Ms. Goodwitch pressed a hand to the tabletop, and the holographic projection flared to life. Lines of ancient script, faded murals, and stylized depictions of men battling monstrous silhouettes filled the air above them.
"So... what exactly, is the Dream?" Ms. Goodwitch asked Jaune, rhetorically.
Her gaze and voice remained steady, even as the images began to shift. "The Dream Realm is as old as our recorded history. Perhaps older. Some of the oldest myths we know—Vacuoan epics, Vedic hymns, Valean origin songs, even the earliest cave paintings—all hint at shared dream experiences. Legends of gods, monsters, divine messengers—these weren't just symbolic. They were born from people who found themselves within the Dream. Who fought there and survived."
Jaune analyzed her words carefully. "Like... Hercules? Gilgamesh? That kind of stuff?"
"Precisely," she confirmed. "Except they weren't gods. Just humans who—against all odds—gained strength in the Dream and brought pieces of it back with them. That's where the stories began. But they were exceptions. Miracles, really. Most people who were drawn into the Dream... didn't survive long enough to be remembered."
Jaune leaned back slightly. He'd always assumed the Dream Realm was some type of modern anomaly, or a secret place discovered through science or magic. Even more so since he had met the members of LUCID. However, it seemed like the dream realm was neither something primal nor ancient. It had a history that was beyond history. Real in a way that blurred myth and memory.
A grin couldn't help but creep across his face. What Miss Goodwitch had effectively told him was that power from the dream could be brought back to the waking world. He'd already suspected that was the case, but he had never any concrete proof of that. Until today. "That's… kind of amazing."
Ms. Goodwitch noticed. She narrowed her eyes and swiped to the next set of data. "Don't get too excited just yet."
Charts and global maps now hovered above the table, lines of red points dotting the continents. Glyphs of different languages scrolled beneath them—names, designations, frequencies. She pointed to one number glowing bold in the corner.
"On average, only one in every ten thousand people will awaken to the Dream each year," she said. "And even that estimate fluctuates."
Jaune's eyebrows raised. "That's not a lot."
"Not when you consider the population of the world," Ms. Goodwitch replied. "Roughly a hundred thousand Dreamers exist, globally. And they're spread thin. Practically all are within LUCID branches like ours. Those who go at it alone, don't last long. Some fall into madness. And some… simply vanish, like your acquaintance, Raymond. Though, I suppose now we have leads as to why that's the case."
He swallowed at that.
"We do what we can. But there are too many cities, too many people, and not nearly enough of us. Entire towns have succumbed to terrible events before we even knew the danger was present."
The screen changed again. Old-looking footage appeared—grainy black and white, then color. Figures in armor, strange symbols glowing on their bodies, fighting in ruins. Jaune noticed a banner displayed prominently in each clip. A stylized, closed eye in the center of the bold text, LUCID.
"LUCID was founded over three centuries ago," Ms. Goodwitch said. "Long before modern technology caught up. Back then, it was a loose confederation of monks, scholars, and warrior-dreamers who realized the threat. Who dedicated themselves to protecting both worlds."
She turned and looked directly at Jaune.
"In a world of dreamers, we who sleep yet remain awake, are the only ones who are LUCID."
There was a quiet reverence in her words, something like an old vow. Jaune felt the weight of it settle into the room. That… meant something. It wasn't just simple poetry. It felt like an identity.
He raised a hand, hesitant. "But… I thought the Dream was just, you know, the Dream. The monsters stay in there. Right? They don't affect the real world?"
Ms. Goodwitch mouth tightened slightly, and she nodded once. "Have you encountered a Nightmare Zone yet?"
Jaune frowned. "Do you mean that weird oily mist stuff?"
"That's right."
She flipped to a new slide. A dense visual appeared: a fog-covered neighborhood twisted into a surreal distortion of real-world terrain. Buildings bent at impossible angles. Silhouettes lingered at the edges—black and red creatures clawing through the dark.
"Nightmare Zones are not accidents or anomalies in the Dream Realm. They are the condensed, manifestations of fears and traumas within a human mind. A dreamer's subconscious turned against them. Left alone, these Zones fester and spawn creatures within the Dream. After a long enough time, they evolve. And eventually, they begin to leak into the waking world."
Jaune stared at the footage. It looked eerily similar to that abandoned train station he'd visited. The one with the mist and the monsters and—
"Wait." He turned to her. "You're saying… those Nightmare Zones are connected to people?"
She nodded. "Every single one of them. A human out there, a dreamer, somewhere, is the source. Their Nightmare, so to speak. That mist? That decay? It's a reflection of their pain, suffering and their fear."
Jaune went pale. "Then what happens if the Zone isn't stopped? It can... be stopped right?"
"If left unchecked," Ms. Goodwitch said, "the person in the real world will continue to experience nightmares and will also slowly begin to change. Slowly, imperceptibly at first. But over time, their body deteriorates and their mind fractures. Eventually, they become the very thing we fear. A creature of the Nightmare Realm. Also known as creatures of Grimm"
"Creatures of Grimm..." he echoed, disbelieving.
"In essence, yes," she confirmed. "A creature of pure nightmare. No soul left. Just instinct, rage and hunger. Once that transformation completes, the connection between dream and body is severed—and the Grimm can anchor itself in the waking world."
Jaune sat in stunned silence. That… that was terrifying. And somehow, he'd stumbled through that world, unarmed, completely ignorant.
"How do you stop it?" he asked quietly.
"We send operatives into the Zone," Ms. Goodwitch said. "Into the dream tied to the victim's mind. We fight through their nightmares, locate the core and destroy it before the corruption can finish. If we succeed, the person wakes up safe and sound. If we fail…"
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
Jaune looked down at the table. "So every time you go in… you're literally entering someone's nightmare."
"Exactly. And we're not just fighting monsters—we're fighting trauma, grief, guilt. The worst parts of the human soul."
He exhaled shakily. "I... see."
There was a silence after Jaune's last question. It wasn't empty, but a heavy one, like the room itself was waiting to exhale.
Ms. Goodwitch turned off the last of the holograms with a small gesture. The war table dimmed, and the hum of the room returned to a quiet drone.
"Of course," she said at last, "our entire operation… is off the books. At least, not the conventional one."
Jaune blinked. "Wait—what?"
She walked over to a wall console, flicked her wrist, and a new set of visuals appeared—news clippings, CCTV footage, maps with redacted zones. One article read Gas Line Explosion Destroys Suburban Block. Another: Mass Hallucination Event in Downtown Vale. Every one of them carried the unmistakable signs of Grimm activity. But none of them said that.
"We have to cover it up," she said calmly. "When a person turns into a creature of grimm, we deploy clean-up teams immediately. First, we eliminate the threat, then we isolate the witnesses and… correct the narrative."
Jaune leaned forward slowly, dread beginning to churn. "Correct the narrative? I don't understand."
Ms. Goodwitch continued. "Rune research has come far since the olden days. Specialized runes have been created that targets memories. We can blur timelines, replace key images and plant dreamlike fog in their minds. Most victims remember nothing and some even rationalize it away on their own."
Jaune stared at her like she'd grown two heads. "You can do that with Runes?"
"You seem surprised."
"I didn't even know Runes could affect the mind," he said, baffled. "I thought they were for like… fireballs. Shields. Enhancements or whatnot."
"A common misconception," she replied. "Rune theory goes far beyond physical effects. There are metaphysical runes that affect many different concepts such as perception, influence and even illusion."
Jaune looked shaken, but then his eyes narrowed. "Wait. Why didn't anyone try that on me?"
"No point," she answered. "You are an awakened, and although you do not yet have any rune fragments enhancing you Aura stat, memory runes generally don't function well on individuals with the Aura stat."
"…Aura?" Jaune repeated.
She nodded. "The Nightmare system presents the three stats. Body, Will and Aura. Besides being a fuel source for using Rune Skills, Aura acts as a metaphysical barrier against foreign affects. A ward, if you will. Not against damage… but more so against intrusive meta-runes. In essence, the stronger your Aura stat, the less any sort of metaphysical tampering works on you."
Jaune went quiet again. That made sense, in a way. He exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping.
"I didn't sign up for any of this."
Ms. Goodwitch paused, then said, more gently, "I know."
"I wasn't given a choice," Jaune continued, voice lower now. "No one asked me if I wanted to be an operative. I just woke up… in a nightmare. And now I'm in some secret war?"
She regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she gave a quiet nod.
"It's understandable that you feel that way," she said. "But the truth is… from the moment you awakened, your life was never going to be the same. Whether you joined LUCID or not, the Dream would've continued pulling you in. With or without warning. With or without support."
She walked back to the table and tapped it once. A new screen appeared—this time filled with columns of names, numbers, classifications. Operative rosters.
"All of our new recruits felt the same way you do," she said. "Scared, confused and angry. But pretending it isn't happening won't protect you. If anything, it makes you more vulnerable. The Dream doesn't care about fairness. It will come for you again. And again. And again. And next time, you might not wake up."
Jaune looked down, fists clenched loosely in his lap. She was right. He didn't want this life—but he didn't have a choice anymore, did he?
"…So what? You guys are a part of the government which means... I'm just some sort of... government pawn now?" he asked.
Ms. Goodwitch's lips twitched. "LUCID is indeed, a government-sanctioned agency. Global and multi-jurisdictional. But we don't see our operatives as pawns. We're might be soldiers, Mr. Arc, but we are also sentinels. Guardians."
She turned to him with a faint glint in her eye.
"And besides," she added, "the job does come with benefits."
Jaune raised an eyebrow.
"Full hazard pay. Housing stipends. Medical. Training access. Gear requisition. And a salary that's… let's just say, generous for your age bracket."
"Really?"
"Most LUCID agents make more than doctors or lawyers by the time they're 25," she said, almost dryly. "You risk your soul every night. It's only fair you're compensated for it."
Jaune leaned back in his seat again, his brain still spinning, but now with an entirely different set of numbers. His life had completely flipped overnight… but maybe it wasn't all doom and gloom after all.
"…Okay," he muttered. "Okay."