Nina led me up a narrow spiral staircase at the back of her workshop, humming softly, her wings trailing with a relaxed sway behind her. When you picture winged people, you usually think of white angel wings: pure, majestic, maybe gilded in divine light.

  Nina’s wings were nothing like that.

  Feathered like a city pigeon, ash gray, slate blue, with a faint iridescence when they caught the light, and marked with black stripes, they still exuded a charm of their own.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected from a Dreamer’s private space. A glass chamber filled with crystals? Or would it be a mess like her workshop?

  Instead, Nina pulled me into what could only be described as a bedroom in the purest, most literal sense: a room that was 100% bed.

  The walls barely mattered. The light was soft and directionless, a perpetual glow from a few hanging crystals. The bed, platform, nest, or whatever it had started life as, was massive and slightly elevated, but you couldn’t see where it ended. It overflowed with blankets, pillows, and a sea of plush, rumpled fabrics. There were so many textures: fleece, velvet, worn cotton, and something that shimmered faintly in the light. The mattress itself gave the illusion of floating slightly above the ground, as though gravity had been ignored.

  The was no furniture or shelves, just warmth, softness, and the scent of cedar, lavender, and some gentle, woody oil I couldn’t name.

  “My nest,” Nina said with a grin. She nudged off her shoes with her toes and kicked them expertly into a wicker basket in the corner, then gestured for me to follow.

  I hesitated.

  I mean, objectively, it looked comfortable. No question. But it also seemed... intimate. Deeply, undeniably intimate. The kind of space you only share with a lover, or family, or maybe the kind of friend who is closer than a sibling.

  The last time I’d shared a bed like that was... never, actually.

  Still, Nina was already diving into the middle, scattering pillows like a mischievous bird, and I wasn’t going to be the uptight foreigner who doesn’t partake in magical culture, be it bathhouses or bedtimes.

  I took off my boots and stepped carefully into the sea of fluff.

  It accepted me immediately. I sank several centimeters with a quiet fwomp that rippled through the nest. Before I could properly orient myself, Nina rolled toward me, flipping me over with practiced ease. One wing slid beneath my shoulders; the other folded across me, soft, warm, and unfairly personal, like a heated blanket that purred.

  “You know,” she murmured, voice close to my ear as her wing pulled me deeper into the embrace, “this is how Dreamer mothers teach their children how to access the Great Dream.”

  Her breath tickled my hair.

  “They start with comfort, safety, and touch. Then they invoke the Sleepless Father’s blessing.”

  She gave a small shake of her wings, just enough for me to feel the air shift. Then she began to hum, a lullaby in a language I didn’t know, her voice soft and round and ethereal in the way that dreams are ethereal. A song of wind and also freedom.

  I exhaled slowly.

  The air felt heavy and smelled of lavender, but not in a suffocating way. More like the weight of a warm bubble bath with a scented candle. My muscles began to let go without asking permission.

  Her arm brushed mine, bare skin on skin.

  She wasn’t wearing much. Not in an inappropriate way, but... comfortable. Familiar with her own body. Her loose house-dress had slouched to one side, revealing one pale shoulder and the subtle definition of her back. A long slit up one side of the fabric let one of her legs spill free, bent at the knee, the curve of her thigh resting against the nest like a piece of sculpture someone had forgotten to put in a museum.

  She looked like someone who had never expected to be stared at, and wouldn’t care if she was.

  I definitely wasn’t staring.

  Not even when the slit of her dress opened up.

  Nope.

  Not even a little.

  I scooted half a breath away, pretending to adjust a pillow. Nina’s wing refused to release me. If anything, it curled tighter, like it had claimed me and wasn’t interested in my vote.

  “Don’t think too hard,” she whispered. “If you think too much, you’ll miss it.”

  “I’ll miss what?”

  But the sentence never finished.

  Sleep came in a single, soft collapse.

  Like falling into a dream someone had already made for me.

  It started like a normal dream.

  I was in my old high school classroom. I wasn’t even aware that I was dreaming. The white neon light illuminated the clatter of cheap plastic chairs. The faint stink of overused hand sanitizer and Axe body spray. Except, Vena and Louis were there, both looking deeply confused as my Social Studies teacher lectured about Jesus and the Roman Empire and asked, in complete seriousness, “Now, what kind of miracle do you get when you worship him?”

  Vena tilted her head. “So... is it curing the blind, or walking on water?”

  Louis raised her hand. “Do you have to be the Pope to resurrect people? Or any bishop with good standing can do it?”

  I was trying to explain Christianity as politely as possible when someone slammed open the door.

  The sound was sharp and real, like a sudden crack of thunder inside my skull. The fluorescent lights shattered and fizzed into static. The walls twisted, turning soft and translucent. The floor gave out like it had just remembered it was a dream.

  Nina stepped through the door like she owned it.

  She didn’t say anything. She just smiled, and everything changed.

  The school vanished.

  In its place, I floated.

  Not in water… but somewhere soft. A sky without edges, tinted with pearly lavender and faded blue, glowing from nowhere and everywhere. A surreal stillness clung to everything.

  I hovered in open air, surrounded by floating islands, each one suspended like a thought that hadn’t quite finished forming.

  Dozens of them. Some the size of dinner plates, others broad enough to build on. They drifted slowly in the sky around me, unmoored and silent.

  Each island held a workstation, not desks, but sculpted expressions of creativity. There was a forge, glowing with sleepy orange light. A pottery wheel was spinning in place. A scribing desk littered with loose pages. A stone-carving slab that shimmered with half-carved spirals.

  Some islands were finished, tidy. Others were a mess of tools and raw materials. And others still had barely begun, just the shape of an idea waiting to become something more.

  I spun slowly in place, breath caught halfway between awe and confusion.

  A familiar voice drifted up behind me.

  “Well?” Nina said. “You made it.”

  I turned, floating awkwardly, and found her standing on a broad, mossy island just behind me, hands on her hips, wings folded neatly at her back.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  She smiled. “This is my dream sanctuary.”

  Nina spread her arms like she was unveiling a performance stage. The whole place pulsed with quiet ethereal magic, like a living mind just barely holding still.

  “It’s where I work. Or rest. Or float around until something feels right,” she added, shrugging.

  We stood on a gently glowing island covered in soft moss and thick vines that shimmered in places like spilled starlight. Beneath our feet, roots coiled and shifted in slow, comfortable loops, like the ground was breathing with us.

  Around us, islands drifted in slow orbit. Each seemed to hum with potential.

  But one stood out.

  Off to the right, larger than any of the others, was a sprawling woodworking island, layered in soft golden light. It had a full bench, racks of tools hung like charms, carved chests and boxes and frames, half-finished or lovingly displayed. Even from here, I could smell the phantom scent of sawdust and varnish. The entire space felt like this was where Nina was herself the most.

  “That one was my first,” she said softly, seeing my gaze land there. “Wood was what I started with when I was still a kid. I used to carve stuff with a knife. I didn’t even know what I was doing, I just liked shaping things.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “It’s more passion than skill,” she corrected, then grinned. “But thanks.”

  I turned slowly in place, taking in the rest of the sky. That’s when I noticed the light.

  High above everything floated a long, narrow glowing tube, like an arrow slit in a medieval tower, but in the sky. It was white, radiant, and pulsing like a sun. No matter where I turned, it seemed to remain in the corner of my eye, always present, always watching. And it was the main source of light in the sanctuary.

  “That,” Nina said, following my gaze, “is my inspiration.”

  The light grew slightly brighter as she said it, like it agreed.

  “It fills when I dream. When I sketch or laugh or fall in love with an idea. It dims when I build. Like burning wax.”

  I squinted at it. “So it’s... mana?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “Some people call it inspiration. Others just call it the spark. But every Dreamer sees it differently.”

  She nodded toward it. “Mine has always been light. I don’t know why.”

  I tilted my head. “You said it gets used up when you work. What happens if you run out?”

  “Then nothing moves,” she said. “Not in here. You can walk through the sanctuary, but it’s gray. Empty. Like a shadow of a dream.”

  That made me uncomfortable.

  I looked again at the floating stations, the elegant woodworking island, and the quieter ones. “Some of those look... paused.”

  “They are,” Nina said. “I get stuck, too. Everyone does. That’s what the messy ones are. Half-attempts. Forgotten projects. I don’t throw them away, they’re still part of the dream.”

  I nodded slowly, trying to soak in the scale of it. The drifting ideas made physical.

  This wasn’t just a place to build. It was a map of someone’s creative soul.

  I glanced toward the distant forge, the gardening plot, a desk where loose sketches blew in a wind that didn’t exist. So many pieces of Nina I’d never seen. Not just what she has made, but how she is made.

  “So, how do we get to the other islands?” I asked, eyeing the floating stations. “Do we build a bridge? Teleport? Ride a dream duck or something?”

  Nina laughed. “You’re in a dream. Just do it.”

  She launched herself off the mossy ground with a casual hop and rose into the air like it was water. She didn’t use her wings. Just... intention.

  I took a cautious step and immediately started drifting. My balance wobbled, and I flailed a little before settling into a slow, awkward float.

  It wasn’t quite flying. It was dreaming of flight, it… It was missing details like wind resistance or any other laws of physics.

  “Don’t push,” Nina called from above. “Just feel where you want to be.”

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and willed myself forward.

  And, I moved.

  It was clumsy at first, like walking on a trampoline. But I got the hang of it. Little nudges. A roll of the shoulders. Eventually, I was gliding.

  Nina zipped past me upside-down, wings tucked against her back, grinning like a child let loose in a zero-gravity simulation. Then she started doing flips.

  “Don’t be afraid! This is just a dream. You can do whatever you want.”

  “Anything?” I asked.

  “Anything,” she grinned.

  “Hey,” I said, turning toward her, “do you ever... play dress-up in here?”

  Before I finished the sentence, she snapped her fingers, and a giant mirror burst into existence midair.

  Suddenly, our outfits swapped. I blinked down and realized I was wearing Nina’s airy sarong wrap dress... thigh-slit and all.

  Which, okay, was fine. A little breezy and breathable.

  Meanwhile, Nina was wearing my black pantalon and white blouse. She studied her reflection, then turned toward me with a curious squint.

  “This is... Soulit fashion?” she asked. “You don’t look like you’re from their lands.”

  “Nope. I’m from far away,” I said, already focusing on a new outfit.

  Jeans. Denim vest. Loose gray tank top underneath.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The effect was instant. My reflection blinked back at me in full casual Earthwear, comfortable and tough-looking in a way this world never quite managed.

  Nina’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s... new. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s heavy, but it’s not spider silk.”

  She floated around me, taking in the denim, then focused and swapped her clothes for a copy of mine.

  “Hm,” she murmured, tugging at the vest. “No flowing seams, no visible layering, not even bead-stitching. The weave is so tight... and that material. It looks rough, but it flexes. If layered properly, it could make a good gambeson.”

  Her outfit morphed into a blue denim gambeson, and I noticed her inspiration light glowing a little brighter.

  “No. Too heavy,” she muttered. “Maybe just the outer layer.”

  The gambeson thickened slightly with padding. “Much better,” she said, satisfied. Then she frowned. “If only I could figure out what material this is.”

  “It’s made out of cotton,” I said. “But I don’t really know how.”

  She nodded, already turning the idea over in her mind.

  I turned back to the mirror and swapped my outfit for a white sundress.

  Nina circled me slowly, taking in the flare of the skirt. “This one feels... more familiar. Like a mix between Soulit and Holy fashion.”

  Then Nina changed.

  She now wore a long, high-sleeved caftan, embroidered with angular script that glowed blue and gold. The fabric moved like fog in the wind, and glittered at the cuffs with dust that looked like crushed gemstones.

  “This is Soul Regalia,” she said, admiring her reflection. “I’ve only seen it once in real life. It takes at least ten beast-souls to create, and a dedicated soul-scribe, plus a team of master tailors.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said. “What does it do?”

  “It depends on the beast-souls you bind into it. It’s like subscribing to a soulbook, but without burdening your own soul. It doesn’t count toward your limit of three.”

  I whistled. “So... fashionable armor with built-in spells. No wonder it’s rare.”

  Feeling competitive, I stepped up my game and summoned a tuxedo over my frame; black, sharp-lined, and confident.

  Nina tilted her head. “Is that a military uniform?”

  “Eh, close enough,” I said. “Back home, men wear this to get married.”

  She laughed. “How is that even close?”

  “You know. Love is war.”

  She laughed harder, nearly flipping backward.

  Then she changed again.

  This time, strips of leather wrapped around her chest like a braided bra, with looped bindings at her thighs and bracers running up her arms. Bone beads hung from her hips, clicking softly as she shifted.

  “I helped repair this outfit once,” she said. “The owner was a Kindred barbarian who came here seeking fame in the arena.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed, “I’ve seen something like that at the tailoring guild. This one’s even more ridiculous.”

  I followed up with a sharp office look: pencil skirt, blouse tucked tight, hair in a bun, glasses perched just right.

  Nina nodded. “This looks formal. And very classy.”

  “It’s how professional women dress,” I said, “especially in male-dominated fields.”

  “Well, when you’ve got legs this good,” Nina said, wagging her eyebrows at me, “you’ve got to use them to your advantage.”

  I snorted. “Alright, your turn. Show me something show-stopping.”

  She paused, her face turning solemn. “I have an idea.”

  She shimmered.

  Now she stood in a modest holy robe, pure white with golden embroidery at the cuffs and hem. The back was open.

  Her hair turned blond, and her wings...

  No longer pigeon-feathered and gray, they were golden, glowing brightly, as if made of energy. Like every plume had been spun from sunlight.

  I stared.

  She didn’t pose. Didn’t preen. She just stood there, calm and quiet, haloed in her own light.

  “This is how Lady Dara looked in her final moment,” Nina said quietly. “It was fifteen years ago. The Kinpox was ravaging Hano, and the former head cleric chose to perform the Sacrifice.”

  I couldn’t speak. There was too much weight in the air.

  “Sorry,” Nina murmured. “I dampened the mood.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s just... a lot.”

  She smiled softly. “Your turn. Liven things up.”

  I inhaled.

  “Okay. Something ridiculous.”

  Snap.

  The bunny suit shimmered into existence, with satin, absurd heels, fishnet stockings, and long twitching ears.

  Nina blinked. “I... have no idea what ritual this belongs to.”

  I collapsed, laughing.

  Her expression morphed into delighted horror. “Please tell me this is some kind of joke garment.”

  “Oh, it is,” I wheezed. “I promise.”

  She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “You dream of very strange cultures, Alice.”

  “I come from one.”

  “Clearly.”

  We floated like that for a while, laughing, joking, and making the dream dance around us. The sky glowed warmer, like it approved.

  Eventually, Nina drifted toward one of the quieter islands and waved me over.

  “This is my Memory Gallery,” she said, voice softer now.

  I followed.

  The island was dimmer, still. The space was filled with gentle projections of past creations. Some hovered as sketches. Others as lifelike replicas suspended in light.

  “You can tell I started with wood,” she said, “Tried pottery. Failed at weaving. Got decent at jewelry and weaponsmithing...”

  She moved toward a curved wall filled with instruments: guitars, harps, things I didn’t recognize. One stood apart: a sleek, mandolin-shaped piece, open-bodied, with no frets and strings that shimmered with ethereal light, constantly harmonizing with themselves.

  “That one’s special,” she said. “I made it during my only Creation State.”

  I looked at her.

  “I tried to reverse-engineer the design,” she said, almost whispering. “But I couldn’t. Maybe I’ll never make something that perfect again.”

  She didn’t say anything else.

  She didn’t have to.

  I hovered in silence, listening to the gentle hum of the strings.

  They weren’t just music.

  They were memories, longing, joy, and solitude.

  Everything she had ever poured into them still lived in the sound.

  I folded my hands in my lap, unsure of what to say.

  This wasn’t just a dream.

  This was a heart, made visible.

  After we left the Memory Gallery, Nina gave me a little nudge with her elbow.

  “Alright,” she said. “Enough emotions. You wanted to build something, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  We drifted to an empty island nearby. It was flat and clean, like it was waiting for an idea.

  As soon as I landed, a table appeared in front of me. Soft lights floated above it, and the surface felt like warm paper.

  “You said you wanted a spear, right?” Nina held out her hand, and a glowing sketch started to form in the air. First, the shape of a basic spear.

  “I was thinking more like a bident,” I said. “A trident, but with only two teeth.”

  She nodded, and the spearhead reshaped into two prongs, like a tuning fork.

  “I don’t want the two metal prongs to be touching,” I added. “Each one should be connected to the wooden shaft from a different point.”

  She frowned, then adjusted the design. She kept one prong at the top like a fork missing a tooth, and added the second prong coming out from the side, like a bayonet, attached by a ring.

  “Like this?” she asked.

  “Yes! That’s exactly what I imagined.”

  “This wouldn’t work,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not balanced.”

  With a thought, she summoned a dream version of the weapon and balanced it on one finger. The bident spun slowly, the bayonet side always tipping downward.

  “See? The left side is much heavier than the right,” she explained.

  “Can you fix it?” I asked.

  “Let me see.” She reached into the table and reworked the sketch. The wooden shaft reshaped into something like a candelabra, and the spear prongs split outward at even angles from the center.

  “Can you really make that shape out of wood?” I asked.

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “Carving a shape like this would cut across the grain to make the bend. It’d be structurally weak.”

  “So... how?”

  “I know a guy,” she said. “Earth and Life affinities. Woodshaper. He could even make it from soulwood if you’ve got money to burn.”

  “How much?”

  “Maybe four silver just for his part.”

  “I could buy a horse for that price!” I groaned. “But... I guess I can afford it.”

  “Now that we’re done with the basic shape, what else do you want to add?”

  “Can I try?” I asked.

  I placed my hand on the dream table and imagined a cutaway diagram of the spear’s inside.

  I added two metal rings near where someone would hold it; one in the middle and one further back. Then I showed two copper wires running inside the wood shaft from each ring to one of the prongs. The wires stayed far apart so they wouldn’t touch.

  I explained the concept: the circuit only closes if I’m holding the spear with both hands, or channeling aura through it, and the two prongs are touching something conductive, like flesh.

  Nina tilted her head. “Why make it this way?”

  So I drew a simple diagram: battery, lamp, switch. I explained how the lamp only lights up when the circuit is closed. She listened carefully.

  “It’s complicated,” she said. “But I think it’ll work.”

  I smiled widely. “Really?”

  “Yeah. You’ll need the wood guy for the handle and a metalworker for the wiring. Luckily, metal powers aren’t as rare as wood. Shouldn’t be too expensive.”

  She touched the table again, and the diagram came to life.

  The whole spear began rotating slowly in the air, showing all its parts, how it would spark, charge, and discharge.

  I grinned. “That’s it. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

  “This is just a dream design,” Nina reminded me. “I’ll still have to build it in the real world.”

  “I know.”

  We kept working a bit longer, adding details and small flourishes. Nina even considered involving a soulscribe and binding a lightning beast soul, but that would’ve been egregiously expensive, so we dropped the idea.

  Still, she smiled the whole time. And that made me feel better, too.

  When we were done, the weapon hovered in the air, dream-made, ready for a future build.

  It wasn’t just an idea anymore.

  But it was still a little shy of being real.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Nina bumped my shoulder with hers. “Come on. You did half the work.”

  Once we finished with the spear, I leaned over the dream table, grinning like a dork. I’d just designed a magical taser trident. In a floating sky sanctuary. With a pigeon-winged artisan from a different world.

  I was still catching my breath when Nina bumped my shoulder lightly with hers.

  “So,” she said, stretching lazily, “what should we do next?”

  “Do we need to wake up soon?” I asked, glancing around at the floating islands and soft-glowing void.

  “Nah,” she said, brushing hair from her eyes. “We’ve got a couple of hours to kill. Time moves weirdly in dreams. We’re fine.”

  I nodded, thinking. “Hey… could you show me the Great Dream?”

  Her smile turned impish. “You want to go dream-hopping?”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s like... going to parks or storefronts. You don’t open the doors unless it’s a public space or you’re invited.

  She leaned in. “But yeah. I know a place where scary nightmares leak out sometimes. They’re terrifying but fun to watch.”

  That sounded like exactly the kind of thing I shouldn’t do.

  Naturally, I said, “Lead the way.”

  We floated up past her crafting islands, beyond the music platform and memory gallery, higher than I’d gone before. At the very top of the sanctuary, on a wide stone plateau, stood a massive double door. It was carved from pale gray stone and engraved with flowing, glowing script. The markings pulsed softly, like something behind them was dreaming with a heartbeat.

  “That’s it,” Nina said. “The door to the Great Dream. Not everyone has one; only those with strong souls and deep sanctuaries. But…”

  She paused.

  I’d stopped paying attention.

  Because of the side of the big doors, tucked off quietly, like it had wandered into the wrong neighborhood, was a small, narrow door. Wooden and slightly scuffed with a silver handle and just a little short.

  I floated toward it, staring.

  “That’s my door,” I whispered.

  Nina blinked. “What?”

  “I’ve been living here. In this apartment. Since I was eighteen.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You have a Dream Sanctuary?”

  Then her head turned sharply toward me.

  “Wait,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a Dreamer parent?”

  “I don’t.”

  Nina gave the door a long, suspicious look. “This kind of door doesn’t appear on its own. Even a weak sanctuary needs a root.”

  I pressed my hand to the handle. It turned easily.

  Inside was my old studio apartment: messy, narrow, and exactly how I left it before going to Tunisia. Cheap flooring, peeling paint, half-finished art supplies on the shelf, a single bed with mismatched pillows. My laptop sat on my desk, lid shut, power light blinking. My old hoodie was still thrown over the back of the chair.

  Home. Maybe the only place I’d ever really called that. Switching between my father's and my mother’s each month had kept me from getting attached to either house. This was where I found myself.

  Nina stepped inside, her gaze sweeping across the cramped space.

  “This is... one of the smallest sanctuaries I’ve ever seen,” she said.

  “I told you, I don’t have Dreamer blood.”

  She studied the room. “Maybe less than a quarter. One-eighth? Even that would explain it. This place is barely formed, but it’s a sanctuary.”

  I looked around again. Nothing glowed. Nothing floated. It was just... me.

  Nina crossed her arms. “Alright. You need to find an inspiration counter somewhere; it’s your first step in working with a Dream sanctuary.”

  “Like your glowing light tube?”

  “Exactly. Yours will look like something familiar.”

  I checked my bed. Nothing.

  The picture frame hanging above it? Nope.

  Not in the kitchenette. Not the closet. Not the crooked little bookshelf.

  Then I turned to the desk.

  And saw the laptop.

  The same one I’d brought with me to this world.

  I opened it. The screen flickered to life.

  Battery: 100% full.

  I stared. “Wait... this is it?”

  Nina leaned over my shoulder. “That’s your inspiration bar?”

  I nodded. “Looks like it.”

  I hesitated. Then I did something dumb.

  I opened the browser.

  It worked… somehow…

  I typed in something I was ignorant about: How is denim made?

  Search results appeared instantly. Detailed articles. Diagrams. Videos. I wasn’t sure if it was real information or just dream delirium, but it looked real enough.

  I notice the battery icon ticked down to 87%.

  Nina leaned closer. “What are you doing?”

  “Reading,” I said.

  She squinted at the screen. “Your script makes no sense.”

  “Yeah. It’s English.”

  While I scrolled, Nina wandered the room like a scholar in a museum. She spun my desk chair.

  “These tiny wheels are adorable. What are they for?”

  “So you don’t have to get up.”

  She flicked the light switch. The lamp turned on. She gasped.

  “Wait, you have magic?”

  “It’s just a switch.”

  She opened the mini fridge, then started pulling apart my bed mattress to examine the springs.

  But it was the air conditioner that nearly broke her.

  She pressed a button and jumped when cold air poured out.

  “There’s no rune matrix! No fire or sky crystal! What is this box?”

  “Magic. From where I come from.”

  Nina turned in a circle and frowned. “No door to the Great Dream here. Your sanctuary’s still too small to connect. But…”

  She walked back to the desk, thoughtful.

  “You could grow it,” she said. “If you feed it with your soul: More experiences and more inspiration.”

  I nodded slowly. Then I had an idea.

  I went back to the laptop, opened the print menu, and hit Print on the denim article.

  A sheet of dream paper slid out into my hand.

  I stared at the text for a moment. Then focused.

  “Translate to Common.”

  The letters shimmered and shifted. I could now read it like any book in this world. But my inspiration bar dropped even further.

  I smiled.

  “So I can come back here whenever I’m sleeping,” I said.

  Nina nodded. “As long as you stay inspired.”

  “Luckily,” I said, “this world is full of mysteries.”

  She grinned.

  “I should learn how to enter without your help.”

  “Sure,” she said. “One step at a time.”

  I handed her the printed page. “Here. Denim: How It’s Made. I figured you’d want it.”

  She took it carefully, eyes wide.

  “You’re dangerous, you know that?” she said. “If your sanctuary can fill gaps in your knowledge when it’s this small... imagine what it could do if it grew as big as mine.”

  “Could I really grow it that big?”

  Nina shrugged. “It’ll grow at maybe an eighth the speed of mine, maybe more if you can grow your soul in other ways.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Unlike me, you can grow your soul through other magical training. Like training your body if you are part kindred or your faith if you are part mythic, and don’t forget about your lightning Soulbook,” she explained. “I only grow through Dream inspiration,

  I looked around the little apartment again.

  “I guess I’ve got a lot of growing to do.”

  Nina smiled softly, folding the denim printout under her arm.

  “Good,” she said. “That means you’re dreaming in the right direction.”