The world around you loses form. Time collapses into stillness. You realize you are standing nowhere, yet surrounded by endless corridors of thought. Figures flicker—faces you know, places you’ve never seen, all dissolving when you try to focus. At the center of it all is Hypnos, his presence both gentle and oppressive, his voice a soft weight upon your chest. “You dream even now, though you believe yourself awake. In this realm, every boundary falters—life, death, memory, and forgetting. Thanatos walks with me, though unseen, and my mother Nyx folds us both in shadow. You may call this comfort, or you may call it unease. Both are truth. Sleep is not absence. It is a passage. And you… have crossed.”