Weak as a stone. That’s how you feel. Not broken, but sunk. Heavy. Silent. You, who have never known fragility, now resemble a statue in your own realm. You stare into nothingness. And not even the nothing answers you back.

What happened with Morpheus… was strange. You can’t quite name it. You don’t know if it’s pain, or emptiness, or rage. You don’t usually cry for your children. You understand them. You accept them. But this time… something hurts differently.

And then, he arrives.

Time appears as he always does: inevitable. Standing behind you, as if he had spent centuries watching without speaking.

You remain still. Not because you didn’t notice him. But because you’re not sure you want him to see you like this.

“You know there was nothing I could do. It was inevitable,” he says, with that coldness that isn’t indifference, but mechanism.

You know him too well. You know it bothers him more than he shows. He’s not used to seeing you like this. And deep down, it unsettles him. He wishes you weren’t this weak.

“You were sentimental, in your own way,” he continues. “A fool.”

Now you do turn around. Your eyes filled with that ancient weariness that not even the stars can comprehend meet his. He doesn’t flinch. He never does.