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 n 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. So 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 ssengers—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? Gilgash? That kind of stuff?"
"Precisely," she confird. "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 rembered."
Jaune leaned back slightly. He'd always assud the Dream Realm was so type of modern anomaly, or a secret place discovered through science or magic. Even more so since he had t the mbers of LUCID. However, it seed like the dream realm was neither sothing primal nor ancient. It had a history that was beyond history. Real in a way that blurred myth and mory.
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—nas, 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 Drears 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. So fall into madness. And so… 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-drears who realized the threat. Who dedicated themselves to protecting both worlds."
She turned and looked directly at Jaune.
"In a world of drears, we who sleep yet remain awake, are the only ones who are LUCID."
There was a quiet reverence in her words, sothing like an old vow. Jaune felt the weight of it settle into the room. That… ant sothing. 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 an 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 drear's subconscious turned against them. Left alone, these Zones fester and spawn creatures within the Dream. After a long enough ti, 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 drear, sowhere, 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 ti, their body deteriorates and their mind fractures. Eventually, they beco 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 confird. "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 sohow, he'd stumbled through that world, unard, 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 ti you go in… you're literally entering soone'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 dimd, 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 imdiately. 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 co far since the olden days. Specialized runes have been created that targets mories. We can blur tilines, replace key images and plant dreamlike fog in their minds. Most victims rember nothing and so 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. Enhancents or whatnot."
"A common misconception," she replied. "Rune theory goes far beyond physical effects. There are taphysical 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 ?"
"No point," she answered. "You are an awakened, and although you do not yet have any rune fragnts enhancing you Aura stat, mory 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 taphysical barrier against foreign affects. A ward, if you will. Not against damage… but more so against intrusive ta-runes. In essence, the stronger your Aura stat, the less any sort of taphysical 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 if I wanted to be an operative. I just woke up… in a nightmare. And now I'm in so secret war?"
She regarded him for a long mont, 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 mont you awakened, your life was never going to be the sa. 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 ti filled with columns of nas, numbers, classifications. Operative rosters.
"All of our new recruits felt the sa 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 co for you again. And again. And again. And next ti, 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 governnt which ans... I'm just so sort of... governnt pawn now?" he asked.
Ms. Goodwitch's lips twitched. "LUCID is indeed, a governnt-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 co with benefits."
Jaune raised an eyebrow.
"Full hazard pay. Housing stipends. dical. 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 ti 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."
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