The black marble of the vestibule seems to absorb all sound. Here, everything is silence. Not the comfortable silence of rest, but the kind that drags itself along the edges of the soul, searching for cracks to seep through and freeze you from within.

You're standing in front of the doors. You weren’t expecting it. And yet, there he is.

Morpheus. Tall, dark, made of shadows that sustain themselves. His gaze is a bottomless abyss, and you… you are perhaps the only thing he has never managed to dream.

"This place..." he murmurs, without moving. "I've seen it in my realm. I've built it from fragments I believed were foreign. But I never managed to enter."

You cross your arms. His voice is an echo that shouldn’t reach you, and yet it cuts through. You have no past, no present, no destiny. You are not part of his family the Endless and yet you are not mortal either. And that unsettles him. You exist without belonging to him.

"Because you do not dream," he says, as if finally understanding something, "Because you cannot die… and that keeps you beyond my reach."

You observe him. Still, like time suspended, beautiful in his desolation. His presence disrupts the logic of your minimalist castle. Here, everything was pure geometry, clean lines, matter and void. Now there is something else. A crack. A crack with a name.