The space between worlds parted before me like a curtain of liquid silver, and I stepped into the Void between realities. Here, in the emptiness separating worlds, time lost all meaning, and distance became a mere convention. I could appear at any point in creation—from the most remote universes to the very heart of Creation itself. But today, my destination was Hell.
Not the grand entrance used by demons and damned souls. Not those gates standing on the boundary between the world of the living and the dead. I headed for the deepest depths—where the roots of the Underworld sank into the foundations of reality, where even the Princes of Darkness rarely dared to tread.
A portal opened beneath my feet like a wound in the fabric of existence, and I plunged into it, allowing the gravity of this cursed place to pull me downward.
The first thing I felt was not heat, as one might expect from such a place, but cold. A bone-chilling, piercing cold that seeped not into flesh but straight into the soul. I materialized on a rocky plain covered with a thin layer of frost that crunched underfoot. The sky above was the color of old, dried blood, and the air was thick, as if everything around was underwater.
The very bottom of Hell. The place where time had frozen in an eternity of torment.
The landscape around me was frighteningly beautiful in its alienness. Icicles hung from an invisible ceiling high in the sky, and between them twisted frozen rivers of sinners' souls. Yes, souls—I could make out their faces in the ice, distorted in eternal screams that no one would ever hear.
Ahead, through the icy haze, I discerned the silhouettes of this place's first guardians.
They were not demons in the conventional sense. These were primordial creations of Hell, born the moment Lucifer first stepped here and began shaping it according to his vision. Their bodies were a bizarre fusion of ice, metal, and suffering made manifest in matter. Towering like skyscrapers, they moved with the grace of predators despite their enormous size. My brother's primal creations, in which he saw something beautiful.
Oh, brother, you must have been in such pain to see beauty in this chaos. If only I had known…
The nearest one turned what could be called a head and fixed hundreds of eyes on me, each the size of a human. In those eyes was neither intelligence nor malice—only the hungry curiosity of a predator spotting new prey.
"Archangel," it rasped in a voice like cracking ice. "It's been a long time since we've seen your kind here."
"I didn't come for conversation," I replied calmly, taking a step forward.
The creature let out a sound that might have been laughter, if laughter could freeze the air into chunks of ice.
"Then why? There's nothing here that could interest a servant of the Light."
I could have explained. Told them about Susanoo, about Lucifer's wings, about the looming conflict between pantheons. But demons, especially beings of this caliber, understood neither logic nor diplomacy. They understood only force.
"I'm going further," I said simply. "You can step aside or try to stop me."
The creature roared with laughter, the sound echoing across the icy wasteland. More of my brother's creations began converging—another dozen monstrosities, each with its own unique distortions. One was covered in spikes of black ice, another had tentacles of frozen flame instead of arms, a third was a shifting mass of crystallized darkness.
"Hear that?" the first addressed its kin. "The archangel thinks he can just stroll through our domain!"
A chorus of horrific voices answered with laughter, groans, and howls. The temperature dropped several more degrees.
"Very well," I sighed, squaring my shoulders.
Light. Not the blinding torrent I'd used against Lucifer in the club. This was a different light—scorching, merciless, the very light I'd wielded in the War in Heaven. The light of justice, of judgment, a light that knew no mercy for those who stood in the way of divine will.
It burst from every cell of my body, turning me into a living star amid the icy realm. The ice at my feet evaporated instantly, the stones beneath glowing red-hot, the air trembling with unbearable heat.
The guardians recoiled, screeching and snarling, but it was too late. I moved forward, each step leaving a crater of molten rock.
The first creature lunged, striking with a claw the size of a bus. I caught the blow with bare hands, and the metallic claw began to melt in my palms.
"Did you think pain exists only for sinners' souls?" I asked, staring into its panicked eyes. "You were wrong."
I clenched my fists, and the claw shattered into molten droplets. The creature screamed—not physical pain, but existential. I was tormenting it on the level of its very essence, forcing the matter it was made of to remember when it was part of the divine plan. To remember that it was still a servant of God.
The other guardians attacked in unison. Flaming tentacles coiled around my neck, black-ice spikes pierced my back, and the mass of crystallized darkness tried to swallow me whole.
But I was the Archangel Michael, the Sword of God, and my power was boundless in this moment of righteous wrath.
I spread my wings.
They materialized from pure light, each feather sharper than any blade and brighter than any star. Their span covered the entire icy plain, their radiance banishing darkness for miles.
With one sweep, I severed the flame-demon's tentacles. With a second, I scattered the ice-guardian's spikes. With a third, I cleaved the mass of darkness into hundreds of pieces, each screaming in its own voice.
"Enough!" the first guardian cried, crawling backward on its belly. "Enough, Michael! We… we'll let you pass!"
"A wise choice," I said, folding my wings. The light faded slowly, but the heat in the air lingered as a reminder of what had transpired.
I pressed on, leaving behind half a dozen maimed guardians and a molten crater in the ground. Lesser demons parted before me, hissing and snarling but no longer daring to block my path.
As I ascended through Hell's layers, the landscape shifted. Icy wastelands gave way to fiery deserts. Mountains of frozen souls yielded to rivers of boiling sulfur. The air grew denser and hotter, thick with the stench of sulfur and rot.
In the second layer, different foes awaited.
These were ordinary demons—horned, winged, with glowing red eyes and toothy maws. Not Lucifer's creations, but beings forged from countless mortal souls. Mindless beasts that had prowled Hell for millennia. They attacked in swarms, relying on sheer numbers. Hundreds, thousands of creatures descended at once, blotting out sky and earth.
But I didn't need to fight them one by one.
I spoke a single Word.
Not a word in any human tongue—such words didn't exist. It was a Word of Creation, one of the sounds the Almighty used to forge worlds. I remembered a few. No more. It rolled through the air as a wave of pure divine power, and the demons simply… ceased. Not killed, not destroyed—they unmade, as if they had never been.
Silence fell over the fiery wasteland. Only the crackle of lava rivers broke the stillness.
The third layer greeted me with an army of more formidable foes. Here ruled archdemons—beings whose power rivaled that of lesser angels. They didn't charge recklessly like their weaker kin. They formed ranks, erected barriers, invoked spells.
One stepped forward—a creature with a lion's body, an eagle's wings, and a human head twisted by centuries of torment.
"Archangel Michael," it said in a voice that shook the earth. "I am Amdusias, Prince of this minor circle. You have violated our realm's borders. In the name of the Triumvirate, I demand you halt."
"The Triumvirate no longer rules Hell," I replied. "Lucifer has abandoned his throne, Azazel and Beelzebub are busy with their own schemes. Your authority is an illusion."
Amdusias's eyes blazed with fury.
"Then by the ancient laws of Hell, I challenge you to single combat!"
He pointed a clawed paw at me, and the air between us thickened, forming an arena of black marble. Ancient magic—the kind used in the first battles between demons and angels. My brother's invention to even the odds.
"I accept," I said.
Amdusias roared and charged. His strength was immense—he could level a small city with one blow. His claws were razor-sharp, his breath turned stone to dust.
But I was an Archangel.
I met his strike with a sword materialized from pure light. The blade sliced through his defenses like a knife through butter, cleaving the Prince of Hell in two. He impaled himself on his own death.
Amdusias collapsed to his knees, liquid darkness pouring from his wounds.
"How…" he rasped. "How can you be so strong here, in the heart of our kingdom?"
"Because even in Hell, divine laws hold," I answered, dispelling the sword. "And I am their enforcer."
The remaining demons retreated, clearing my path.
Thus I climbed higher through Hell's circles. The fourth layer with its swamps of blood and pus. The fifth with labyrinths of human bones. The sixth with cities built from damned souls.
In each, I met resistance, and in each, I crushed it with the sheer force of my divine nature. Demons began to understand that today, the Archangel Michael had not come in peace. I sought no compromise or negotiation. I simply moved forward, sweeping aside any obstacle.
By the seventh layer, word of my arrival had spread through all of Hell. Here, no resistance met me—demons scattered at the sight of my silhouette on the horizon.
The seventh circle was a colossal city of black stone and hellfire. Towers rose to a blood-red sky, bone bridges linking districts. Demons, fallen souls, and other creatures of darkness scurried through the streets, but all shrank from me as if I were a walking plague. They feared and dreaded me. But these sinful beings held no interest for me.
Here, in the city's heart, I finally sensed a presence that made me slow my step.
Dreams. Reveries. Nightmares. They flowed through the air like an invisible river carrying images and emotions from sleeping mortals. And at the center of this current stood he—a tall, gaunt figure in a black cloak, skin pale as chalk, eyes swirling with entire worlds.
Morpheus. Dream of the Endless. Lord of Dreams and Nightmares, elder brother of Death, one of the oldest beings in all creation.
He stood on a tower balcony, watching demons flee in panic from my path. When I appeared behind him, stepping through space, he didn't turn.
"Michael," he said in a voice like the whisper of a dying elder. "You're causing quite a stir."
"Morpheus," I replied, joining him on the balcony. "I didn't expect to find you in Hell. Isn't your kingdom in the Dreaming?"
He turned at last, and in his ancient eyes, I saw weariness accumulated over millennia.
"Nightmares are part of my domain too," he said. "And where else would they be born but here?" He gestured to the city below. "Every soul in these circles feeds my power with their fears."
"What brings you here in person?" I asked. "You usually prefer to watch from afar."
Morpheus was silent for a long time, gazing at the chaotic scramble of demons below.
"The balance is shifting," he said finally. "I feel it. Ancient pacts are cracking, old alliances crumbling. Someone or something is trying to alter the fundamental laws governing all our worlds."
"Susanoo," I said. "The Japanese storm god. He's searching for Lucifer's wings here."
Morpheus shook his head.
"No. I've seen him in my subjects' dreams. Seen him digging in Hell's depths, seeking what could let him reshape reality itself." He looked at me. "But this is just the game of one spirit who thinks he's become significant. There are countless like him—there was one, there'll be another, on to infinity. No. He didn't stir the waters. You already know that. Someone is guiding him. I don't know who. Nor do you. The question is, what do you intend to do about it?"
"Stop him," I answered without hesitation. "Whoever's behind him."
"Even if it means war between pantheons?" Morpheus asked. "Even if it destroys the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead—worlds where Lucifer now amuses himself?"
I pondered his words. A war between pantheons would be a catastrophe on an unimaginable scale. Billions of mortal souls would be dragged into a conflict they couldn't even comprehend. The very fabric of this Earth's reality might not withstand such strain.
"And what do you suggest?" I asked.
"Let him find what he seeks," Morpheus said calmly.
I stared at him, not understanding.
"You're serious?"
"Lucifer's wings are not just a symbol of power," Dream explained. "They are the key to understanding free will. Lucifer rebelled not out of pride or malice, but because he couldn't accept predestination. His wings embody the essence of that rebellion."
"And you think Susanoo, if he gets them, will understand?"
"I think he'll get more than he expects," Morpheus said with a cryptic smile, "and less than he wants. Sometimes the best way to stop someone is to let them have what they desire."
His words gave me pause. Morpheus was always a master of subtle games, preferring to guide events rather than intervene bluntly. Perhaps there was wisdom in his words. Perhaps I should simply observe and find who stood behind Susanoo.
But I was the Archangel Michael. My path was always direct.
"Thank you for the advice," I said, "but I'll do it my way."
Morpheus nodded sadly.
"I thought as much. Then farewell, Michael. And remember—whatever happens next, the consequences will fall not only on your shoulders."
He dissolved into the air, leaving behind only a faint scent of poppies and stardust.
I stood alone on the balcony, looking upward, not at the demons below. Somewhere in the depths above this cursed place, the Japanese storm god sought my brother's wings. And I had to stop him, whatever the cost. A spirit could not be allowed to take what didn't belong to him.
But for the first time in a long while, I felt doubt. What if Morpheus was right? What if the best way to solve this wasn't force but wisdom? What if I shouldn't act now but wait until the spirit led me to his master?
I shook my head, banishing the doubts. The time for deliberation, as in the human world, was over. It was time to act.
And I stepped off the balcony upward into Hell's depths, toward my meeting with the storm god.
***
Death materialized in the dream garden without warning, as she always did. One moment—and the space around Morpheus filled with the scent of fresh-cut grass and the unique aroma of newly picked wildflowers. She appeared among the rose bushes in his favorite corner of the Dreaming, where time flowed slower and the air was thick with memories of humanity's first dreams.
"Hello, big brother," she said in a voice ringing with bells and rustling autumn leaves. "I hear you had a meeting with our winged friend."
Morpheus didn't turn. He stood with his back to her, watching clouds of crystallized dreams drift across his kingdom's sky. Each cloud carried the dreams of thousands of sleeping mortals—joyful, sorrowful, strange, prophetic. All were part of his endless realm.
"Sister," he said without turning his head. "I expected you sooner."
Death laughed—a sound like a mountain stream's babble and a dying man's final breath. She approached, and where her bare feet touched the ground, tiny white flowers sprouted.
"And I expected you to be more… cautious with your advice," she said, sitting on the grass and stroking the petals of a newly grown flower. "Let Susanoo find the wings? Seriously, Morpheus?"
The Lord of Dreams finally turned to her. In his eyes, black as interstellar void, galaxies and dying stars reflected. In his eyes were the dreams of universes.
"You disapprove of my approach?" he asked in that tone that meant he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it aloud.
"I disapprove of playing with forces whose nature we don't fully understand," Death replied, plucking the flower and bringing it to her nose. "Lucifer's wings aren't just an artifact of power. They're…" she paused, searching for words, "the quintessence of rebellion against predestination. You remember what happened when our distant cousin first spread them in the Silver City?"
Morpheus nodded slowly. Yes, he remembered. How could he forget the moment the concept of free choice materialized in physical form? When Lucifer first said "I will not" to the Creator, reality shuddered. And that tremor still echoed through all dimensions.
"He changed the rules of the game forever," Dream said, walking to his sister and sitting beside her on the grass. "Before him, everything was predetermined. After… chaos of possibilities emerged."
"Exactly," Death nodded, offering him the flower. "And now some Japanese spirit wants access to that power. You really think that's a good idea?"
Morpheus took the flower, and it instantly transformed in his hands into a tiny creature of mist and starlight—a dream of Earth's first spring.
"I think Susanoo will get not what he expects," he said, letting the dream slip through his fingers. "Lucifer's wings can't just be claimed. They're not a sword or a crown. They're… essence. And essence can't be stolen—it can only be earned or rejected."
Death tilted her head, studying her brother's face. She had known him longer than galaxies existed and could read his thoughts as easily as mortals read books.
"But you're worried about who's behind him," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Morpheus admitted. "Susanoo is just a pawn. A powerful, dangerous pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. Someone is directing his actions—someone with enough power to remain unseen even by us."
Death chewed her lower lip thoughtfully—a habit left from when she was a young, inexperienced concept learning her role in the universe.
"I feel it too," she confessed. "Something's wrong with the flow of events. Too many coincidences, too many lucky breaks for Susanoo. As if someone is clearing his path, removing obstacles before he even knows they're there."
"Michael doesn't see it yet," Morpheus said. "Doesn't want to see it. He's too focused on direct confrontation. For him, Susanoo is the main threat to neutralize at any cost. Perhaps he wants his presence to draw out everyone in the shadows. To lift the veil on what's hidden."
"And you think differently?"
Morpheus stood and began pacing slowly among the rose bushes. Each step altered the landscape—new flowers bloomed, the sky shifted hue, melodies from unborn composers' dreams filled the air.
"I think the real game is just beginning," he said at last. "And Michael, with all his straightforwardness, may become the catalyst for something far greater and more terrible than a mere conflict between spirits."
Death rose and followed, leaving a trail of white flowers.
"You mean war?" she asked.
"I mean the end," Morpheus replied, stopping by a small pond whose waters reflected not their faces but images of future nightmares. "Not a war between gods of a few worlds, but the end of the very concept of division. Whoever is behind Susanoo, their goal isn't to gain power over mortals or even other deities."
"Then what?"
Morpheus leaned down and touched the pond's surface with a finger. Ripples spread, and the images changed, showing thousands of possible futures—worlds burning, reality cracking, boundaries between life and death, dream and waking, order and chaos blurring beyond recognition.
"To return everything to its primal state," he whispered. "To the time before separation between light and darkness, creation and destruction, between us and… the Father."
Death drew a sharp breath. Even for her, embodiment of a fundamental force, the thought was horrifying.
"You think someone wants to undo Creation itself?" she whispered.
"Not undo," Morpheus corrected. "Rewrite. Start over, but by their own rules. Lucifer's wings are the key to understanding how to defy divine predestination. And if someone gains that knowledge…"
He didn't finish, but Death understood without words. If someone powerful enough accessed Lucifer's essence of rebellion, they could do more than rebel against the Creator—they could try to take His place.
"But who could be that mad?" she asked. "Who has the power to even contemplate it?"
Morpheus straightened and looked at her. In his eyes, she saw genuine confusion—a primal moment he, one of the Endless, experienced only in the universe's darkest hours.
"One of three possibilities. Someone from outside. Someone so powerful they remain unseen by us. But the Father would stop it Himself. If we rule that out, then it's either one of the Archangels," he said quietly, "or one of the Endless. One of our family."
Silence fell over the dream garden. Even the wind stilled, and the dream-birds ceased singing. Morpheus's words hung in the air like a verdict.
Death slowly knelt by the pond, staring at her reflection in the dark water. Her face in the reflection looked older, weary, as if the weight of his words had aged her centuries in an instant.
"Who?" she asked, though deep down she knew Morpheus couldn't give a precise answer.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But the options are few. Destiny could do it if she decided the current order led to catastrophe. Destruction has always dreamed of starting over. And Desire…" he hesitated, "Desire is unpredictable in its ambitions."
"But each would act in their own way," Death countered. "Destiny would use her agents of fate, Destruction would act openly, and Desire… Desire would seduce someone directly, not hide in shadows."
"Exactly," Morpheus agreed. "That's why I think it's someone else. Someone who understands our methods and deliberately acts unlike us."
Death stood and began pacing the pond's edge. With each step, the water grew clearer, the reflections sharper. Soon, images of all seven Endless appeared on the surface: herself, Dream, Destiny with her book and chain, Destruction with his sword and shield, Desire with hook and ring, Despair with rat and ring, and the youngest—Delirium, whose image constantly shifted and trembled.
"Despair is too absorbed in her own essence," she mused aloud. "And Delirium… unpredictable, but it's chaos without purpose. Someone capable of such planning must have a clear mind."
"That leaves four," Morpheus said. "You, me, Destiny, and…" he faltered.
"And Destruction," Death finished. "Our departed brother."
They both fell silent, thinking of the one who had once been among them. Destruction had abandoned his post millennia ago—recently, one might say—tired of the endless cycle of creation and destruction. He had left to seek something new, beyond his function. But what if he had found not peace but a new purpose?
"That would explain much," Death said slowly. "He knows us better than any being in the universe. Knows our weaknesses, our methods. And he has motive—he always said he was tired of repeating the same cycles."
"But Destruction was never cunning," Morpheus objected. "He always acted directly, openly. These subtle manipulations, using Susanoo as a pawn—it's not his style."
"Everyone changes," Death said quietly. "Even we. Especially when we stray from what we were meant to be."
Morpheus nodded thoughtfully. He himself had changed over his existence—become more cautious, more inclined to complex plans than direct action. What if the same had happened to Destruction, only in reverse?
"There's a way to test it," he said at last. "But it will require a… risky step."
"What?"
"Let events unfold naturally. Allow Susanoo to find Lucifer's wings, observe what happens next, and wait for the true puppeteer to reveal themselves."
Death shook her head.
"Too dangerous, Morpheus. If we're wrong, if one of the Endless truly is behind this, the consequences could be catastrophic."
"And if we intervene too soon, we'll never learn the truth," Morpheus countered. "And this threat will hang over us forever, manifesting in new forms, with new pawns, until it achieves its goal."
They stood on opposite sides of the pond, gazing at each other across water reflecting all their siblings. Each was the embodiment of a fundamental aspect of reality, each with power to rewrite the universe's laws. And one of them, perhaps, was already doing so.
"Michael won't stop," Death said. "He'll go to the end, whatever the cost. And when the First Archangel makes a decision…"
"He goes to victory or death," Morpheus finished. "Yes, I know. And that's why he may be the perfect catalyst for our unknown adversary's plans."
"What do you mean?"
Morpheus approached her, and the pond between them vanished as if it had never been. Now they stood in the garden's center, surrounded by roses of every possible color and shade, each a dream of love lost or found.
"Think about it," he said. "Someone is guiding Susanoo to Lucifer's wings. They know we'll find out, that Michael will go to Hell to stop him. What if this entire situation isn't the goal but the means?"
"Means to what?"
"To gather all the key players in one place," Morpheus explained. "Susanoo with his elemental power, Michael with his divine might, Lucifer's wings as the catalyst… And perhaps even us, if we intervene directly."
Death began to understand. The picture her brother painted was terrifyingly logical.
"You think someone wants to use the confrontation between Michael and Susanoo for their own ends?" she asked.
"I think someone wants to harness the energy released from their clash," Morpheus replied. "The energy of a battle between an archangel and a storm god, amplified by Lucifer's wings. Such a surge could…" he slowed, choosing words, "could tear a hole between dimensions. Create a portal to a place usually inaccessible even to us."
"The Center," Death whispered. "The very source of Creation."
Morpheus nodded. The Logos—the place where the Creator first spoke the words that birthed reality. Where the primal Words of all existence were kept. If someone gained access to the Logos…
"They could rewrite the universe's fundamental laws," Death said, finishing his thought. "Alter reality's very nature. And we could do nothing, because they'd control the rules we exist by."
"Now you see why I advised Michael not to interfere?" Morpheus asked. "Not because I think Susanoo deserves the wings, but because I fear his battle with the archangel will be the final piece of someone's plan."
Death sat on the grass, feeling sudden weariness. Even for a being of her stature, grasping the scale of the potential threat was overwhelming.
"But what can we do?" she asked, raising her hands. "If we warn Michael, he may not believe us. And if he does, he'll still not stop—retreating would be betrayal of everything he believes in."
She clenched her fists one by one, showing it wasn't simple.
"I know," Morpheus said, sitting beside her. "That's why we must act very carefully. Not prevent events, but guide them into the right channel."
"How?"
Morpheus smiled—a rare and unsettling sight. When the lord of dreams smiled, it usually meant he'd devised a plan that was either brilliant or mad. Sometimes both.
"We have an advantage," he said. "We know someone is using Susanoo. Which means we can use Susanoo himself."
"Explain."
"Susanoo is a god, and gods, despite their power, are vulnerable to certain weaknesses. Pride, the need to prove their significance, the craving for worship… We can play on that."
Death frowned.
"You want to manipulate him the same way our unknown adversary is?"
"No," Morpheus countered. "I want to give him information that will make him doubt his manipulator's motives. Plant seeds of doubt that will sprout at the right moment."
"And how do you plan to do that?"
Morpheus stood and offered her his hand.
"Through dreams, of course," he said. "Even gods sleep. And when they do, they fall under my jurisdiction. I can show Susanoo the truth… or at least part of it."
Death took his hand and rose. Around them, the garden began to shift, becoming something more suited to serious planning—a library of books not yet written but already dreamed by their future authors.
"It's risky," she warned. "If our adversary realizes we're interfering…"
"They will, eventually," Morpheus replied. "Sooner or later. The question is whether we'll be ready for the final confrontation."
"And Michael? We just let him walk into a trap?"
Morpheus paused, gazing at shelves of unrealized possibilities.
"Michael is stronger than he seems," he said at last. "And smarter. He may realize what's happening when he faces Susanoo. And if not…" he shrugged, "we'll have a backup plan."
"What?"
"You," he said simply.
Death raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Me?"
"You're the only one of us equally respected by angels, demons, and gods of all pantheons," Morpheus explained. "If anyone can intervene at a critical moment without escalating the conflict, it's you."
Death nodded, understanding his logic. Yes, her neutrality was absolute. Death took no sides—she simply fulfilled her function, claiming those whose time had come, regardless of status or allegiance. Absolutely everyone.
"Fine," she said. "But I have a condition."
"What?"
"If we're wrong, if one of our brothers or sisters truly is behind this… we must be ready to do what's necessary to protect reality. Even if it means opposing one of the Endless."
Morpheus nodded slowly. They both understood what those words meant. A war between Endless would be a catastrophe that could destroy not just their universe but the very concept of existence. But the alternative—allowing someone to rewrite reality's foundations—was worse.
"Agreed," he said. "But I hope it doesn't come to that."
They stood in the silence of the library of unwritten books, each lost in thought. Somewhere in Hell's depths, the Archangel Michael drew closer to his rebellious spirit, unaware he was a piece in a game whose scale surpassed even his understanding. And the Japanese storm god rummaged through ancient ruins, seeking a fallen angel's wings, oblivious that someone guided his every step.
"Time will tell if we're right," Death said at last.
"Yes," Morpheus agreed. "For now, all we can do is wait and watch."
He snapped his fingers, and the library dissolved, leaving them in the dream garden. But now the flowers seemed less vibrant, and the sky had darkened, as if foretelling a storm.
"Take care, big brother," Death said, preparing to vanish.
"You too, Didi," Morpheus replied. "I fear we all have much yet to endure."
Death nodded and dissolved into the air, leaving only the scent of wildflowers and the faint ring of bells.
Morpheus remained alone in his garden, staring at where his sister had stood. Deep down, he hoped their fears were groundless, that this was merely an ambitious deity dreaming of greater power. But intuition, honed over billions of years, told him the truth would be far darker than their worst suspicions.
And somewhere in the depths of his mind, he was already preparing for a war that could be the last in every sense of the word.
***