Acier stood alone in a vast, mist-laden expanse. The ground beneath him was a tapestry woven from strands of light and shadow, pulsating gently like a heartbeat. Above, the sky was a swirling canvas of stars and darkness, with three moons hanging low, casting an eerie glow.

From the mist, three cloaked figures emerged, their faces obscured. They chanted in unison, their voices echoing like distant thunder:

"The weave is torn, the thread unspun,
A child of night, a wayward son."

One of the figures extended a hand, revealing a glowing artifact—a spindle crafted from bone and obsidian, entwined with strands of silver and crimson light. As Acier reached out, the spindle unraveled, and the threads snaked around his fingers, binding him.

Suddenly, the ground trembled. The tapestry beneath his feet frayed and tore, revealing a chasm of stars below. From the depths, a colossal eye opened, its gaze ancient and sorrowful. A whisper resonated:

"Peridea remembers. The forgotten return."

Acier felt himself falling into the eye, engulfed by its light.

~~~~~~~~~​

Acier bolted upright, a sharp gasp escaping his lips. His chest heaved as he scanned the dimly lit motel room, the familiar contours of the worn furniture grounding him in reality. The hum of a distant generator and the faint flicker of a faulty light fixture reassured him, he was safe, for now.

The remnants of the vision clung to him like a second skin. The ethereal chant of cloaked figures, the unraveling spindle, the abyssal eye - all vivid, all real. This wasn't an ordinary dream; it was a message, a calling.

"Peridea remembers. The forgotten return." The phrase echoed in his mind, resonating with a truth he couldn't yet grasp. Was this the Force finally unveiling a fragment of his obscured past? A clue to the past he never knew?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the cold floor. The chill served as a stark reminder - this was the present, but the past was beckoning. Somewhere, buried on Peridea and the secrets of the Nightsisters, lay the answers he sought.

Determination settled over him like a cloak. The vision was a signpost, and he would follow its path, no matter where it led.