Three minutes,
every morning.
Dreams dissolve within minutes of waking. Everything in Reverist is shaped by that one constraint.
Tap once. Say the fragment.
The record button is the whole first screen, because at six in the morning you will not type. Speak in your language, eyes half closed. The transcript appears as you talk, and you can fix a word before anything else happens. A colour, a room, a feeling on waking is enough to start.
A reflection, not a verdict.
Within seconds you get back the dominant emotion, the symbols that carried it, and two questions to take into your day. The tone is careful on purpose: rooted in emotion and symbolism, never a prediction, never a diagnosis. Each reflection ends with a memory anchor, one phrase that will bring the dream back tomorrow.
Every dream, painted.
An original image is generated from your own words and saved with the dream. It is the part people share, and the part that makes a journal you actually open again. Clarity renders in 4K.
A vault, and what returns.
Everything sits in your vault, private and exportable in one tap. After a few nights, Reverist starts noticing what comes back: water again, the same corridor, the door that will not close. A monthly report traces what moved through your nights.
Start tomorrow morning.
Three dreams free, no card.