Prompt: Picture a battlefield strewn with broken remnants of human lives and the twisted wreckage of war machines. The ground is scorched, covered in ash, littered with charred bodies, and stained with blood. Shattered weapons lie abandoned, their metal gleaming dully in the dying light, as if bearing witness to the senseless destruction. In the distance, crumbling buildings, once symbols of civilization, now stand like skeletal ruins, hollow and lifeless, as smoke rises from them, choking the sky.
Amid this devastation, piles of burning money stretch as far as the eye can see, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. Crisp bills and shining coins, once symbols of prosperity and promise, are now reduced to embers. The flames devour them greedily, sending sparks into the air, as if mocking the futility of wealth in the face of such overwhelming ruin. Entire fortunes—once capable of building nations—are consumed in an instant, the heat distorting the very air around them. The fire’s crackle echoes like laughter, reminding all who bear witness of the irretrievable cost of war.
Among the burning money, people lay scattered, their lifeless forms telling the story of unimaginable loss. Some wear tattered uniforms, their eyes still open, frozen in a final expression of fear or rage. Others are civilians, their bodies crumpled where they fell, caught in the crossfire of forces beyond their control. The young and old alike, faces once filled with hope and dreams, now lie forgotten amid the wreckage. Mothers clutch their children, their bodies curled in vain attempts to protect them from the unstoppable tide of violence. A father’s hand still reaches out for his son, forever inches away.
Prompt: In a distant future, in a land where the sky was the color of molten gold and the ground shimmered with the dust of long-dead stars, there stood a tower of light known only as the "Spire of Eternity." No one knew where it came from, but stories whispered through the wind of a legend: anyone who touched the Spire’s peak would be granted the deepest desire of their heart. The promise of eternal fulfillment spread through generations, carried by the wind, echoing in dreams.
Prompt: On a vast, windswept battlefield that stretches endlessly into the twilight, the chessboard beneath their feet crackles with ancient energy. Massive squares of black and white marble rise like jagged cliffs, the ground trembling as armies clash.
The pawns, armored in rusty steel, charge with shields raised and jagged swords drawn. Their faces are grim, blood splattering as they collide with their enemies, the dull thud of metal on bone echoing across the battlefield. Broken bodies litter the squares, some still twitching as blood pools, staining the white tiles crimson.
Knights, mounted on skeletal steeds, rear back with savage war cries. Their eyes burn with ferocity as they trample fallen foes, lances piercing through the air and impaling enemies with brutal force. Warhorses, adorned in decaying armor, snort blood as they crush the helpless underfoot, the black-and-white tiles now slick with gore.
The bishops, cloaked in tattered robes, whisper forbidden prayers. Dark energy crackles around their staffs as they hurl bolts of magic, exploding their enemies in bursts of fire and shadow. Limbs fly, and screams of agony rise into the blood-red sky, while the bishops stride forward, indifferent to the carnage they leave behind.
Rooks, massive and hulking like living fortresses, swing enormous spiked maces that crush anything in their path. The ground quakes with their every step, and when they bring their weapons down, they shatter the earth itself, sending shockwaves that ripple across the board. Chunks of marble and bone rain down as their foes are obliterated.
Queens—deadly and regal—move like blurs of death, their blades slicing through flesh with terrifying precision. They cut down knights and bishops alike, each movement a dance of death, their once pristine gowns soaked in blood.
The kings, towering and armored in gold, stand at the heart of the battlefield, watching the chaos unfold. Blood drips from their swords as they defend their kingd
Prompt: In the midst of battle, Athena shines like a beacon of brilliance and power. Her presence alone commands awe and respect, as she moves with the grace of a goddess and the precision of a master tactician. Her silver armor, intricately designed with symbols of wisdom and victory, gleams in the sunlight, unblemished by the chaos surrounding her. Every piece of her armor fits perfectly, crafted by divine hands, radiating an aura of invincibility. Her helm, crowned with a plume of white feathers, casts a shadow over her sharp, focused eyes—eyes that see beyond the battlefield, calculating every move with unmatched clarity.
In one hand, she wields a spear that seems to hum with divine energy, its tip sharp enough to pierce through the strongest of foes. Her shield, emblazoned with the head of Medusa, terrifies those who dare meet her gaze, turning the tide of battle in her favor without her even lifting a finger. The shield reflects the fierce intelligence and strategy that Athena brings to war—every strike she makes is precise, purposeful, and devastating.
As she moves through the battlefield, she is poetry in motion—her every step is fluid, her strikes swift and flawless. Warriors fall around her, unable to match her speed and skill. The sounds of war—clashing swords, the cries of men—fade as her presence dominates. Her cloak, royal blue and edged with gold, flows like a river in the wind, as though the battle itself bends to her will.
But it’s not just her combat prowess that inspires awe. Athena fights with a calm, collected intensity, her expression never faltering. There is no anger, only the unshakable confidence of a goddess who knows she is in control. Every action she takes is infused with wisdom; she anticipates her enemies' moves before they can act, turning their own strategies against them.
Prompt: Metis, the goddess of wisdom and craft, stands as a figure of serene power in Greek mythology, her presence radiant yet subtle, embodying intelligence and foresight. Picture her in an ethereal form, her beauty otherworldly, wrapped in a flowing robe that seems woven from the very fabric of the cosmos. The fabric shimmers in deep hues of indigo and violet, laced with silver threads that catch the light like stars in the night sky, subtly evoking the vastness of her intellect. Every movement of her gown creates a ripple effect, like the shifting tides of thought and strategy she commands with ease.
Her eyes, a deep, stormy blue, gleam with wisdom and knowledge untold. They are sharp and calculating, yet filled with a calm, almost maternal understanding. Her hair cascades like liquid gold down her back, gleaming under the sunlight, and it sways as if touched by an unseen breeze, always in motion—like her mind, never still, always thinking, always crafting.
Metis often appears seated by a tranquil riverbank, the water reflecting the soft glow of her presence. The river, symbolic of the flow of knowledge and wisdom, ripples calmly at her feet, its surface dappled with sunlight and scattered with lotus blossoms. In her hands, she holds a spindle, spinning threads of fate and strategy, crafting not only the destinies of men but also the schemes of gods. Each thread glows faintly with power, a line of thought materializing into something greater—whether a cunning plan or a moment of insight bestowed upon a mortal hero.
The world around her is alive with color and life. Trees with silver leaves and trunks of shimmering bronze stretch toward the sky, their branches heavy with fruit that gleams like polished jewels. The air hums with the soft songs of birds whose feathers reflect the colors of twilight, casting an iridescent glow over the serene landscape.
Prompt: Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, stands tall and regal, radiating both strength and grace. Her figure is statuesque, embodying the essence of a fierce warrior, yet her beauty is ethereal, evoking calm intelligence. Her skin glows with a warm golden hue, as if kissed by sunlight, while her long, dark hair cascades elegantly down her back. Atop her head rests a gleaming bronze helmet, intricately engraved with owls and olive branches, symbols of her dual nature as both protector and embodiment of knowledge.
Athena's piercing gray eyes, reminiscent of storm clouds, are filled with wisdom and strategic resolve. There’s a depth in her gaze, as if she can perceive beyond the present, her mind always anticipating the next move. Yet, despite their sharpness, her eyes reflect warmth and compassion, indicative of her role as the guardian of cities and people.
Her armor glints in the light, a magnificent blend of silver and gold, intricately etched with scenes of ancient battles. The Aegis, her breastplate adorned with the fearsome visage of the Gorgon Medusa, serves as both a protective shield and a tool of terror for her enemies. Draped over her shoulders is a regal cloak of rich purple, fastened with a golden olive branch brooch, symbolizing her commitment to peace.
In one hand, she wields a tall spear, its tip gleaming with celestial energy, a symbol of her authority and a weapon of war. The other hand rests on the hilt of a beautifully crafted sword sheathed at her side. At her feet, her faithful companion, an owl, perches silently, its large eyes mirroring her wisdom. The owl, sacred to Athena, represents clarity and foresight.
Surrounding her is the Acropolis, overlooking Athens, the city that bears her name. Marble temples glow softly in the light of dawn, with the Parthenon standing as a testament to her influence. Olive trees, sacred to her, rustle gently in the breeze, symbolizing peace and prosperity.
Prompt: The sensei sits calmly atop a weathered stone, his silver hair flowing like moonlight over his shoulders, eyes deep with the knowledge of the cosmos. His robe, a rich midnight blue, is embroidered with constellations, twinkling like stars woven into fabric. His face, lined with age, exudes a serene wisdom, reflecting years of insight and mastery. He appears timeless, as if his very essence is intertwined with the universe’s mysteries.
Behind him stands a towering tree, its leaves shimmering in gold and silver, its bark etched with celestial symbols and constellations. The tree’s roots dig deep into the earth, grounding its cosmic energy, while its branches stretch toward the heavens, symbolizing the connection between the material and the divine. The sensei, like the tree, embodies this balance—a bridge between worlds.
To his right, a tranquil pond reflects the sky, its still surface broken only by the soft ripple of a lotus blossom. The glowing flowers float gently, their petals like stars across a calm sea. This quiet scene amplifies the sensei’s presence, a reminder of the interconnectedness of all things—the ripple of a thought, like water, can echo across the universe.
Nearby, ancient scrolls and star maps rest on a stone slab, filled with celestial patterns and sacred geometry. In his hand, a staff topped with a softly glowing orb pulses with faint light, as if it contains the essence of a distant galaxy. His surroundings, infused with cosmic symbols, enhance his aura of boundless wisdom and mastery of the universe’s hidden truths.
Prompt: In a minimalist, organized room, a person sits at a sleek, polished desk. The space is uncluttered—every object serves a purpose. A laptop, a sharp pencil, and a notepad are neatly arranged, reflecting their precise, pragmatic mindset. Dressed in tailored, muted tones, they type with measured speed, eyes calm and focused on data-filled screens. The lighting is soft but practical, casting a focused beam on their workspace. Shelves lined with books on economics, philosophy, and engineering suggest a mind rooted in logic and facts. The quiet ticking of a clock emphasizes their disciplined, efficient nature, where every action is deliberate and purposeful.
Prompt: Imagine goddess Athena standing still, serene, as their attacker charges forward, fists flying in blind fury. The air is tense, but the calm figure is unmoved, watching every movement with sharp, calculated eyes. As the first punch comes, instead of resisting, they flow with it—sidestepping just enough so the strike misses, their hand gently guiding the attacker’s arm past them. The aggressor stumbles, their own momentum pulling them off balance.
Before they can recover, the calm figure turns the attack against them with a swift, fluid motion. They grasp the attacker’s wrist and pivot, using the aggressor’s strength to pull them forward, flipping them effortlessly to the ground. There is no force in their movement, only perfect timing and precision. The attacker’s rage becomes their own downfall, their energy used against them.
Each time the aggressor strikes, the calm person remains unshaken, redirecting every blow with ease. A furious kick is deflected with a graceful sweep of the leg, sending the attacker tumbling. Another punch is turned into an arm lock, pain shooting through the aggressor as they realize they’re caught in their own aggression. The calm figure never strikes first, never meets violence with violence—they simply allow the attacker’s rage to collapse under its own weight, skillfully redirecting it back to its source.
By the end, the attacker is left panting and defeated, struggling to rise, while the calm figure stands tall, untouched and unscathed, having turned every bit of violence back onto its origin with effortless mastery.
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
