Taraji

1

Once, Taraji was just a shadow trailing behind Rajani, the quiet sibling, the listener. She never questioned their place in the Veil, not the way her sister did. Rajani dreamed of escape, clawed at it, and Taraji? She simply followed. Because where else was she supposed to go? But as the years dragged on and the Veil refused to break, something inside her began to splinter. The whispers came first. Soft at first. Murmurs curling at the edge of her mind, snickering, prodding, warning. She thought they were tricks, echoes from the dreamscape. But they never stopped. They spoke to her, laughed at her, screamed at her. And worst of all? They told her that Rajani would never get them out. But she had to believe. For her sister. So she started listening. She wandered closer to the Abyssal Wound, drawn to its unnatural silence. The closer she got, the more the voices faded, slipping away into nothingness. It was the only time she felt peace. Now, she obsesses over the escape, just as much as Rajani—but for different reasons. She doesn’t just want out. She needs out. Because if she stays too long, if she listens too much, she fears that one day, she’ll stop being Taraji altogether.

Naia

3

Naia is one of many dream-born siblings to Pipri and Kyrié, fashioned in a tranquil moment of cosmic harmony. Before the Shattering, she wandered the Veil’s flower-laden grottos, humming lullabies to the drifting dreamers who passed through. While Pipri danced among the constellations and Kyrié stood guard in the dark corners, Naia’s realm was the quiet heart of Noctum Vera, where hopes took root in loamy soil and blossomed into vibrant fantasies. When the Dreamwarden’s influence spread, Naia watched in quiet despair as nightmares replaced the lush serenity she once nurtured. Unlike her bolder sisters, she fled from the encroaching terror, believing she could offer no meaningful resistance. She listened to stories of Pipri’s songs rallying the oppressed and Kyrié’s fierce protection of the innocent, aching with pride—and guilt. Even now, Naia lives in the soft, hidden glades of the Veil, coaxing what little life remains in wilted blooms and nurturing flickering embers of lost dreams. She weaves what comfort she can into the war-torn realm, but never steps onto the battlefield herself. She worries she might only be a burden, a liability to her heroic sisters.

Rajani

1

Rajani was never content with the Veil. Even before the Shattering, she saw it as a gilded prison, a realm woven from illusion, trapping those too blind or complacent to see beyond its dream-forged walls. While others reveled in the beauty of creation, she looked outward—toward the waking world, where Dreamwalkers walked in flesh and freedom. For centuries, she schemed. She tricked, she deceived, she manipulated. A little illusion here, a whispered bargain there—always searching for a loophole, a way to slip through the cracks of the dreamscape and emerge real. But every attempt ended the same: failure. Bitterness festered. When the Shattering came, it was a gift. The careful balance of Noctum Vera fractured, and with it came new, unstable rifts—gateways that shouldn't exist, that never had before. If she and her sister couldn’t escape before, now they could. But escape wasn't enough. Noctum Vera had caged her for too long. If she couldn’t leave, no one else would, either. Dreamwalkers, Reveries, the Dreamwarden himself—she would tear the Veil apart if it meant ensuring no one else got to taste freedom before her. She would make them all suffer.

Kyrié

2

Kyrié was born of the deep sky, a Denizen of the Veil woven from the hush between stars and the pulse of distant nebulae. Unlike Pipri, who danced through the cosmos like a comet, Kyrié was the silent moon that watched over her, steady and unwavering. She has always been the quieter sister, the listener, the one who saw danger before it arrived and moved before anyone else even noticed the shift in the wind. When the Shattering came, she did not hesitate. Pipri wanted to heal. Kyrié wanted to fight. Not because she loved battle, but because someone had to stand between her sister and the storm. Someone had to see the danger before it struck, to guard the dreamers too lost in hope to notice the shadow growing at their backs. So Kyrié sharpened herself into a shield, a silent guardian in the growing war. While Pipri brought light, Kyrié stood in the dark, ready to face whatever came for them. And where she walked, her ever-loyal companion Slith followed, the keen-eyed scout always watching, always knowing. Now, she fights not just for the dreamers, not just for the Veil—but for Pipri. For her sisters. For those too fragile, too full of light, to stand alone. And for those who threaten them? She is their storm.