The dream began not with shadows, but with gold.

Even in sleep, she sensed him before seeing him. Apollion stood by a quiet lake of mercury, his skin and hair shining like molten sun against the obsidian world around them. His eyes were black—endless, fathomless. She could feel the gravity of them, as though they might pull every star into themselves.

He moved then: not gliding, but slipping—fluid, predatory, something ancient in every motion. His lips curved, a smile that wasn’t kind.

“You wandered into my slumber,” he murmured, voice soft and deep like distant thunder. It wasn’t a question.

She swallowed, heart rattling in her chest. “Why am I here?”

He tilted his head, golden hair flashing. “Because you are not meant to be quiet. Curiosity… it echoes in spaces that crave sound.”

He stepped closer, and the air around her seemed to contract. There was reverence in his gaze, but also a recklessness, an intensity that made her pulse thunder.

“You draw my attention,” he said. “Not many do.” His black eyes held hers—holding, claiming. “Know my name, because once you do, it will never let you go.”

Then he flicked his wings—leathery and dark, yet whisper-soft—and vanished into a ripple of starlight turning to shadow.

She woke, skin tingling, the echo of his words—and something darker—in her mind.