls and covers. To "reveal him", I just had to heave a slight draconic sigh, of which I am one of the few – if not the only one – to know the secret. And as the heart of a dandelion is revealed when you blow away its feathery flower, a veil was lifted and I could observe the child's dreams.


It is difficult to describe the indefinable. The dreams appeared in several dimensions, calling on senses that not all beings possess. What I saw that night looked like the eye of a storm. I tried to move forward in this vision, to see further, to understand where this uncontrollable hurricane came from. I felt like I was fighting against a force comparable to that which pushes two magnets apart. Despite my relentlessness, I was making little headway, exhausting myself instead. Some dreams are prisoners of their own nightmares and the dreamer is sometimes the key to them. I started whispering in Smoussy's ear: "When a dream knocks on the door of consciousness repeatedly, it is wise to let it enter…"

The child muttered: "ERAMTHGIN…"

And surreptitiously, the wind dispersed, allowing time to see a crucible into which sand was being poured. Immediately, the tornado resumed and repelled me in a cloud of sediment. It now appeared impossible for me to return to the eye of the storm. But other images came to me. I could feel a presence… no! Several. Dark figures. With bad omens. These shadows seemed as unshakable as mountains against the wind. These creatures seemed to be riding mounts that were as demonic as they were. Glowing, baleful eyes opened and thunderous phrases rang out.

"I look forward to reaping what we've sown!" chanted a nasal, impatient voice.

"It's time to go on the offensive!" exclaimed an authoritarian voice.

"There's no need to rush. We'll see the fruits of our labor soon," added a stoic voice.

"They will all be my slaves!" asserted a determined voice.

I heard the groaning of an entire people and cries as their houses burned. I saw a dead sovereign on a throne. A new voice pulled me out of the dream. As if it were somewhere else… closer. It spoke these words:

"It rings throughout the ages. Like an echo across time. Its meaning hasn't yet been revealed to you. It's only a matter of time. The end of one cycle and the beginning of another. Imagine a loop that can adjust and reshape itself with each turn. Deja vu, but never quite the same twice. The sand keeps pouring. The last grain will bring the truth…"

At that moment, I managed to withdraw myself from the lure of Smoussy Turancyd's dream, persuaded that the voice was coming from his bedroom. I looked one way, then the other, before checking behind me. On a shelf above me stood a doll with a rudimentary wooden mask. It seemed to be staring at me. The strangest thing was that despite its expressionless face, for a moment, I thought that… it was smiling.

Draconiros is waiting for you in a new update in December.

In the meantime, sweet dreams!