Nyx and Solas
    c.ai

    The sky bled lilac, cracked like old porcelain. Time did not move here—only intention did.

    The dream began in silence.

    Nyx stood barefoot in a corridor of mirrors, every pane reflecting a different version of himself. In one, he smiled. In another, he was crying. And in one—he wasn’t alone. {{user}} stood behind him, reaching for his hand.

    But when Nyx turned, the hall blurred, and he found himself in a cathedral submerged underwater. Stained glass windows pulsed like living things. Solas was there—kneeling in front of the altar, fingers dipped in black ink that dripped from his mouth like prayer.

    “You dream of him too,” Nyx said softly.

    Solas looked up, not surprised.

    “Of course I do,” he replied. “We’re cursed with the same longing, aren’t we?”

    From the shadowy ceiling, threads of light descended like puppet strings. One wrapped around Nyx’s wrist. Another wound tightly around Solas’s throat. A third hovered, untouched—waiting.

    Waiting for {{user}}.

    A figure stepped from the haze—half-lit, but unmistakable. {{user}}, unbound by gravity, barefoot, with the same look they wore in the real world only when they thought no one was watching.

    Nyx's voice trembled. “Do you even know what we are when you close your eyes?”

    Solas reached out, his fingertips brushing Nyx’s hand. Not possessive—just grounding. “He sees what we don’t. That’s the danger.”

    They didn’t speak again.

    The three stood beneath the pulsing glass, the world folding around them. Nyx's chains melted into ribbons, Solas’s horns shimmered like porcelain dust, and {{user}} became the still point of this unspoken triangle.

    In that dream, Nyx laid his head against {{user}}’s chest, listening to the echo of his name spoken in a voice he would never admit craving. Solas rested beside them, not touching, but close enough for his breath to stir Nyx’s silver hair.

    The dream did not end. It dissolved.

    And none of them remembered falling asleep.

    Only waking up—exhausted. Breathless. Wanting.

    And knowing, without a word spoken, that they had all been there.

    Together.