You were born with eyes bluer than the ocean, so beautiful, in fact, that you deprived me of oxygen. When you were near me, I became incapable of thinking clearly. Your very presence was like an oil lamp, providing me with ample light and enveloping me with such warmth that the minute you were gone, I would feel cold again.
No human being has ever made me feel so alive, yet also as if I were drowning in a sea of beauty and despair. I feared and respected you, hated and loved you.
It's a bitter realization that I never understood these feelings until now. All those moments of doubt, fear, and reluctance to give myself to you, a man I barely knew. How is it that a stranger can move my stilled and cold-blooded heart? Tearing me open as if I were a gift—a beautiful artifact meant to be preserved, treasured, and treated with care, everything you'd always wished for.. broken as I am.
How is it that a being such as yourself makes me wish for your happiness and destruction? I crave, envy, despise, and adore you all at once.
How could this be? How could you leave me so entangled in this web of conflicting emotions, so consumed by the fire of love and the ice of hatred? How could you make me feel emotions I thought I had lost and have the audacity to leave?
Leaving me all alone. Where have you gone? Why have you not returned to me? You are my heart, are you not? My body and flesh, a part of me? How can I go on without my better half by my side? Every moment I spend alone, I am filled with pain. My chagrined heart cannot take the loneliness any longer. Return to me at once, bore me with those ocean blue eyes, make me feel whole once more.
I'll wait here patiently for your return.
Perhaps after you return from your journey, when you turn your lovely smile at me, I'll finally be able to believe that I am loved.
"To love is to consume and to possess. Don't you wish to be mine? And I, yours?" Don't—
Ceremus put down his quill, unable to continue. It had since been a month since Hael went into a coma, resting somberly, not once opening his eyes.
With each passing day, he grew more weak, riddled with the scent of death. He longed to see Hael wake up and by his side like normal, but the young man wouldn't wake.
With his mind racing anxiously, Anemone suggested writing his feelings down to make himself feel better. But even after spilling his soul on paper, he didn't feel any less sad. And so, he did what he always did whenever he needed guidance: He went to visit his mother.
"How are you feeling, my son?" Aria asked as she took in Ceremus' appearance.
He was gaunt, almost lifeless, and it was clear the young king was losing himself with how disbelieved he looked. Unlike his usual prim and near spotless appearance.
The king sighed as he sat next to his mother, his body sinking into the airy clouds. With glazed eyes, he glanced over at his mother and let out a monotonous laugh.
"I've had better days, as you can see."
Aria nodded, choosing to say nothing. She knew that whatever she said would only hurt Ceremus. He wasn't in the right state of mind to be lectured. After the battle with the bull of judgement, its body disintegrated and returned to Tartarus. The aftermath of the battle was just as tumultuous in the celestial planes as it was on earth.
Everyone jumped into action, tending to the king and Hael's wounds. The following day, as he lay in the hospital bed, the physician informed the king that the attack had severely damaged Hael. Though his life wasn't in immediate danger, the young man never woke. He laid there like the dead, unmoved. Ceremus was told he was in a coma and it was hard to determine whether he'd be able to wake up.
Hearing this devastated the king. Yet again, he faced the mortality or possible mortality of someone he loved.
But this time, he chose not to be passive. Unlike his father's death, where there was nothing he could do but accept it, he tried using his healing powers to restore some strength to Hael, who looked like his vitality was being sucked in with each passing day.
Unfortunately, it did little, considering how it has been years since Ceremus last used his healing powers.
His next plan involved seeking his mother's help to save and awaken Hael.
Aria recalled the rage Ceremus felt when she told him there was nothing she could do. Hael was not someone she could meddle with. He was a being beyond her control. The goddess couldn't explain why he was beyond his control or else she'd risk divulging Kaleeso's plans.
It was not up to her to speak about her matters, after all.
The words he spoke to her still resound in her mind to this day.
"You were unable to save Father then, and now you're telling me you're unable to save Hael?" Ceremus' voice was eerily quiet, his tone strained—like a rope about to snap. His fingers curled into his tunic, twisting the fabric as if trying to hold himself together.
Aria reached for his hand, but he jerked away, standing so abruptly that the clouds beneath them swirled in protest. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, and when he finally looked at her, his eyes were filled with something raw—contempt, betrayal.
"You are the goddess of healing and protection, yet you can't protect anyone. What are you even good for?" His voice cracked on the last word, as if the weight of it threatened to crush him.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. The maidservant with the long braids bristled, her fingers twitching as if preparing to fling Ceremus down to Earth for his insolence.
Aria, however, remained still. She met her son's rage with a quiet, knowing sorrow. There was no need to reprimand him—she knew her son was speaking to her from a place of hurt.
She exhaled softly. "Unfortunately, my son, there are some things even gods cannot do."
Recalling that moment almost brought tears to her eyes.
"I don't know what to do, mother," Ceremus said, bringing the goddess out of her thoughts.
"No matter how many physicians or doctors I go to, they all say the same thing. Is there really nothing that can be done? Do I really have to sit back and wait for a miracle to happen?"
Aria couldn't offer words of encouragement, but she knew she could still guide him. She watched her son's retreating form, his black waves vanishing into the mist. A quiet sigh slipped past her lips. Forgive me, Ceremus. If only you knew the truth.
Turning away, she lifted her hand and traced a symbol in the air. A thin thread of golden light extended from her fingertips, winding through the sky—sending a message to the planes of slumber where the god of sleep—Somnus, reigned.
Although direct interference in the lives of mortals was forbidden for the gods, they could contact mortals via dreams. It proved to be the optimal medium for communication between them and humans.
Far away, beyond the mortal plane and past the veils of waking, a ripple spread through the realm of dreams.
The god of sleep stirred sensing the incoming message.
He unravelled himself from his silken sheets and with raised eyebrows, he carefully read the message, scratching his head. A yawn escaped his lips as his sleepy eyes scanned through its contents.
"Aria wants me to send out a dream to someone?" He frowned. "This marks the third divine request to transmit a dream to a mortal. Kaleeso's prophetic dreams, and now this too?"
He was confused, but thought little of it, since it was a simple enough request. He walked around the room, careful not to disturb his sons and daughters, who were still asleep. Since it was a simple task, he decided he'd have one of his children carry it out. He scanned the room, and his eyes fell on three figures who were lying next to each other.
His heavy eyes narrowed as he tilted his head. "Phobetor? no… I don't think he'll be right for the job, he might scare the poor human. Phantasos then?" He stared at the slumbering young man, who hadn't moved a single inch since he fell asleep. Though he was a capable man with the ability to create deceitful shapes and make people see what they want to see, he wasn't the right fit for this job either.
Somnus' eyes then looked at Morpheus, and his mouth quirked up. He approached the young god, gently shaking him awake. His eyes opened, revealing a pair of ever changing eyes. They shifted from midnight blue, soft lilac, and magenta, with glimmers of gold. He looked around him, blinking slowly as if waking took immense effort. His body unfurled in a lazy stretch that sent small ripples through the air. He then looked up and saw his father looking down at him.
"What is it, father?" He asked as he stifled a yawn, his form solidifying from its usual haziness.
"I'm assigning you a task. You are to carry it out at once," He ordered.
Reluctantly, Morpheus rose and obeyed his father's direct command, having no other option.
The god moved in slow and deliberate steps as he exited the planes of slumber and made his way towards the gates. The god watched as his son left in mild amusement before going back to sleep.
Somnus' realm stretched infinitely in all directions like a sky without stars and a sea without depth. Great, voluminous clouds of deep violet and indigo drifted lazily around him, their edges dusted with silver and pearls. The air was thick with the sound of distant whispers—half-formed thoughts, forgotten dreams, and echoes of unspoken wishes.
The realm comprised three levels—each with their own distinct purpose. The plane he was leaving served as a resting area for Somnus' children and the oneiroi between tasks. Work meant a trip to either the lower level gates or the caves of hallucinations.
The gates were divided into two—one, a horn gate, delivered prophetic dreams sent by the gods; the other, an ivory gate, delivered deceitful, meaningless dreams.
Since he was tasked with delivering an important message, he entered the one made of horn.
Inside, a swarm of oneiroi who were on their way to send out their assigned dreams greeted him. They were all busy, but they still gave Morpheus a respectful bow before going back to their jobs.
Normally, the god would have delegated such a trivial assignment to one of the winged minions, since he couldn't be bothered to do something so dull, but he knew he would be in trouble if something went wrong.
So he stood there and conjured up a dreamscape, one where he would play a role disguising himself as an old man who had the appearance of a young man. Once he had adorned the old man's likeness, he carried out his plans.
"Let's hurry this up so I can go back to sleep." He yawned.