I need some answers.

As the morning sun peeked over the horizon, I ventured out of my tent to go visit Oman, a man of profound knowledge and wisdom. The perfect confidant, someone who could shed light on the perplexing dreams that had plagued my restless nights.

I found him immersed in solitude, lost in the pages of a book that seemed to hold secrets untold. His flowing silver hair shimmered like strands of moonlight, an ethereal touch that added to the air of mystery surrounding him. Summoning courage, I cleared my throat, interrupting his quiet reverie. His pale blue eyes met mine, curiosity dancing within their depths, silently beckoning me to share my concerns.

“Hey Oman,” I began, my voice betraying a hint of unease. “I… um, need your advice.”

He closed his book, setting it aside with a graceful motion, his gaze fixed intently upon me. His voice, a steady cadence of tranquility, broke the silence. “Yes, Jasper? What troubles your mind?”

I proceeded to recount the vivid details of my dreams, feeling a sense of relief as I unburdened myself. The enigmatic figure, the glowing red eyes, and the peculiar tendrils became words that danced upon the canvas of my storytelling. I eagerly watched Oman's face, hoping to glean some understanding or insight from his impassive expression.

“A succubus, perhaps?” he suggested, his tone maintaining its customary neutrality. Though the topic at hand was undoubtedly intriguing, his calm demeanor served as a reminder of why I had sought his counsel.

“But the tendrils… they don't quite fit the succubus description, do they?” I queried, recollecting fragments of information from the tomes and manuscripts I had perused within Oman's library.

“Indeed,” he concurred, rising from his seat and retrieving a small pouch from his belongings. With practiced ease, he extracted a piece of parchment, a feather quill, and a vial of ink. An incantation began to flow from his lips, a soft murmur that carried an undercurrent of mysticism. His nimble fingers traced intricate symbols upon the parchment, creating an enigmatic tapestry of ink and possibility.

The surrounding air crackled with a palpable energy as Oman completed the incantation. He scrutinized the parchment, searching for any indication or revelation. After a tense pause, he exhaled, disappointment tainting the air.

“It seems unlikely to be a succubus,” he declared, his tone still cloaked in impartiality. He glanced up at me, his pale blue eyes meeting mine, offering a semblance of solace. “It appears that you might simply be… experiencing exceptionally vivid dreams, Jasper. Such occurrences are not uncommon.”

In other words, he essentially implied that I was a hopelessly infatuated dreamer, lost in the realm of my own desires.

“Right,” I muttered, my cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “Thank you, Oman.”

With a mere nod, he returned to his reading, the pages of his book once again consuming his attention.