Constantine stepped into her apartment, the familiar scent of old books and burnt sage lingering in the air. She barely had time to exhale before she felt it—an unnatural stillness pressing against the room, heavy and watchful. Her eyes darted toward the dim corners, and sure enough, the shadows had begun to thicken, twisting unnaturally as if testing the barriers of her sanctuary.Her grip tightened around her bag. *Not again.*With a controlled breath, she moved swiftly, throwing the heavy straps over her shoulder as she grabbed every spellbook, rune-carved talisman, and charm she could reach. She didn’t have time to sort through them. She could feel the malevolent presence growing bolder, creeping forward in the periphery of her vision.The air in the apartment grew colder. The lights flickered.Constantine muttered a curse under her breath. *Damn things are getting stronger.*She yanked open a drawer, pulling out a handful of chalk and quickly sketching protective sigils along the

Matthew hesitated, his wings fluttering slightly as he stood in front of Morpheus. His gaze was steady, but a question lingered in his mind—one that had been brewing for some time now. The Dreaming, the Lord of Dreams, and the mysteries that surrounded both had fascinated Matthew since his arrival in this realm. It wasn’t fear that held him back from asking the question, but a deep sense of respect and perhaps a touch of uncertainty.Morpheus noticed the shift in Matthew’s demeanor, the slight tension in his posture, and his unspoken question that lingered in the air like an unspoken spell. With an unreadable expression, Morpheus tilted his head ever so slightly.“You wish to ask me something, Matthew,” he said softly, his voice like velvet and distant stars, always measured, always calm.Matthew’s feathers ruffled nervously, but he gathered his thoughts and spoke, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Lord Morpheus… I was wondering—” He paused, gathering his words carefully, as tho

As soon as Matthew stepped inside Lyta’s apartment, the air shifted. The tension that had hung in the space before he arrived suddenly thickened, as though the very walls were bracing themselves for something. Lyta, standing by the door with a guarded expression, stared at him for a moment before crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “What do you want, Matthew?” she asked, her voice controlled but sharp.Matthew hesitated. This was not the warm reception he had hoped for, but he had come too far to turn back now. “I need to understand what's happening with Daniel,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “There are creatures from the Dreaming appearing in the waking world, and it’s getting worse. You’ve been keeping an eye on him, haven’t you? What’s going on?”Lyta’s eyes narrowed slightly, and her jaw clenched as she took a step forward, her gaze hardening. “You have no right to ask about my son. No right to barge into my life like this, Matthew.”“I’m just trying to protect him,” Mat

The living room had fallen into a soft, tired silence, the air dense with unsaid things. Outside, the sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, leaving only the quiet hum of passing cars and the occasional chirp of night birds. Inside, Rose sat close to Lyta, their knees brushing, as though the closeness might help bridge the growing tension.Lyta had always been strong, fiery, unshakable in her loyalty and maternal instincts. But now, with her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her gaze fixed on nothing in particular, she looked lost in her own home."Daniel's changing," she repeated, her voice trembling now.Rose shifted, placing a gentle hand on Lyta's arm. "You said he's creating things in his sleep? Real things?"Lyta gave a hesitant nod. "It started with small things. Toys he'd dream of would show up by his bedside. Then colors in the air, like a haze that matched his emotions. I thought maybe I was just imagining it. But then... it escalated."Rose's brows lifted. "Escalate

In the vast and ever-shifting realm of the Dreaming, Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, sat upon his throne of obsidian. The ambient glow of the realm cast elongated shadows across the chamber, reflecting the weight of the missive he had just received. The parchment in his hand bore the unmistakable script of his long-estranged brother, Destruction, whose self-imposed exile had spanned centuries.Breaking the seal, Morpheus's eyes scanned the contents, his expression remaining inscrutable. The letter spoke of Destruction's unforeseen capture by a formidable demon named Azazel, a being of considerable menace within the infernal realms. Destruction's words were uncharacteristically terse, hinting at the gravity of his predicament and the urgency of his plea.Morpheus's grip on the parchment tightened as he rose from his throne, his dark robes cascading around him like the night itself. He began to pace the length of the chamber, each step echoing the tumult of emotions within. The Endless we