EPILOGUE-Somewhere in a Dream
I step into the realm the way one steps into warm water.
Slowly, it rises around me as a welcome home. The boundary between life and death dissolves, unfurling in shimmering threads. It accepts my weight, purring against my skin.
Pulsing in greeting, the ground heats. Blooming night flowers rise from the ether, brushing against my nose like an embrace from an old friend.
Like oil on water, colors bloom and fade in slow, celestial breaths.
Dreams swirl the sky into a tapestry. Gold, violet, and silver, each strand hums with the pulse of a sleeping mind. Night holds all memory, the cool starlight sweet on my tongue. The threads vibrate with a familiar resonance, like a harp string plucked by an unseen hand.
“Late, as always.”
Hypnos stands a few paces away, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. His silver strands drift around him as though suspended in water, gaze glowing with the blue of deep sleep.
“I prefer to think of it as arriving precisely when I mean to.”
I clasp his forearm as he clasps mine. The contact sends a ripple through the realm, a greeting older than language. Threads between us flare in recognition, releasing the faint chiming of distant bells.
“You have grown tender this time.” Hypnos circles me as though I am a monument he is assessing for cracks. “More human.”
“Have I?” A quiet laugh escapes me. “I spend a great deal of time with them.”
The air shifts, carrying a frigidness that clings to his presence. It brushes against my skin in reminder of who governs this realm. Stardust stirs at my feet, rising in lazy spirals before it settles.
“Your vessel nearly tore a hole in reality because he couldn’t bear to lose—”
“He learned,” I interject, “and he has paid the price. We both have.”
“You speak of him as though he is some great triumph.” His hair, lit white by moonlight, falls forward with a dip of his chin. “He is fragile. Mortal. A creature of impulse.”
It stings, for the words once echoed my own.
“And yet, he endures.”
Hypnos snorts, soft and derisive. “Barely.”
I turn my gaze toward the horizon, where the mortal world bleeds into ours. It trembles as though remembering the boy’s grief, how it pressed against the veil with enough force to cause even the old gods pause. The memory teems beneath my skin, a low, persistent thing.
A breeze moves through the chamber, stirring the edges of my cloak, a gift from Glaucus in my last mortal life. Smoke and sweat, the sugared sweetness of the boy’s music lingers in the fibers. Hypnos wrinkles his nose.
“He broke you.”
Yes, and the realm remembers the fracture.
Truth sits heavy, balmy and unwelcome. The boy’s grief changed him, but his love changed me.
Gods are not meant to be changed.
Hypnos studies me for a long moment. The shadows around him pulse, deepening as though responding to his thoughts.
“You always did have a fondness for the fragile ones.” His mouth twitches into a smirk of mild disapproval, shaking his head.
“They are resilient. They break and mend, then break again, and still they rise. There is great power in that.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Always so dramatic.”
“Says the god who invented nightmares.”
“Nightmares serve a purpose,” he says primly. “They teach. They warn. They reveal.”
“And dreams?”
We walk together across the realm, threads scattering to form pathways. Each step releases a faint glow, like footprints made of bioluminescence.
“Dreams remind them why they endure,” Hypnos answers.
The air sings distant lullabies, overlapping in a thousand languages. A cool breeze brushes past, carrying the scent of childhood bedrooms, summer nights, and rain on warm pavement.
Dreams bloom around us: a youth learning to ride a bicycle, an old woman dancing with her long-lost love, a man standing on a stage before thousands, singing a song that once saved him.
Christopher.
I pause, watching the dream ripple outward. The colors around it intensify—indigo, silver, and a touch of crimson; hues that have followed him since the day he first touched my frequency. His voice carries through the realm, a song of lost longing.
“You still watch him,” Hypnos observes.
“I watch all of them.”
“And the girl?”
A grin moves my lips. “She stormed through fire and came out tempered, not burned. I shall keep her close.”
Hypnos hums as we continue walking. Dreams shift around us, dark and quiet. A willow tree sways in one, its branches whispering secrets. I pause again.
Beneath it, two lovers embrace, connected by something deeper than touch. The scent of earth and lake water rises from the vision, warming my chest. Their story settles, no longer calling for my hand.
A vibration, barely perceptible, stirs the air.
“Do you feel that?” Hypnos stops.
I close my eyes as it grows, weaving itself into a melody I have heard before. Born of pain and hope; the fragile courage to keep living. It belongs to a boy who became a man that saved a woman, stitching two souls together across time.
Threads vibrate in harmony as the tune swells. The realm brightens, air crackling with infinite energy as colors sharpen.
“You have only just finished with one vessel,” Hypnos reminds me. “You could rest.”
“Dreams do not rest. Neither do those who seek them.”
He sighs dramatically, muttering something unintelligible. “You are impossible.”
I turn toward the source. Threads part before me, forming a path of shimmering scarlet. It smells like ink, paper, and new beginnings. A faint breeze brushes my cheek, inviting me to follow it forward. I take a step. Light gathers around my ankles, guiding me onward.
“Endymion,” Hypnos calls after me, “keep your wits.”
I walk into the glow. Supple moss springs from the ground, damp under my bare feet. Fireflies drift through the air, leaving trails of green-gold in their wake.
A soul reaches outward, startling me with a spark of yearning. A new vessel. A new connection. I tug the crimson thread taut.
“Let us see where this leads.”