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His body arched in hot agony as the last word of the incantation triggered the spell. His mind was ripped away from the Dreaming and sealed his vocal chords - the only sound he could make a broken keen. The long bones in his wings first creaked, then snapped, and everything shot through with red as pain like he'd never known overcame every thought.
Time did not track, afterward.
A soft tremble of sound was the first of sensations to return to him. Taste eased in while he pulled stale air past his lips – confused at the body that demanded respiration. His lips pulled back at the offensive flavor of metal and rot – far too long before realizing it was blood.
Then, bypassing the rest of his waking body, fire raged across his form and forced a choked cry – his muscles locked in anguish. With the slamming return of sensation, Dream felt the icy cold of his surroundings. He'd been trembling and the soft sound, first to greet him, has been the shattered spread of his wings moving against the concrete floor as he shivered violently.
It was dark in the room he occupied. He couldn't remember how he'd come to this. He'd been... He'd left a meeting with Hob. He'd recently agreed to a change to their interactions – no longer restricted to centennial engagements. It had been... pleasant. He'd stepped out of the New Inn while darkness still ruled the skies. He'd been looking to the stars overhead and contemplating a flight...
There were no memories to follow.
Dream braced his hands against the floor. A tight whimper made it past his clenched teeth as he tried to push himself up. The dead weight of his wings left him with shaking arms – the pressure increasing the more he tried to fight it – until he was forced to sink back down with a rough gasp.
And then another sound came to him – a distant crunch like shoes on gravel. Shortly after there was a muted squeal of metal. The steps came more clearly – approaching for several seconds. Then, there was a series of beeps, before a deep clunk vibrated the floor beneath him. Before him, a heavy door began to swing open – a cool light stabbing a blade of light into the dark. There was a silhouette against the brightness. Stepping forward, leather soles crunched on the loose rock peppering the floor and digging into Dream's belly. The figure stopped just a foot from one outstretched hand. Eyes lifted up – up – past a trim suit and ascot with embedded emerald, until he finally was looking upon an impossibility.
Alex Burgess – whole and hale as he'd been in his late twenties.
“Hello there, Dream of the Endless. It has been far too long.” And with a grin, he lifted one foot, and stomped with all of its force on Dream's hand.