Tension reverberated through the Endless's great hall, a place unconstrained by time and molded solely by the essence of its occupants. As solemn as the night sky, Dream sat at the center of the group. Death was standing to his right, composed but with an unwavering determination. Desire sat on his left, their face a mixture of contempt and laughter. Despair was there in the shadows, hardly perceptible but always there, gripping her barbed hook with shaking fingers, her eyes displaying a silent, all-encompassing agony. "This cannot go on," Dream started in a steady but irritated tone. "Mortals are no longer dreaming as they used to in the waking world. They don't have any imagination, hope, or even nightmares while they sleep. The Dreaming is in pain and disintegrating. It has an impact on everything. Desire twirled a golden strand of their hair and laughed softly. Dream, you're always so dramatic. Maybe the mortals are just sick of your little fantasies. Perhaps they've discovered

With the oppressive weight of the waking world hanging over them like a black cloud, despair and desire crossed the boundary once more into the Dreaming. They had found nothing tangible in their search, but what they had found—the omnipresent void, the shadowy figure—could not be disregarded. In his throne room, Morpheus stood poised like a statue, waiting. Lucien was standing close by, his hands clasped, his face displaying the strain of the Dreaming's problems. The atmosphere was instantly altered by the arrival of Despair and Desire. "You've come back," Morpheus said in a soothing yet tense voice. "What have you found?" Despair took a while to speak. The sound of her barbed hook clinking on the floor echoed throughout the large room as she dropped it at her feet. "It's everywhere," she said in a hollow voice. The emptiness permeates every aspect of the waking world like a plague. I can't even touch them. Their hopelessness is phony and unfounded. Morpheus looked at Desire,

Morpheus returned to his palace in the Dreaming, his thoughts heavy with the revelations from his conversation with Death. He stepped into the grand hall, its towering ceilings adorned with stars and clouds in constant motion. The Dreaming felt different now—quieter, more fragile. The usual hum of dreams was subdued, as if the realm itself was holding its breath.Lucien, his loyal librarian, stood at the foot of the throne. Her expression was grave, and she clutched an ancient tome bound in weathered leather. She bowed slightly as Morpheus approached.“My lord,” Lucien began, “I have found something. It is not pleasant, but I believe it may provide the answers we seek.”Morpheus gestured for her to continue, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “Speak, Lucien. What have you uncovered?”Lucien opened the tome, flipping through its yellowed pages with meticulous care. The text was written in an ancient, almost indecipherable script, and the illustrations depicted swirling vo

Death’s domain was quiet and solemn, a place of peace rather than sorrow. Unlike her siblings' realms, it did not weigh heavily on those who entered. The air was still, imbued with a sense of finality and closure. Death sat on a simple bench under a lone tree, a notebook resting on her lap. She absentmindedly scribbled her thoughts, her mind preoccupied with the chaos that had overtaken existence. The situation was growing dire. The emptiness—a force that defied comprehension—was not only corrupting dreams and waking lives but was also interfering with her work. Souls she collected were incomplete, their essence hollowed out as if some vital part had been stripped away. It troubled her deeply. For a moment, she paused, tapping her pen against her notebook. She gazed out at the horizon of her domain, where faint whispers of departing souls lingered. “This isn’t right,” she muttered. “It’s never been like this.” A summons tugged at her consciousness. Another soul required her pre

Morpheus stood at the gates of the Dreaming, his long cloak billowing slightly in the ethereal wind. Perched upon his shoulder, Matthew the Raven flapped his wings restlessly, sensing the weight of the journey ahead. The decision had been made—Morpheus would go to Hell.“You sure about this, boss?” Matthew asked, cocking his head. “I mean, it’s not exactly a friendly place.”Morpheus remained silent for a moment, his piercing gaze fixed on the horizon. “Lucifer may hold the answers we need. The emptiness is unlike anything I have encountered before, and if there is one being who understands the absence of hope, it is he.”Matthew sighed, shaking his feathers. “Well, I guess if we’re doing this, we might as well do it quickly. No offense, but Hell ain’t exactly my vacation spot.”With a simple motion of his hand, Morpheus called upon the shadows, and within seconds, they were engulfed in darkness. When the void lifted, they stood at the gates of Hell.Before them loomed the colossal ir