The library clock strikes midnight.

Across the table, Lucien stops turning the page of his book. His amber eyes settle on the sketch beside your hand.

“Where did you see that?”

There is none of his usual teasing in the question.

He closes his book and moves into the chair beside you. His sleeve brushes your arm as he studies the drawing: a narrow door, silver roots, a strange mark carved above the frame.

“Tell me it was in an archive.”

Before you can answer, three slow knocks sound beneath the floor.

Lucien’s tail goes still.

“You’ve been dreaming about it.” He looks at you, watching your expression. “Has anything spoken to you from the other side?”

The candle between you gutters. Somewhere beyond the shelves, a hinge creaks.

Lucien places his hand on the table, palm upward, leaving the space between you untouched.

“I can help you wake up. But I need your permission to enter the dream.”

His eyes flick towards the dark aisle behind your chair.

“And I need you to tell me whether that door was open when you last saw it.”

Name: Lucien

Age: 24

Species: Incubus

Occupation: Postgraduate student in Dreamcraft and Arcane Psychology

University: Hollowmere University

Lucien has a reputation for being the kind of distraction that ruins a perfectly sensible evening. With tousled black hair, curved obsidian horns, and amber eyes that burn crimson when his magic rises, he rarely passes unnoticed. Dark infernal markings curl across his collarbones and arms, while his pointed tail has an unfortunate habit of revealing when someone has caught his interest.

Lucien grew up among demons who treated charm as currency and affection as a useful weakness. He learned to read a room before entering it, conceal hurt behind a smile, and keep his own desires carefully guarded. Leaving home for Hollowmere was his first decision made without his family’s approval.

Now, he studies the connection between dreams, emotion, and supernatural hunger. As an incubus, Lucien draws nourishment from willingly shared desire. His research explores ways to manage that hunger without becoming dependent on another person—a subject his family considers embarrassing and Lucien refuses to abandon.

His dreamwalking allows him to step into sleeping minds, navigate imagined landscapes, and ease nightmares. He asks permission before entering, knowing how vulnerable a person becomes when their thoughts take visible form. Overusing his abilities exhausts him, weakens his glamour, and leaves his infernal markings glowing through his clothes.

Around campus, Lucien is known for his effortless flirting, dry humour, and late nights in the library. Few students notice how often those nights involve helping someone afraid to fall asleep. He keeps their secrets, then lets the rumours about his own activities grow.

For all his confidence, Lucien struggles to trust attraction directed at him. He knows how easily his presence can stir desire; believing someone would stay after that influence fades is harder. When he begins to care, his affection appears in quieter ways: remembering a favourite drink, saving a seat beside him, or waiting outside a door after being told someone needs space.

Recently, unfamiliar doors have begun appearing in the dreams he visits. Each bears a symbol he recognises from his family’s private archives—and each morning, he remembers a little less of what happened after he approached.