Dream, that sweet refuge from life's harsh realities, doth also unveil the soul's most truthful whispers.
Dreams be of two kinds—the fair and the foul—where deepest fears and fondest hopes entwine like threads in fate's own loom.
Yea, they know depth as well as shadow: light slumber weaveth visions bright, yet fragile as morning dew; but deep and heavy sleep doth cast one into the abyss of thine own heart—there where terrors dwell, and from which few return unshaken. This we name the dread "Nightmare."
Some say dreams may foretell what is yet to come, unveiling Time's hidden scroll ere ink hath touched the page.
Yet marvel still: in this our age, there be those who through art mysterious may steal into another's dream—to spy on secrets dark, or lure the soul into those depths whence none return. There may they slay the dreamer, leaving the body but an empty shell, or a mind unthroned. None in the waking world believe such death; nay, not e'en the learned leech can trace the cause, but blames some swift decay, or toil, or ill-sustained life.
In recent years, such phantoms multiply; fear steals through cities like a mist. Wild rumors flourish, yet none suspect the truth lies in the kingdom of sleep.
A few, though, have glimpsed the veil's edge. These souls, gifted and bold, now band together—to venture deep into slumber's realm and free those trapped in endless night.
In dreams, truth and illusion dance as one; all that fancy may conceive here standeth real. Here may the wicked meet their doom, the cruel be met with cruelty, the gentle repaid with grace.
Thus the world of dreams—a vast Utopia—hath become a haven for longing hearts, an ideal realm where weary spirits seek their home.