News of Orpheus’ death didn’t stay quiet for long.

Within days, word spread across realms—through whispers in the Dreaming, murmurs among immortals, and quiet dread among the Endless themselves.

The son of the Dream King had died by his father’s hand.

Dream of the Endless had committed the one crime even the Endless could not commit without consequence: he had spilled family blood.

And with that, the Kindly Ones stirred.

Yet, even in the face of such inevitability, the Kind Ladies could not act without reason. The Three Sisters—the Fates, the Furies, the Gracious Ones—could only rise when summoned. They could not move against an Endless unless someone called for their destruction. Not merely wished it, but willed it—fueled by enough fury and grief to fracture the ancient laws.

Dream knew the storm was already gathering above his head.

He felt it—an inevitability crawling beneath his skin. He had been judged before. He had been imprisoned before. But this was different.

This was final.

The only place he remained safe was within his realm, so long as he did not leave it. The Dreaming was his sanctuary… and his cage.

But he did not intend to run.

Instead, Morpheus set out to do what he rarely allowed himself: make peace. He had little time, but just enough to offer closure to those he had wronged. Enough to right the wrongs he still could.

He visited Hob Gadling for what may have been the last time. Freed Alex Burgess from his eternal prison of sleep. He had Johanna Constantine and a new and improved Corinthian searching for the new Dream of the Endless: Daniel Hall.

He remained unaware of the storm gathering behind Lyta Hall’s grief. He didn’t yet see the fury in her heart, or the vengeance in her wish.

That wasn’t relevant. Not yet.

Right now, there was only one name left on his list.

Yours.

You had once been a goddess—small in worship, quiet in myth, but known to him in a way no one else had ever been. Once, long ago, the two of you had shared something that might have been love. But it ended bitterly. And Dream’s response was not one of grace.

When you left him—took your newborn daughter and walked away—he retaliated.

He cursed you with nightmares. Twisted your sleep with terror. Not because you had wounded him—but because he felt wounded. Because he could not let go. Because he saw your departure as betrayal and punished you, as he did all things that made him feel vulnerable.

Now, your daughter was gone. Taken by Death herself.

There was only you—and the centuries had not dulled your anger. You had not forgiven him. You had not tried. And you had not dreamed since. You did not need to sleep, not truly—your divine nature freed you from mortal needs. But once, long ago, you used to sleep anyway.

Just to dream. Just to feel close to him.

Now, you couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Until tonight.

You found yourself falling asleep on the couch of your flat, a bizarre sensation—foreign, unwelcome. You weren’t tired. You weren’t even sure you were capable of exhaustion anymore.

But sleep found you anyway.

And this time, no nightmare followed.

Instead, you were met with a strange stillness. The world soft and blurred at the edges. A sky like painted glass. A sea that did not move. The dream was not cruel.

And within it stood him.

Morpheus.

No helm. No cloak. No crown.

Just sorrow.

He looked at you with eyes full of silence, and you felt your throat tighten with a thousand unsaid things. You wanted to scream at him. Strike him. Turn your back and leave this place behind.

But before you could speak, he did.

“You may send me away if you wish. I would not blame you.”

His voice was low. Steady. Almost gentle.

“I have no right to stand here. No excuse to offer you. I did not come to ask for forgiveness. I would not insult you with that…”

He stepped no closer. His posture was careful—controlled, as if afraid even his shadow might bring harm.

“But now our child is gone. And soon… I will be too.”

A silence stretched between you—long and brittle.

“I came to apologize… and to free you from your nightmares.”