Chapter Text
Years passed without a sight of Samael. He had heard that the archangel had become increasingly busy. To Dream's relief, he began to think his earlier worries might have been for naught. Waiting for Samael's return, he held off on naming the angelic dream, trusting in the archangel's wisdom to give her a fitting name.
The little dream was energetic and talkative, quickly making friends with other dreams. Dream couldn't help but wonder if this was what Samael had been like when they were young. This spirited creature was full of wild ideas and often asked Dream to bring her to the waking world, which he agreed to a few times. While other dreams tiptoed around their King, the angelic dream often sat beside Dream by the shore, observing his work and welcoming new dreams when they first opened their eyes. She didn't care for many rules of the Dreaming, but Dream found he didn't have the heart to punish her.
One fateful day, the very earth of the Dreaming trembled, and lightning struck the spire of Dream's palace. The Dream King was in utter shock—such events should not have been possible within the Dreaming. It must have been caused by a power far beyond an Endless. He had no time to dwell on it. As the King, he was obligated to protect his residents from harm.
As dreams of every nature sought refuge, Dream realized the angelic dream was missing. A deep intuition told him she had left the Dreaming.
Then Archangel Michael arrived, unhealed wounds still visible on his face, one hand holding a spear, the other cradling the angelic dream, her eyes devoid of light.
Immediately, Dream understood what had happened.
"Samael has fallen," Michael said, handing the dream to her creator. "I have to—"
"I understand," Dream whispered, struggling to hold back his tears. "I'm sorry for your loss, Michael. I shall tend to my duty." He turned his back, offering no hospitality to the leader of the heavenly host.
Michael shook his head and disappeared in an instant.
Dream had spent years trying to heal the angelic dream, but every attempt proved fruitless. Ever since her return, she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ever-changing landscape of the Dreaming from dawn to dusk.
In caring for her, Dream witnessed the final moments of Samael through her eyes. Stained feathers lay scattered across a barren ground, surrounded by a blazing ring of fire. The fallen angel lay face down, unmoving. Standing beside them was Michael, a flaming sword cast aside at his feet. He silently studied his twin's lifeless form. After a long time, Samael began to stir and weakly attempted to sit up, Michael, with a swift and precise motion, grabbed the sword and severed Samael's angelic wings before a cry could escape. He immediately dropped the sword, turning away, his face hidden in shadows.
The fallen angel struggled to stand, a pair of bat-like black wings sprouting from the place where the angelic wings had been severed, blood dripping.
The scene ended abruptly—Michael must have forcibly dragged the little dream away.
After witnessing the same heart-wrenching images repeatedly and watching the little dream's slow decay, Dream decided to put an end to her suffering.
On that day, his sister Death arrived, which was unusual. When a dream was unmade, it dissolved into sand, waiting to be remade or to vanish forever.
"She has a soul, my brother," Death said, standing beside Dream, hand on his shoulder. "I don't understand why, either."
"Perhaps Samael had their wish granted in this way. Take her, my sister. Michael will be waiting for her on the other side." Dream turned away, unable to bear watching his little dream dissolve into dust.
Eons later, Eurydice, the new bride of Orpheus, Morpheus's only son, died on their wedding day. Orpheus refused to attend her funeral, instead imploring his father to intercede on his behalf and demand Hades and Persephone release Eurydice. Morpheus admonished his son with harsh words:
"You should have gone to her funeral, to say goodbye. You attend the funeral, you bid the dead farewell, you grieve, and you continue with your life. At times, the fact of her absence will hit you like a blow to the chest, and you will weep. This will happen less and less as time goes on."
Morpheus would regret those words thousands of years later when he held his son's head, bringing him the long-awaited rest. With his son's blood dripping from his hands, he remembered his words to his grieving son. He saw the face of his little angelic dream. He thought he had long moved on. Had he?
He had shed family blood to save his son from eternal torment. The Kindly Ones could come for him at any moment. As an Endless, he could see his own destruction approaching. He had lived too long and lost too many along the way. He was tired, so very tired. He began to contemplate how it would feel in the Sunless Lands and what awaited him beyond that path.
This thought made him sentimental. He reflected on his life and the relationships that lay in ruin. In his mind's eye, he saw Samael, who was long gone from the Silver City. Lucifer likely never thought of Morpheus again after passing Hell's responsibility to him. He quickly dismissed their image. Whatever was between Morpheus and Samael did not matter. It never began, so there was no point in acknowledging an ending.
There was one thing he was certain of: they would never meet again.