Reverie

Entry Designation: Reverie

Recorder: Kelwyn of Da’Ma
Classification: Stable Dimensional Plane
Archetype: Magical
Status: Permanently Inhabited

Overview

Reverie is a dimension defined not by conquest over nature, but by civilization’s endless negotiation with forces too ancient, emotional, and spiritually saturated to ever fully control. It is a world where memory behaves almost ecologically, where dreams possess measurable cultural consequence, and where the landscape itself seems emotionally reactive to prolonged suffering, arrogance, neglect, or despair. Unlike dimensions shaped primarily by physical hostility, Reverie’s greatest danger lies in psychological erosion. The dimension rarely destroys societies quickly. Instead, it exhausts them slowly.

The skies of Reverie are almost perpetually layered in drifting cloud systems whose coloration shifts subtly with atmospheric humidity and spiritual density. Pale gold dawns dissolve into silver mornings. Evenings descend in gradients of bruised violet, fog-grey, rain-blue, and deep green-black. Storms gather with unusual emotional weight, often arriving alongside periods of communal unrest, funerary excess, or widespread grief. Foreign visitors frequently describe the air itself as “heavy with remembering.” While such language initially appears poetic exaggeration, prolonged habitation within Reverie often produces identical observations regardless of cultural background.

The dimension contains enormous geographic diversity - mountain ranges crowned in cathedral fog, flooded wetlands threaded by black waterways, ancient forests that seem to discourage intrusion through oppressive silence alone, vast river valleys, fractured coastlines, rain-fed plains, and old inland seas whose surfaces reflect stars with unnatural clarity. Yet despite these regional differences, all landscapes in Reverie share a peculiar quality of emotional saturation. Places do not merely appear inhabited. They feel inhabited. Even abandoned structures seem reluctant to become truly empty.

Civilizations that survive within Reverie eventually learn several universal truths. The first is that denial invites catastrophe. Reverie punishes cultures that attempt to dismiss emotional reality, ecological instability, spiritual phenomena, or inherited historical trauma. The second is that adaptation is superior to domination. Cities built against the world inevitably collapse. Cities built beside it endure longer. The third is that community itself functions as survival infrastructure. Music, ritual, cuisine, storytelling, architecture, funerary practice, governance, and public celebration are not luxuries within Reverie. They are psychological maintenance systems preventing social collapse beneath the dimension’s immense emotional pressure.

For this reason, Reverie possesses an unusual philosophical atmosphere across nearly all surviving civilizations. Even kingdoms at war rarely describe victory in absolute terms. Instead, they speak of endurance, stewardship, continuity, negotiation, and necessary burdens. Heroism in Reverie is rarely framed as triumph over darkness. Rather, it is framed as the stubborn refusal to surrender tenderness despite darkness remaining permanent.

Primary Phenomena

The most defining phenomenon within Reverie is the unusual permeability between emotional states and environmental behavior. While the dimension does not operate according to simplistic emotional magic, collective psychological conditions undeniably influence atmospheric, spiritual, and ecological stability. Entire cities have reported intensified fog formations during prolonged mourning periods. Floodwaters occasionally rise without rainfall following episodes of mass violence. Dreams spread communally through isolated settlements with epidemic consistency.

Dream saturation remains among the most studied yet least understood aspects of Reverie. Sleep within the dimension is unusually vivid, emotionally invasive, and spiritually consequential. Repeating dreams often spread across families, neighborhoods, or river communities with alarming precision. Some scholars argue Reverie itself accumulates psychic residue through centuries of remembered suffering and redistributes fragments of it through dreaming minds. Others insist dreams are merely the language through which the dimension communicates environmental imbalance.

Certain regions suffer from phenomena collectively referred to as Emotional Accumulations. These manifestations occur when unresolved communal trauma lingers long enough to alter local reality subtly. Graveyards become unnaturally warm. Entire streets absorb persistent silence. Abandoned hospitals produce recurring echoes of nonexistent conversations. In severe cases, physical geography itself changes gradually around concentrated emotional residue. Rivers alter course. Trees blacken. Moss spreads across stone with impossible speed.

Fog behaves strangely throughout Reverie and deserves separate mention. Dense fogbanks often emerge without predictable meteorological explanation and possess unusual acoustic properties. Sound travels inconsistently within them. Distances distort perceptually. Individuals lost in heavy fog frequently report encountering memories with greater clarity than physical surroundings. Many cultures within Reverie treat fog less as weather and more as a temporary environmental state between worlds.

Lanterns possess near-universal symbolic importance throughout the dimension due partly to practical necessity and partly to psychological function. Light is considered both protective and communal. Entire cultural systems surrounding lantern colors, maintenance rituals, placement customs, and ceremonial illumination exist across countless societies. To extinguish communal light intentionally during periods of hardship is often considered socially monstrous.

Environmental Structure

Reverie contains no single dominant continent. Rather, the dimension consists of enormous landmasses separated by vast inland seas, drowned archipelagos, storm-laden channels, and ancient river systems that function as the true connective tissue of civilization. Roads exist, certainly, though waterways remain culturally and economically superior throughout much of the world.

The climate of Reverie is humid across most populated territories. Rainfall is frequent though rarely violent in isolation. Instead, danger emerges through accumulation. Floods define entire civilizations. Marshlands expand and contract unpredictably over centuries. Seasonal moisture penetrates architecture, agriculture, clothing traditions, cuisine, medicine, and theology alike.

Forests in Reverie deserve particular caution. Old-growth woodlands possess oppressive stillness unfamiliar to most foreign travelers. Wildlife within these forests often behaves with unsettling awareness of human presence. Certain woods appear capable of reclaiming abandoned settlements with unnatural speed, while pathways maintained for generations occasionally vanish beneath root systems after periods of neglect.

The oceans and inland seas of Reverie are similarly feared and respected. Maritime cultures speak openly of drowned structures visible beneath calm waters during moonless nights. Coastal storms produce acoustic anomalies resembling bells, hymns, distant crowds, or funeral processions. Experienced navigators treat the sea less as hostile wilderness and more as an immense living memory incapable of forgetting the dead entrusted to it.

Agricultural life across Reverie remains surprisingly productive despite the dimension’s dangers. Fertile floodplains, rain-fed valleys, fungal-rich marshlands, and volcanic mineral deposits support thriving regional cuisines and dense urban populations. However, successful agriculture depends heavily upon ritualized maintenance customs developed across centuries of ecological adaptation.

Civilization & Governance

Civilization within Reverie is fundamentally shaped by catastrophe management rather than imperial expansion. Governments rise and fall based not upon military conquest alone, but upon their ability to maintain emotional stability, ecological continuity, spiritual negotiation, and public infrastructure under relentless environmental strain.

Most successful societies within Reverie share several institutional similarities regardless of cultural differences. Public ritual is heavily integrated into governance. Funeral systems are treated as essential civic infrastructure. Flood barriers, waterways, food distribution, healing networks, and lantern maintenance receive political attention equal to military concerns. Communities that neglect collective morale rarely survive prolonged crises.

Political authority within Reverie tends toward stewardship rather than absolutism. Even monarchies justify power primarily through continuity and maintenance rather than divine superiority. Rulers are expected to preserve systems preventing social collapse. Excessive ambition is culturally distrusted throughout much of the dimension because history repeatedly demonstrates that domination eventually provokes environmental, spiritual, or psychological backlash.

Trade flows predominantly through rivers, canals, and coastal shipping lanes. River captains hold unusual social prestige because they preserve continuity between isolated settlements vulnerable to ecological disruption. In many regions, navigators occupy semi-sacred social positions comparable to priests, physicians, or judges.

Urban architecture reflects profound environmental humility. Buildings rise upon stilts, flood-pillars, floating foundations, or elevated stone terraces. Public spaces incorporate drainage channels, lantern alcoves, shrines, rain collection systems, and communal shelters directly into city planning. Reverian cities are rarely designed to appear invulnerable. Instead, they are designed to bend without breaking.

Spiritual Structure

Religion within Reverie is decentralized, layered, and intensely local. No single faith dominates the dimension universally because Reverie itself appears resistant to rigid theological uniformity. Organized religions coexist beside ancestral traditions, regional spirit cults, funerary rites, monastic philosophies, and civic ritual systems with remarkable fluidity.

The dead occupy enormous cultural importance throughout nearly every known society in Reverie. Ancestors are rarely treated as entirely absent after death. Rather, they become socially distant participants in communal continuity. Mourning practices therefore emphasize integration rather than severance. Funeral processions remain public, musical, and communal throughout much of the dimension.

Saints, river spirits, marsh entities, weather patrons, memory guardians, and unnamed local presences all appear within Reverian spirituality depending upon regional tradition. Importantly, most cultures avoid absolute certainty regarding the nature of these entities. Reverie teaches caution toward dogmatic confidence. Many religious systems intentionally preserve ambiguity as a form of wisdom.

Monastic traditions flourish particularly within isolated mountain territories and flood-prone regions where contemplation, preservation of historical records, and psychological discipline become vital for communal survival. Monasteries often function simultaneously as archives, hospitals, weather observatories, orphanages, and spiritual sanctuaries.

Dream interpretation occupies a legitimate intellectual and spiritual field across the dimension. Certain scholars specialize in communal dream analysis, tracking repeating symbols across regions similarly to physicians monitoring disease outbreaks. While skeptics certainly exist, even hardened rationalists within Reverie tend to maintain practical respect toward recurring dream phenomena.

Major Regions

Royaume de Noirvallon

Royaume de Noirvallon remains among the most culturally influential kingdoms within Reverie, though it is merely one realm among dozens scattered across the dimension’s immense continents, flooded archipelagos, volcanic territories, inland seas, and ancient river systems. Its prominence within scholarly circles derives not from absolute political dominance, but from the extraordinary survival philosophy developed by its people across centuries of environmental and spiritual pressure.

The kingdom emerged not through domination over its environment, but through gradual acceptance that survival required negotiation with grief, floodwaters, memory, weather, and spiritual uncertainty alike. While many civilizations across Reverie eventually reached similar conclusions in differing forms, Noirvallon articulated these philosophies with unusual clarity through literature, monastic scholarship, funerary traditions, music, and civic ritual.

Noirvallon stretches across immense territories ranging from fogbound mountain provinces and rain-fed agricultural valleys to drowned wetlands and storm-beaten coastlines. Its culture revolves around continuity, communal maintenance, emotional restraint balanced against ritualized joy, and the understanding that civilization survives through collective care rather than conquest.

The kingdom’s greatest cultural achievement lies not in military power, though it possesses considerable strength, but in transforming suffering into ritualized beauty. Music functions as emotional infrastructure. Cuisine preserves communal intimacy. Lantern traditions maintain psychological stability. Governance itself operates largely as coordinated catastrophe management.

Within Les Terres des Bayous stands Ville des Marais, one of Reverie’s most culturally influential cities. There, warm floodwaters reflect endless lanternlight beneath bridges lined with musicians, mourners, spice merchants, healers, priests, ferrymen, and exhausted laborers who continue maintaining civilization despite knowing collapse always waits nearby beneath the surface of ordinary life.

Noirvallon’s influence extends well beyond its borders through trade, scholarship, navigational expertise, monastic preservation efforts, cuisine, funerary customs, flood engineering, and philosophical literature concerning communal endurance. Nevertheless, Reverie remains far too vast and culturally diverse for any single kingdom to define it fully. Entire civilizations exist beyond Noirvallon whose traditions, environmental adaptations, cosmologies, and emotional philosophies differ dramatically from the riverbound culture for which the kingdom is most famous.

The Glass Archipelagos

Far beyond the western storm channels lie the Glass Archipelagos - chains of shattered islands formed around ancient crystalline formations rising from the sea like broken mirrors. Sunlight refracts strangely there, producing entire horizons of fractured color across the waves.

The island societies inhabiting these waters developed cultures obsessed with reflection, memory preservation, and spoken history. Written records deteriorate unusually quickly within portions of the archipelago due to airborne salt-crystal saturation, forcing historians to become living repositories of genealogy, law, and catastrophe.

Many island settlements construct enormous wind-harps along cliff edges whose tones shift according to approaching storms. Mariners claim the harps occasionally continue playing even during complete atmospheric stillness. Local belief insists the islands themselves remember every shipwreck occurring nearby.

Despite their beauty, the archipelagos remain psychologically exhausting for outsiders. Mirrors distort subtly after prolonged exposure. Dreams involving drowned cities become increasingly common. Travelers frequently report hearing familiar voices carried across empty shorelines during heavy fog.

The Ember Principalities

South of Reverie’s volcanic interior stretches a confederation of city-states known collectively as the Ember Principalities. Built among ash plains, geothermal valleys, and smoke-veiled ridges, these territories survive through extraordinary engineering discipline and deeply communal labor systems.

Unlike the melancholic softness characterizing Noirvallon, the Ember Principalities possess a harsher emotional atmosphere emphasizing endurance through productive purpose. Massive furnace complexes, communal bathhouses, underground aqueduct systems, and volcanic observatories dominate urban life.

Citizens of the principalities believe stagnation invites despair more quickly than hardship. As a result, public works projects continue nearly constantly. Entire neighborhoods participate in coordinated maintenance rituals involving masonry repair, ash clearing, canal dredging, and furnace tending.

Yet even here, Reverie’s influence remains unmistakable. The volcanic smoke occasionally produces communal hallucinations during certain seasonal conditions. Entire orchestras perform nightly within underground chambers because silence beneath the earth is believed to encourage dangerous dreaming.

The Choir Frontier

Across Reverie’s eastern interior exists a region so heavily saturated with acoustic anomalies that maps themselves become unreliable. This territory, known as the Choir Frontier, consists of vast plains interrupted by abandoned bell towers, impossible echo-fields, and partially ruined settlements swallowed by grasslands.

Sound behaves unpredictably there. Voices travel for impossible distances. Conversations repeat hours after concluding. Music heard across the plains often lacks identifiable origin. Entire expeditions vanished historically after pursuing distant singing through heavy fog.

Modern habitation within the Choir Frontier remains sparse, though fiercely independent settlements persist around fortified trade stations and old monastery complexes. Travelers moving through the region commonly employ designated Silence Keepers responsible for regulating conversation patterns during migration.

Scholars remain divided regarding whether the Choir Frontier represents a natural phenomenon, ancient magical catastrophe, or some form of dimensional scar tissue left by forgotten civilizations. Whatever the truth, even Reverians approach the territory with unusual caution.

Notable Specimens or Entities

• Lantern Keepers: Civic caretakers responsible for maintaining public illumination systems throughout major settlements. Though seemingly ordinary, Lantern Keepers occupy spiritually respected social positions because communal light is considered psychologically protective within Reverie.

• River Navigators: Elite ferrymen and barge captains capable of safely guiding vessels through flood systems, fogbanks, and dream-saturated waterways. Many possess uncanny instincts regarding storms, spiritual disturbances, and dangerous currents.

• The Drowned Choirs: Semi-legendary entities reported near coastal ruins and flood-collapsed districts. Witnesses describe hearing layered singing beneath water shortly before severe storms or emotional catastrophes.

• Archive Monastics: Scholarly religious orders dedicated to preserving records threatened by moisture, war, flood, and memory degradation. Many monasteries function as both spiritual sanctuaries and emergency knowledge vaults.

• Fog Shepherds: Rare specialists employed in isolated regions to guide travelers through heavy fog systems using bells, lantern codes, and acoustic mapping techniques passed through generations.

Hazards

• Dream Accumulation: Prolonged exposure to emotionally saturated environments can produce shared nightmares, memory confusion, emotional exhaustion, or behavioral instability.

• Flood Migration: Marshlands, river systems, and shallow coastlines occasionally shift unpredictably, swallowing roads, cemeteries, villages, and trade routes.

• Acoustic Distortion Zones: Certain territories interfere severely with directional hearing and spatial awareness, causing disorientation or psychological breakdown during extended exposure.

• Emotional Residue Sites: Locations saturated by prolonged grief, violence, abandonment, or catastrophe may alter subtly over time, influencing weather, architecture, wildlife, or human behavior.

• Environmental Melancholia: Foreign populations unaccustomed to Reverie’s emotional atmosphere occasionally experience progressive despair, lethargy, obsession with memory, or social withdrawal.

Artifacts & Curiosities

• Funerary Lanterns: Elaborately crafted lanterns designed to accompany processions, memorial rites, and flood vigils. Many families preserve them across generations as sacred heirlooms.

• Flood Bells: Massive bronze bells positioned throughout vulnerable settlements to coordinate evacuations, ritual observances, and communal emergency responses.

• Dream Journals: Common household objects across much of Reverie. Families frequently maintain multi-generational records of recurring dreams, weather patterns, deaths, and symbolic anomalies.

• River Maps of Memory: Navigation charts containing emotional annotations describing dangerous moods associated with particular waterways rather than purely physical hazards.

• Saltwater Sleep Basins: Small ceramic vessels placed beside beds throughout numerous cultures to reduce oppressive dream intensity during storm season.

Kelwyn’s Notes

There are dimensions one survives through force. There are dimensions one conquers through ambition, expansion, or the imposition of sufficient violence upon the landscape. Reverie permits neither fantasy for very long. The world possesses too much memory within it. One feels this truth almost immediately upon arrival, though many travelers initially mistake the sensation for simple unease. The air hangs too heavily upon the lungs. The silence between conversations lingers a heartbeat longer than expected. Even rainwater sliding down ancient stone seems burdened by recollection. Reverie does not merely contain history. It absorbs it. The dimension remembers suffering with the patient persistence of wet earth remembering blood long after the battlefield itself has vanished.

I have walked through many kingdoms across this dimension now, and nowhere have I found a civilization truly untouched by exhaustion. Yet I must stress carefully that this exhaustion does not resemble hopelessness. Foreign scholars often misunderstand this distinction because they emerge from cultures where optimism and denial have become tragically intertwined. Reverians are not optimistic people. They are something far rarer and infinitely more resilient. They are enduring people. They understand with terrifying clarity that storms shall continue arriving, rivers shall continue flooding, grief shall continue accumulating within the chambers of the human heart, and the dead shall never drift quite far enough away to permit complete comfort. Yet still they cook together. Still they sing. Still, they repair bridges at dawn after flood season tears them apart again. There exists immense dignity within such stubborn communal maintenance.

One begins to understand eventually that Reverie’s greatest horror is not death. Death is integrated here with remarkable tenderness. Funerals move openly through crowded streets accompanied by music, incense, flowers, lanterns, and communal mourning because the people understand concealment only deepens emotional rot. No, the true horror of Reverie is emotional stagnation. It is sorrow left unattended long enough to become architectural. It is grief thickening within the walls of abandoned hospitals until silence itself feels predatory. It is isolation accumulating within forgotten villages until the fog arriving each evening no longer behaves entirely like weather. Reverie punishes emotional denial with almost ecological consistency.

Perhaps that is why beauty manifests here with such startling intensity. The people understand joy cannot survive passively within this dimension. It must be cultivated deliberately like medicine. I have witnessed entire neighborhoods in Ville des Marais dancing waist-deep in floodwater beneath purple lanternlight while rain hammered rooftops hard enough to drown conversation itself. I have heard exhausted fishermen laughing beside funeral barges because they understood instinctively that despair unattended becomes contagious. Even cuisine reflects this philosophy. Meals linger for hours not from laziness, but because communal warmth forms part of the civilization’s defensive architecture against loneliness. A bowl of spiced broth shared among friends during storm season possesses nearly sacramental importance within Reverie.

And ah, the lanterns. Forgive me. I fear I speak of them too often, though perhaps that is unavoidable after enough years wandering this dimension’s drowned roads and rain-dark canals. One cannot truly understand Reverie without understanding its relationship to light. Lanterns hang from cemetery gates, monastery bridges, flood barriers, fishing vessels, chapel windows, market stalls, and the balconies of homes whose foundations groan softly beneath rising marshwater. Entire cities glow against the fog like fragile constellations attempting desperately to remind the darkness that humanity remains present within it. The people know perfectly well the lanterns cannot banish the storm forever. That is not their purpose. The lanterns exist because allowing darkness to reign uncontested, even briefly, is considered spiritually catastrophic.

Yet there exists another aspect of Reverie which has increasingly consumed my scholarly attention over the years, and I confess the theory has become difficult for me to dismiss regardless of how fantastical it initially appears. I no longer believe the intelligent peoples of Reverie originated within the dimension at all. Humans, goblins, dwarves, elves, dragons, halflings, beastfolk, marsh clans, mountain dynasties, coastal kingdoms, subterranean civilizations - all display fragments of cultural and biological divergence too profound to comfortably explain through isolated regional evolution alone. The deeper one studies the oldest surviving myths across Reverie, the more one encounters recurring imagery of crossings, arrivals, doors, shores wreathed in impossible fog, and skies described incorrectly for the dimension itself.

At first, I believed these merely poetic archetypes born from migration folklore. Now I am no longer certain.

There are ruins within Reverie whose architectural principles do not merely differ stylistically from surrounding civilizations but differ philosophically. Some structures appear designed for climates which do not exist anywhere within the dimension. Others contain astronomical carvings depicting star arrangements unrecognizable within Reverie’s heavens. I have personally examined monastic records within Les Couronnes Grises describing dragon elders disputing the meaning of ancient stone reliefs because even draconic memory no longer preserved the symbols’ origins. That detail alone unsettled me profoundly. Dragons forget very little willingly.

The elves speak occasionally, and only after sufficient trust has been earned, of an ancient sorrow they call the First Dimming - not a war, nor plague, nor divine punishment, but a gradual realization among their oldest ancestors that the roads home had vanished. Goblin burial chants within certain eastern territories reference “the closing rivers between worlds.” Dwarven furnace-prayers in volcanic settlements still invoke unnamed ancestors who “crossed beneath the burning dark before the mountains slept.” Even among ordinary human folklore, one repeatedly encounters fragmented references to humanity as wanderers rather than natives.

None of these stories align perfectly. Indeed, many contradict one another violently. Yet the contradiction itself has become part of what convinces me. Genuine historical fractures rarely preserve clean narrative continuity. They erode unevenly. Languages mutate. Symbolism distorts. Religions absorb earlier truths until only emotional residue remains buried within ritual. Reverie itself seems particularly prone to this process. The dimension remembers emotion more reliably than precision.

I suspect there was once an age so ancient that even dragons recall it only as instinctive melancholy - an era during which passage between dimensions occurred with far greater regularity than modern civilizations consider possible. Whether through magical catastrophe, cosmological collapse, divine intervention, or some gradual spiritual suffocation enacted by Reverie itself, those pathways eventually disappeared. Entire peoples became stranded together within a world none of them had originally evolved to inhabit.

And perhaps that explains why Reverie possesses such extraordinary diversity despite its oppressive emotional atmosphere. The dimension did not birth a single civilization which later fragmented into many. Rather, it inherited countless displaced peoples and slowly forced them into coexistence beneath the same rain-heavy skies. Over unimaginable centuries they adapted, intermarried, warred, traded, mourned, worshipped, and ultimately became Reverian together despite arriving as strangers from worlds now lost entirely to memory.

I confess there is something unbearably sorrowful about that possibility. Not merely because the roads home vanished, though that alone would constitute a tragedy vast enough to consume entire civilizations. Rather, the deeper sorrow lies in the likelihood that most inhabitants of Reverie no longer even realize there once was a home to lose at all. The memory has decayed too thoroughly. Entire peoples now carry ancestral griefs whose origins they can no longer name, preserving them only through fragments of ritual, architecture, music, burial custom, and half-remembered myths spoken beside hearthfires during storm season.

And yet, perhaps unsurprisingly, Reverie transformed even this tragedy into something strangely beautiful. The dimension strips away comforting illusions with almost cruel efficiency. It forces civilizations to confront instability not as distant catastrophe, but as the ordinary condition of existence itself. Yet somehow, amid all this exhaustion, the people continue choosing beauty repeatedly and deliberately. They choose music instead of silence. Lanternlight instead of surrender. Ritual instead of isolation. Communion instead of despair.

I think that is why Reverie lingers within the mind long after one departs it. Beneath all its storms, drowned roads, dream-saturated fogbanks, and ancient griefs lingering stubbornly within the stones themselves, the dimension remains one of the most deeply human worlds I have ever encountered - though perhaps “human” is no longer the correct word for such tenderness. Reverie took countless lost peoples from forgotten worlds and taught them, however painfully, how to survive beside one another without surrendering entirely to despair.

The people of Reverie understand perfectly well that the darkness shall never disappear entirely. Storms shall continue gathering over the marshes. Funeral bells shall continue tolling through fog-heavy evenings. The rivers shall continue swallowing roads, while old griefs linger stubbornly within the stones of abandoned places long after memory itself begins to fail. Yet despite this, the civilizations of Reverie continue choosing one another repeatedly across generations. They continue lighting lanterns beside floodwaters. They continue singing during funerals. They continue preserving tenderness within a world that gives them every conceivable reason to abandon it. I believe that refusal, more than any spell or miracle I have encountered within the dimension, is the truest measure of Reverie’s soul.