There were many beautiful things in Morpheus’ life – how could there not be, when he traveled across the realm of the gods as easily as a mortal might stroll through a forest?

But for all the beauty of the divine, there was also something almost boring in its perfection. Floating mountains were so grand only the first thousand times you spotted them in the distance. Bubbling lava providing nutrients to the plant life that grew around it was a spectacle - but only it was the strangest sight your eyes had ever beholden.

So, if you were to ask Morpheus, what the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen was – he’d answer the Broken Coast at nightfall, its glittering surge lending credence to its sea’s name: Eldmere.

Which, he knew, in that divine way of his, drew its roots from something like fire-sea – though his poor linguistic skills did little justice to the true majesty of what it had been christened when even gods were young.

But that mattered little. What did matter was that he trotted swiftly across the coastline, the water occasionally lapping at his paws, frisking about like a tiny pup. It was always eager at night, and the light it threw, alongside the watery beams of the moon, lent his otherworldly appearance an even greater displacement.

And, occasionally, he gamboled, lifting his paws high above the water, not quite hopping, not quite skipping – he was too elegant for such crass words – no, it was more of a dance, the way he carried on across the water-kissed beach. Ephemeral and elegant and beautiful in that careless way all gods possessed.

He was perfect – not a hair out of place, not a mark upon his skin – but that was the way of gods, perfect on the outside to hide their imperfections within. And he slowed to a steady pace as he caught sight of his target: a white creature that held its own sense of mysticism, spun of moonbeams and snow-laden clouds.

He went toward his charge, stood amongst the surf, his expression hidden in the dark of night. Morpheus hoped he was taking in the beauty he had been blessed with – so many of his mortals had not seen the sea at night, knew not the wonders it possessed.

He would like to take them here, he thought, when they were a bit better settled. But for now – he dipped his head as he approached, allowing the other a clear look at his horns – but also that he was a respectful sort, for all that he seemed at odds with what the mortal had seen before.

“Hello,” he said softly, voice just barely breaking over the quiet whispers of the ocean. “I am Morpheus, God of Dreams, and I am here to guide you.”

It was important, he’d learned, to at least impart on the mortals his name. With his name, they would be able to call for him, could summon him – and so he knew they were safer than they would have been, had they just left before he could speak a word.

Now, no matter how this newcomer reacted, he was satisfied. But he was willing to impart yet further information, if only he would listen.

The flash of teeth was not unusual, and Morpheus’ own muzzle remained smooth. While he’d been lucky to not encounter many aggressive mortals, he’d still stumbled across a few. And he knew to back down, to cower, was only to invite further agitation.

But he swiftly realized that this one was not ill of temper – no, he was reflexively defensive, and as he took in the white god’s form, his ire withdrew as quickly as it had appeared.

If anything, he appeared shocked – not that Morpheus could blame him. He’d long ago known his horns were a manifestation of his godhood, knew that his centuries of existence compared to their few years lent him a finely-aged grace that could not be so easily duplicated.

But still, the warmth he had been hoping to cultivate fell flat with the mortal’s small tremor – a barely-there crawl of unease up the length of his spine. And all Morpheus could do was offer a wan smile, already begun to realize that the happy introduction he’d played out in his mind was in its death throes, replaced by a more uncomfortable creature.

“I did not,” he answered the wolf. He kept his voice carefully level, not daring to step closer or otherwise move toward the other. He did not want to further force himself upon the mortal, could not begin to think of how he might mend the crack that threatened to split the other’s voice. “And I cannot.”

He drew his eyes away from the other, certain that the mortal might regain his earlier bravado without a god’s eyes upon him. Instead, he looked out across the blue-lit sea, searching the far-off depths for any sign of the behemoths he knew lurked beneath the surface.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he counseled softly. “I am here to guide you on your journey to godhood – we are the same, you and I.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to speak to the other, so he approached with the plain facts. This is what you are, this is what I am, this is what we are.

They were allies, of a sort, though it was an alliance the other was obviously unhappy to be a part of. And yet he had no choice in the matter – the fact that he stood upon this shore, staring out upon this sea proved as much.

His action had its intended effect. The mortal relaxed, if only marginally, and Morpheus’ eyes lidded, half-pleasure, half-protection, as a breeze blown in off the sea swept across his face. He scented brine, sea-slick, iron-rich blood – and knew that out there one of the creatures to be feared had made a kill.

Good for it, he thought placidly. He wondered if it had been one of their sea-kin, those creatures that hunted in packs as mortal wolves did, with fearsome teeth and close-knit bonds. He further wondered who had taught him of them, for he knew with a certainty that he had never played in the depths of the sea, even when his memories had been intact.

One ear he kept cocked toward Caspian, assurance that he was listening, but also unwilling to draw his eyes away from the shining spectacle that was the Eldmere. He wondered what would happen if he were to splash out into the surf – walk and walk until he reached that sudden drop – would the creatures that lurked beneath snatch him up, catch him between their draws, desperate to drain him of divinity? Or would they recognize him for what he was – for who he had been (who had he been?) – and swim lazy circles about him, observing him even as he observed them?

Compared to this mortal’s tiresome statements, Morpheus found the sea monsters’ imagined teeth far more interesting. But at last he tore his eyes from the sea, letting them at last return to the white wolf he stood beside.

“Very well,” he said. “If you are seeking the one who shall allow you to return home, you shall find him upon the Broken Coast, in the company of Morpheus, the God of Dreams.”

He paused, allowing the realization to sink in, then added, “If you wish to escape your duties as a god, you must first possess the power to do so. A mortal cannot escape a realm built for gods – but surely a god can? I am only here to guide you toward the full realization of your divinity. What you do with it afterwards is for you to decide. We gods do not rule one another.”

Though the mortal at last relented, his acceptance was a half-built thing, drawn out by necessity rather than want. He would continue to prove troublesome, Morpheus supposed, but compared against some of his previous disciples, this one knew something of destiny and how to attempt and circumvent its flow was to invite destruction and despair.

Really, he thought sourly, I’ve been amongst these creatures of doom and gloom for too long.

He longed for the likes of Pepper, Leyda – wolves that were willing to work with him, work toward this fate that approached them on fluttering wings. Ready to welcome it, to tame it – and to ultimately be all all the happier that they had adapted so readily.

This one, he thought, had a future lined with teeth if he could learn to bow.

But he kept his thoughts to himself. He was a Guide, after all. Not mentor, not friend, not kin – though he would gladly accept any of those roles, to better help the mortals who were tied to him through some joining of the souls: a faint, glimmering thread that kept them connected but never bound.

He drew a smile onto his face, turning his head to acknowledge the other once more. He did not seek the mortal’s eyes, but he knew something of respect, and he offered it freely. “I do not,” he said with a hint of amusement, “think you shall be a Dreamer.”

No, the wolf was too grounded, too unwilling to fly. Different souls called to different domains. Each power suited its owner – and this creature was too unlike Morpheus.

“Eventually you will be allowed to pass into the deeper realm. But first you will have to search inside yourself – what is it that holds domain over you? What is it that so closely aligns itself to your soul? I am a Guide, yes, but these are answers you must find for yourself.”

And, because he knew the wolf might not be so easily pacified with such abstract advice, he added, “I would counsel you to wander further inland. There are others like you, and they will have begun to gain control over their own powers. They might offer advice a being as ancient as myself cannot.”