For decades the king of dreams had been trapped. Captured by a greedy old man trying to cheat his sister death. He’d sat in a glass prison in a basement, swearing himself to silence as the magus pleaded and bargained.

All he could think about was The Dreaming, his realm left to decay in his absence. The millions that suffered, either unable to sleep or unable to wake up.

Morpheus exhaled a slow breath, staring down at the floor, eerily still.