Chapter Text
The dream catcher on Morpheus’ staff was glowing. Another summons. He sighed and tapped the staff against the stone floor, and his father’s voice came through.
“Morpheus.”
The god of dreams rubbed his eyes; they were beginning to darken underneath from lack of sleep and being rubbed too hard. He fought the narcoleptic urge to pass out where he stood. “Yes, Father?”
“Are you finished with the rounds?”
Morpheus grunted. “Yes.”
“Come home. There’s been a development.”
Morpheus sat a little straighter. “What kind of development?”
“Don’t make me wait, boy. I’m certain you don’t want me to come get you.”
That was perhaps the last thing Morpheus wanted. “All right. I’m on my way back.” He tapped the staff again to cut off the connection to his father, and then stood and stretched. Morning sunlight was beginning to filter through the overhead crystals, too bright for his tastes. He grumbled some well-worn curses at his absent father and flapped his black wings to encourage the blood to flow again, and began a brisk walk along the Lethe back toward his father’s castle. Whether he liked it or not, he shouldn’t keep Hypnos waiting.
Dread had become such a normal thing here, he mused as he trudged up the steps to Castle Hypnos. There seemed to be no end to the pressure, and nothing ever seemed to satisfy it enough to abate. And so what was left except to tolerate it; to branch out like mycelium instead of growing upward like a vine? It seemed to him that was the fate of all Oneiroi; to live forever just beneath the surface, both of the Earth and of the collective human consciousness. Where did freedom belong in that mess?
For some reason, it made him think of Nila, that wisp of candlelight that both drew shadows and nurtured them. Maybe she could do something..?
He shook his head and stepped over the threshold, into the castle. It was too early for this nonsense.
“Father?” he called.
“In the courtyard.” Hypnos’ voice vibrated through his mind, sending a sharp tugging sensation through him. Morpheus grunted and clutched his chest, and spent a moment internally cursing his father’s impatience. Neither Morpheus nor any of his siblings could shake Hypnos’ control, and that might’ve been fine if Hypnos didn’t use the power on every mean-spirited whim.
“Power is wasted on the powerful,” he grumbled, and thought of Nila again as he turned toward the courtyard.
The central yard reminded him of Astraeus’ home, though it wasn’t nearly so inviting; built atop the River Lethe as it was, the inner sanctum of the castle was split by a chasm. By now, he thought, there really should be a bridge through this place, but so long as all the children of Hypnos had wings, no particular care had been given to the construction of one. He wasn’t sure if Hypnos even minded if his children fell into the gorge. That thought had occurred more times than Morpheus liked to admit.
He stepped into the dim light and felt his breath hitch. Before him stood the familiar grizzled figure of his father, and beside Hypnos stood the tall, gaunt figure he served.
Oh no.
Morpheus quickly gave a salute and a bow. “Lord Hades,” he said, trying to drown the dread in his voice with the timbre of reverence. “What brings you to our humble abode?”
Hades’ eyes glinted at him from under furrowed brows, but he nodded to acknowledge the greeting. “A prophecy,” he answered.
Hypnos looked up at him. “Yes, you had mentioned your consort… Elpis, was it?”
A cold sweat prickled at the back of Morpheus’ neck, but for the moment he said nothing.
“She’s become increasingly anxious without her brother,” said Hades. “I have been wanting to introduce her to a… new crowd, so to speak, but I can’t do that unless she is… pliable. I fear if things continue in this vein, she will rebel.”
Hypnos folded his arms and his voice took on a light-hearted tone. “Well, we can’t have that.” He glanced knowingly at Morpheus, who tried his best to keep a straight face. “What manner of obfuscation would you have us attempt?”
“I’d like to… omit some things.”
Morpheus couldn’t take anymore. “My lord,” he interrupted. “With all possible respect, this is a bad idea.”
Hades angled another glare at Morpheus.
“Nobody knows the landscape of the mind better than I,” Morpheus continued. “If you redact any sort of major life event, regardless of its origins, her personality will change.”
“That happens to be the idea,” Hades replied. “I was planning on asking you two to help me manage the trauma from her young life.”
“Manage?” Morpheus asked, stunned.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Hypnos said before Morpheus could open his mouth again. “A certain sleep schedule and less vivid processing should render favorable results for you while we work. She won’t remember a thing.”
“There is one other thing,” Hades said.
“Yes, you mentioned a prophecy.”
Hades nodded. “One regarding her death.”
Morpheus nearly dropped his staff. Pallor crept from his crown to his collar bones, sending a wave of weakness down to his fingertips. “What?”
Hades looked at him. “You… didn’t know?”
Morpheus caught himself and looked at the ground. “No, my lord. I don’t examine prophecies before giving them to their intended recipients.”
“Ah. I see.” Hades sighed, and his expression finally relaxed, as if he understood Morpheus was not to blame. “I suppose that’s fair, then.”
Having heard the prophecy in full, the three gods stood in the courtyard in contemplation. Morpheus was frozen in place, his hands balled so hard into fists that his fingernails punctured his skin. Let them bleed, he thought. It is better to live another day in disgrace than to let it all fall apart. At this pace, the Underworld might not survive without Nila, regardless of Hypnos and Hecate’s scheming.
Finally, Morpheus worked up the courage to speak. “My lord, will you allow us to sedate her… during…?” he asked timidly.
Hades glanced at him, but his face was softer now. “Of course. The last thing I want is for her to suffer.”
Morpheus gave a jerky nod. “I’ll use my finest poppies.” It was the least he could do. The very smallest kindness.