This night for dreamers starts in blackness. Without form or shape, it may seem as though one is everywhere and nowhere at once. There are whispers rising from the dark from many voices, strange voices, more feelings than words. They speak of birth, life, and the inevitable death. They speak of something between death and birth, as well. Some are peaceful, others haunting. A chorus of the voices scream -- and a train whistles.

Flickering lights filter through the darkness, as well as the chatter of people, a conductor tiredly ushering them off and on. There are piles of discarded material around the train station, as though the whole city were half-scrapyard. The air is stifled and dirty, packed with noise. It drowns the whispers out until they are just white noise. And although the openness of the area suggests the outdoors, looking up will reveal no sky to be seen but a wide expanse of metal.

A young woman shifts a basket full of yellow flowers over her elbow as she looks over the people. The green of her eyes settle and with a soft smile, she approaches, her voice carrying ahead of her.

"Excuse me. Would you like to buy a flower? They only cost one gil."

And those who rummage pockets for change may find one. This is a dream, after all.