Dream stood upon a field woven from mortal thought — a plain where the grass shimmered with imagination and the stars above were reflections of stories yet to be told. The Dreaming pulsed with warmth, as if the fabric of creation itself had drawn breath.
Mortals slept beneath the newborn stars, and in their collective slumber, they began to imagine things greater than themselves. Fire that spoke. Seas that remembered. The wind that sang their names.
Dream felt it the way one feels a rising tide: the swell of something ancient and new.
They were coming.
From the horizon of thought, a figure emerged — her hair a crown of living flame, her skin the color of dawn. Her eyes, bright with endless warmth, turned to him with calm awareness.
"You are the one who dreams," she said. Her voice was both the crackle of a hearth and the roar of a star's birth.
"I am," Dream answered. "And you are… fire given form."
She smiled — a soft, radiant curve that illuminated the shadows around them. "I am called many things, though none yet truly know me. Flame, light, life. They think of me, and so I am."
He regarded her in silence, recognizing the pulse of imagination that bound her being. She was shaped by belief, yes — but her existence no longer flickered with the fragility of mortal thought. She was steady. Whole.
More followed.
The air trembled as a figure of thunder and wind approached, his laughter rolling across the landscape like distant storms. The ground shuddered, and from it rose a woman of stone and root, her eyes green as spring's first growth. The sea gathered herself from mist and moonlight, her voice a lullaby in the language of tides.
They came together — beings of might and myth, shaped by dream but no longer contained by it.
Dream watched in quiet awe.
Each bore the imprint of mortal minds, yet their forms were now sustained by something deeper: the will of existence itself. The universe had listened to mortal imagination and decided such beings should be.
The god of thunder was the first to speak. "We have known your presence," he said. His voice was deep, his tone reverent. "Even before we opened our eyes, we felt you — a whisper at the edge of creation."
Dream inclined his head. "Then you have known me well. I am the keeper of what mortals imagine and what the universe remembers."
The goddess of the sea drifted closer, her form rippling with light. "And now we are both — memory and dream."
Dream's gaze softened. "You are what they hoped might exist. And now, you are what simply is."
The gods looked to one another, the realization settling among them like dawn's first light.
"We owe our being to those who sleep," said the earth-mother. "But we no longer fade when they wake."
Dream nodded slowly. "Because you have become part of something larger. The dream has been written into the bones of reality."
The fire-goddess stepped toward him, her warmth brushing against the cold edge of infinity that surrounded Dream. "And you, Dream — what will you do now that your creations walk free of your shadow?"
He smiled faintly. "Observe. Learn. The story does not end because it leaves my hands. It only grows."
A gentle silence followed, filled not with distance but understanding.
The storm-god looked skyward, as though testing his new-found power. "We will bring them rain and sun and storm," he said, his voice carrying promise rather than pride. "They will look to the skies and know they are not alone."
"And when they dream of you," Dream murmured, "I will keep those dreams safe."
One by one, the gods bowed their heads in quiet acknowledgment.
Death appeared then, her presence soft as the hush before a candle flickers out. She stood beside Dream, hands tucked behind her back, her eyes gentle as moonlight.
"They're wonderful," she said. "And you — you seem proud."
Dream's gaze lingered on the gathering before him. "Proud, perhaps. But also humbled. They have grown beyond what I imagined."
"Then isn't that the point?" she teased lightly. "Dreams aren't meant to stay small."
He turned to her, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "You sound wise, sister."
"I've had practice."
The sea-goddess approached Death with quiet curiosity. "You… feel different from him."
Death smiled. "I'm what follows all things. Even dreams, eventually."
The goddess hesitated. "Will that include us?"
"Someday," Death said softly, "but not for a long while. You've just begun."
Dream felt the moment stretch, delicate and perfect.
The gods began to disperse then — to their oceans and mountains, to the fires of the sun and the dark roots of the earth. Each took with them a portion of meaning, of purpose. The Dreaming dimmed slightly as they departed, but not with loss — rather, like a parent letting a child step into their own light.
When the last of them had gone, Death watched Dream in silence. "They'll change the world," she said quietly.
"They will," Dream agreed. "They will bring beauty, and terror, and awe. They will be loved, and feared, and remembered."
"And you?" she asked.
He looked up at the stars. "I will be the silence that follows their prayers. The whisper that begins their legends anew."
Death smiled. "You really are a poet."
He gave a soft, rare laugh. "I am Dream. I can be nothing else."
Together, they stood beneath the starlight of creation, watching as the gods took their first steps through existence. The Dreaming hummed with quiet satisfaction — not ownership, but completion.
For the first time since the birth of time, Dream felt something unfamiliar: fulfillment.
The universe had learned to dream without him.
And that, he thought, was the most beautiful dream of all.