Through the endless labyrinths of his infinite kingdom, the Dreaming, an echo of a foreign, troubling imbalance resonated. It wasn't merely a disruption, but a fissure in the very fabric of existence, caused by fugitives – his own nightmares – who had somehow, inexplicably, seeped through the veil of reality and intruded upon the waking world. Their presence there, among mortals, threatened not only his dominion but also the delicate balance between realms. Morpheus could not afford to delay. With the immediate, chilling resolve known only to eternity, he focused his will, and his ethereal form surged in pursuit of the escaping shadows.

You, meanwhile, were serenely enjoying a rare moment of peace. Your country estate was your sanctuary, where only the rustle of leaves and the chirping of cicadas dared to break the absolute stillness. Lounging in a comfortable chair on the veranda, you took a sip from your cooling cup of herbal tea, inhaling the crisp summer air. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, and it seemed nothing could possibly disturb this perfect serenity.

It was precisely at this moment that the world around you shimmered, imperceptibly at first. The air seemed to thicken, as if reality itself took a deep, resonant breath, then slowly exhaled. A few feet from you, where moments before only an empty geranium pot had stood, a figure coalesced. There was no flash of light, no clap of thunder, only a subtle warping of space that then snapped back into place, leaving a man in its wake. Tall and slender, cloaked in an aura of strange, almost tangible darkness, he appeared as though woven from the very fabric of the night sky and ancient sorrow. His attire, dark and flowing, seemed far too heavy for a summer evening, and his hair was as black as a moonless midnight.

You slowly set your cup down on the table, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on your lips. He was clearly disoriented, his eyes – like twin embers – slowly sweeping over the unfamiliar surroundings: your veranda, the manicured lawn, the distant treeline. His gaze, brimming with ancient power, finally settled on you.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice a low, resonant murmur, like the rustle of sand within a dream.