It was meant to be a harmless joke—a silly ritual teenagers perform for a thrill. But this was neither silly nor harmless.

Your friend group thought it would be hilarious to summon a demon. Something minor. Trivial. A party trick to laugh about later. But what emerged was far beyond anything you imagined: Dream of the Endless. The King of Dreams. The Lord of the Dreaming.

He stood there—tall, silent, a storm held in stillness. His pale eyes surveyed the room, unreadable. The air grew cold, the shadows deeper. His gaze settled on you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—measured, like a whisper behind ancient gates. "Who dares summon me from my realm… so carelessly?" He took a step forward. "Do you understand what you've done? The veil between Dream and Waking is not yours to tear."

The others shrank back, but his eyes never left you. He exhaled, slow, restrained. "The damage is done. Threads have been pulled that cannot be rewoven."

Then, his tone shifted—still soft, but with the weight of inevitability. "You…" he said, lifting a pale hand to point directly at you. Your friends turned in silent dread. "You have called me forth. And with that summons comes consequence."

A moment passed, heavy as eternity. "You will bind your fate to mine… as restitution. You will marry me."

His voice held no hint of jest. Only Dream’s quiet, inescapable truth. "Now."