To the Divine, time was a fluid concept. Morpheus had drifted between dreams and reality, cradled in the loving embrace of the God Realm. He could not say so long he had existed in that half-sense, could only really point to the passing of his past pantheon. At some point, he had been one of many – and now he was alone, wandering an endless land that warped and waved before his very eyes.

Because he was a god creature, he did not feel fear.

Instead he contemplated his solitude with something approaching mild interest. In his slumber, his memories had slipped from his head like yolk from an egg. He was hollowed and empty – and then he was aware of the others, the ones that were beginning to burn in the mortal lands, so close to the boundary that led into the God Realm.

He went, with what might have been curiosity curdling in his belly.

It did not take him long to find the first of these intruders – they were almost directly outside the passage that led to the beyond, submerged in the scent of snowdrops.

The Cradle, his mind supplied. He thought he might have once liked this place.

If nothing else, the displaced mortal was easy to find. Her fear radiated off her, stinking up the air. What was stranger was the smell of fear within her. He had not encountered it before. But there was something almost divine about it – blessed.

If one could call the sensation of carrion, of rotten meat, of sweet musky death blessed. But he wasn’t one to question why different domains arose. After all, his dreams had spun into being the horns that perched upon his brow, but he did not think himself a dreamer.

At last he spotted her, a stick-like creature that had disturbed the sanctuary of flowers. She was curled tight upon herself, this stranger, and as he came closer, he purposely cleared his throat, a soft rumble that nevertheless penetrated the still air, rending it in two.

“You,” he said, as he slowed to a stop a few deer leaps away from her. His head dropped, horns bowing, as he inspected her. It did not occur to him to approach her more carefully, nor did he think to approach kindly.

He merely called out to her, and asked, “What are you doing?”

What a timid creature.

That was all he could think, confronted with this skittish wolf – she watched him much as a rabbit might, the whites of her eyes stark in the darkness of her face. She was wan, wasted, as if never-ending anxiety had simply melted the meat from her bones.

As she sized him up in turn, Morpheus took a careful step closer, head tilting first one way and then another, his horns gently knifing through the air, the violets and blues almost glowing in the golden light that filtered through the few trees that grew nearby.

“Why are you afraid?” he asked at last, voice incredibly soft. It was not consideration toward her, of course. He wasn’t of that type, but nor was he intentionally malicious. If there was anything to account for the gentling of his voice, it was only that his reflections had turned inward as he tried to puzzle out her behavior.

At last he came upon the conclusion that it must be the horns. The horns and, as she had suggested, the unfamiliar setting she found herself in.

“I am here only to guide you,” he said. “If this land has a name, I would not know it. But the region you find yourself within presently is the Cradle.”

And, as an afterthought, he added, “I am a god. As you shall be.”

It seemed almost pre-ordained. He did not even to think she might wish a mortal life, might desire an escape, a return to her past. As far as he was concerned, her first step upon the land had erased everything she had ever been and left only a vessel.

It was her job now to fill it and take her rightful place among the new pantheon that would undoubtedly arise. Her very arrival had ensured it.

And he would guide, and he would watch, and when the new gods had ascended – then what? Could he so easily take a place amongst them? Or would he be forced to submerge himself in the forgotten lands of the gods? He found he didn’t mind either outcome. Neither was a particular good ending for this tale being spun, but he was also himself nearly empty.

Maybe, with time, he’d find one path more appealing. But that would come later, after this one. Long after this first encounter between the two.

“That is a problem,” Morpheus said to her answer. Strange that his first wolf should be at such odds with him – she, scarred by memories, while he was bereft of them.

And yet, as a creature of divinity, he could not so easily ignore a soul in need. Something stirred in his heart, some hungry beast – it had scented the prey it was most anxious toward consuming. And he knew, instinctively, that to satiate this newfound hunger would only assist his power in its continued growth.

He took a step closer, brilliant blue eyes focused on her own timid features, when she voiced her protests. They were weak words, and they battered him with as much force as the first snowfall of the year. Morpheus blinked and stretched his neck forward, nose straining toward her form. The stench of fear was unmistakable, though it did not seem to be fear toward him.

Good, he thought.

“There is no escape.” And then, so she would understand fully, he continued, “Southward lies a sea – it will try to drown you and throw your battered body back onto this land. East, West, North – go far enough and you will be faced with unclimbable mountains.”

Again, his voice was flat, as he spoke these immutable facts.

But he made an effort to be kind, to be gentle, as he continued, “I cannot offer you escape. But I can teach you something of the power that resides within you. And, for a time, I might take away your fear.”

The suggestion was spoken lightly – even if she refused to believe him, refused his help, chose to strike out on her own, she was trapped. But he would not force her to reconcile with the truth just yet. Some sense of what he had once been, of what he had once known, cautioned that to provide force would only grant him an enemy in the long run.

He could only offer. It was her choice as to how her future played out.

Someday.

What had begun as a tentative promise quickly gained strength as the words fell from her lips. Morpheus dipped his head in acceptance. Privately, he knew, in that unknowable way of his, that held no connection to his lost memories, that when she had fully grasped the extent of her powers, she would be too deeply embroiled in the land.

That was the way it was, some distant part of him whispered. The perspective a mortal held was doomed to warp with the blossoming of divinity. It was an extension of the simple truth that power triggered change.

He wondered how much different this quivering creature would be when her evolution was complete. Already, he could see some tendrils of confidence, the knowledge of her identity granting her a strength she had previously lacked.

And so he was not surprised when she refused his offer. Disappointed, in that detached way of his, because the beast was growling, desperate to help. But he would not force his boon upon her – it did not feel like his way.

“Very well,” he murmured. Then, louder, “I am your Guide. Of course I shall assist you in any way you wish.”

As for her question – he briefly considered it. Gods never came alone. Her appearance was merely the first trickle that preceded the flood. He would, he thought, be very busy in the upcoming days. But perhaps that was for the best – interacting with so many might grant him some sense of his lost self.

And, if nothing else, he might find himself cannibalizing the mannerisms of those that most interested him.

“You are one of the first mortals to appear in these lands in some time. But you shall not be the last. Your kind will swarm this valley like rats.”

Perhaps, once upon a time, he had been a kind creature. Perhaps that explained the impulse he had, the words that further spilled from his lips: “They will be both ally and enemy to you. Even amongst the gods, there is a hierarchy – and some may seek to strike you from their midst while you still bleed.”

Morpheus exhaled, considering what he had just told her. The information had spilled from him like a torrent, and his throat vaguely ached. Too much speaking, he thought.

But he was not quite done. “I am your Guide in this land, and so I shall offer counsel when you need it. Harness the fear that threatens to overwhelm you, and train it to your desires.”

And, more hesitantly, he added, “I am called Morpheus. Call upon me when you have need.”