Morpheus moved languid across the land, loose-limbed and easygoing. The end of the god creature had come by the paws of the mortals – at least, that was the only conclusion he could draw, as the biting winds fell beneath the harsh heat of the sun.

What he would have given to be a part of that battle – but then it had been he and that great black brute of a god that had initially blinded it, torn the claws from its paw – and they had embedded nastily in Morpheus’ skull, a blow that left him staggering about as if one of the risen dead.

But a pair of gods, especially with one doubly slighted by the inopportune power matchup, were not such a match for the god bear – and it had fled when they both had to withdraw, the right horn of Morpheus’ pair snapped near the base and weeping heavy droplets of blood.

Wounds still knitting back together from the previous encounter had torn anew, and Morpheus had been forced back into the realm of the gods, where he might rest without worry of time or space.

But, separated by the veil, he had known he was closed off from his charges and only the faintest of calls had echoed within his mind, so distant he could not begin to guess the voice’s owner.

Now time had passed in the mortal realm, but for him it had been barely a nap in the sun-soaked afternoon – ephemeral and warm, no longer edged in ice as his dreams had previously been. And he had awoken refreshed, rejuvenated, not a single blemish upon his perfect being. The gift of godhood.

He passed slowly through the Cradle, searching for any of the mortals he had come to know before his sudden absence. In particular, he searched for those that had won his favoritism, seeking their power – and he found a familiar blaze quickly, all silver and black, the creep of decay wafting toward him upon an invisible wind.

Pepper, he thought – and then she called to him, both with her streaking, dancing power, and with her voice, the sound of his name bouncing between the few trees that littered the fields of flowers.

Ears pitched forward in concentration, he broke into a swifter trot, aimed toward a location he quickly recognized as familiar – where he had first met her, all meek and mindful, barely a hint of divinity upon her.

She nearly blazed with it now, and he had a much easier time finding her, a placid smile gentling his face as he caught sight of her, stood amongst the snowdrops. She still looked much the same but there was a marked change to her, some acknowledgement of her true nature, that made her unconsciously stand just a tiny bit taller, compared to when they had first met.

“Pepper,” he greeted, dipping his head in a friendly bow. He came to a stop a few strides from her, looking her over carefully. Then his nose wrinkled, the scent of winter clinging to her. A recognizable smell.

“You met him,” he said, almost wryly. She’d done more than passed the bear god by, that much was clear. “Are you all right?”

It was his most pressing concern. While she seemed to be in good health, albeit radiating anxiety as was her nature, it could be that she hid a wound his eyes were unable to catch. After all, he was a creature of dreams, not life – beyond the care of himself, he had never developed a sense for judging others’ injuries.

Something like joy threaded through him at the sight of her – and it seemed his feelings were reciprocated, as some of the stress that had drawn her body tight fell away. There was a familial bliss in their meeting, the quiet affection only seen when kin departed one another and returned again, hale and whole.

He breathed out a quiet exhalation of relief as she assured her own pristine health. Morpheus listened patiently, as she gave some recount of her meeting with the bear. She spoke of two with a familiarity, and he wondered briefly if one was the black female he’d seen – not his own dark charge, but the Guide Oberon’s, who had possessed some sense of leadership amongst the gathered wolves when he’d joined the boar hunt.

He did not interrupt her to ask, only marginally widening his eyes as she listed the number that had participated in the hunt. Any great beast was difficult to take down, but when faced against a horde of smaller warriors, it was only a matter of time before it fell. So had Thalarctos learned, faced against a half-dozen mortal dripping divinity, already wounded from a scrap with two full-blooded gods.

He was dipping his head in a pleased bob, already beginning to think of how he might best praise her, encourage her – when the light she’d cultivated dimmed, shrinking away from with a suddenness that had his full attention quickly focused upon her.

Pepper?

When she spoke further, revealed the reason for this sudden diminishing, Morpheus’ ears reflexively swept back, not quite flattened to his skull, but showing his obvious displeasure at the query.

Not that he was angry at her – no, it was that the words snagged in his mind, burrowed deep into his brain, scratching at some long-forgotten memory that refused to emerge, no matter how frantically he dug at it.

Worthy – the word echoed in his ears, painting pictures of crystals in a never-ending cavern. It stretched backward, endlessly, endlessly – and beyond – darkness.

His divinity instinctively recoiled from the shards of memory, something hard and heavy settling in the pit of his stomach.

Faced with such overwhelming dissuasion, Morpheus was all too happy to turn away from the image, instead refocusing upon Pepper.

His ears slowly crept forward again as he forced himself to relax. The tension that had begun to crawl up his back, making his guard hairs bristle, smoothed away with a small twitch of his shoulders. He took a deep, cleansing breath, scenting the faint sweetness of snowdrops, the comfort of Pepper’s unassuming musk.

“You are worthy,” he said firmly. “In fact, I would show you, if you’d let me.”

He’d meant to do it sooner – but the boar and the bear had derailed such plans. And he knew it would temporarily wipe her fears away, remind her of just how special she was.

How long had it been since a mortal entered the realm of the gods? For him, it was commonplace, an everyday mysticism that was sometimes almost quaint in its perfection. But for her – surely it would be akin to a revelation.

“We’d have to travel a bit,” he continued. “But I promise the destination is worth it.”

Some of the tension bled from his stomach as she regained her earlier cheer – trusting in his words as simple facts. And he believed they were – was willing to stand against other gods who might feel differently. It was a new feeling to him, though in truth most feelings were new when bereft of memories. But this struck deeper, a chord that had never before been plucked, and he knew it instinctively.

He did not pause to ponder, only offered a small smile as she responded so positively. He turned then, with a swish of his wavy tail, a gallant toss of the antlers that sat upon his brow. He led her due north, toward the Hidden Woods, the cavern that led into the passageway – that itself acted as a sort of entrance into the realm of gods.

It would not be a long journey, for the Cradle touched all by its very nature, and Morpheus knew the most direct route that led them over the kindest ground.

“To the Hidden Woods,” he told her as they moved along – occasionally he would glance back toward her, instinctively knowing when it was safest to do so, the path before him clear. Her spidery legs lent her something of a skittering appearance but with the fear washed away, she came across more doe-like, high-stepping and elegant.

She would make a wonderful god, he thought. A tall, willowy creature, cloaked in the same mysticism that possessed him. With a further dash of confidence, she would almost appear otherworldly – and appearance was important when earning respect from mortals who could not look beyond their own nose.

Not that he thought she’d need it – she’d harnessed her fear in a way he never quite expected. With time, he thought, she could very well become an incredibly powerful god, helpful or hurtful as was her will.

For a time he was quiet, focused on the journey, but as they at last reached the woods, he led her deeper, saying, “And then to the cavern. It is of limestone, I think. You’ll know it always by the way it gapes open like some great dragon’s maw.”

Briefly, one ear flicked back, uncertain. Did mortals know of dragons?

“It is large,” he said at last, in case she needed further explanation, using his antlers to tug aside a branch, holding it as he nodded her through ahead of him.

Then at last they were before the cave’s entrance, yawning open, threatening to reach up and swallow the sky. The air about them had begun to thrum with ripples of divinity as they first entered the Hidden Woods – now it positively buzzed, a steady hum that made his heart pound faster.

But he had him stop at the entrance, one paw raised as if to enter. He turned to meet her gaze, his own blue eyes solemn, and said, “To my knowledge, you are the first of the mortals to enter. When we enter, you must concentrate of this place I will describe to you. You must picture it as clearly as you can, and do not waver in your focus on it. Not until I speak to you again. Do you understand?”

And he paused here, awaiting an answer.

In the face of her unwavering bravery – despite the flagging fear that clawed at her sides, tried to creep up her pelt, nestle deep in her fur, in her hide, in her heart – Morpheus could not help but smile.

He knew, instinctively then, that she would be fine. Even if they were to be separated, she possessed the strength of will to handle whatever the god realm saw fit to throw at her, an interloper in its lands. With time, it would recognize her divinity, recognize her right – or perhaps it would know from the very beginning.

Regardless, she would succeed.

So, with renewed confidence in his voice, he said, “We shall travel to the Floating Isles. They are perhaps the kindest of the various lands that inhabit the realm of gods. Do not mistake their name for some clever moniker – they truly float. Entire chunks of land, so high up you cannot see the ground – if there is ground. Each teems with life, prey that have never learned to fear our kind, rivers that have never been touched by our tongues. It is eternal summer there, forever blooming. If you were to think of a paradisal land, any one of those isles could serve as its inspiration.”

Morpheus strove to nestle the image inside her – though in truth it was less an image (because how could you possibly describe something that no mortal eyes had ever seen?) and more a desire, that he attempted to instill. If she wanted – properly, strongly – then she would receive.

That was the way of the divine lands.

At last, he said, “We shall go now. Keep what I have said in your mind. Think of nothing else. And I shall see you on the other side.”

Again, he flashed her a smile, and then it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, a look of concentration turning his face to cut marble, eyes facing forward as he stepped into the gloom.

For a time, they walked in light cast by the entrance of the cave. But the deeper they pressed, the more the sounds from outside deadened, the more the light crept away. And when at last the entrance was entirely swallowed up by darkness, the cavern revealed its true character.

A faint glow came from all around, cast by numerous crystals, submerged in the rock face. A soft drip of water echoed, out of sight. And as they went deeper, the pressure of divinity grew stronger, became almost tangible. The further they went into the god realm, away from the constraints of the mortal, the more Morpheus’ divinity was unveiled, his horns taking on a new shine, the white of his pelt practically glowing.

And at last he passed from the mortal realm to the realm of the gods.