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Soft.

Real.

“You sacrificed everything for someone who couldn’t protect herself,” she whispers.

“I failed her.”

“You tried to save her.”

“And condemned myself.”

“That doesn’t make you weak, Morpheus.”

I look into her eyes.

“Then what does it make me?”

Her thumb brushes my cheekbone.

“Someone worth loving.”

The words strike harder than any weapon ever forged.

For a moment, I cannot speak.

I’ve heard mortals beg for my favor.

I’ve listened to prayers whispered in temples.

I’ve watched kings kneel before my altars.

But no one has ever looked at me the way Calla does now.

As though I am not a god.

Not a monster.

Not a broken relic of a forgotten war.

Just a man.

A man she might choose.

I rise from the couch.

Calla looks up.

“Morpheus?”

I take her hand.

Then slowly lower myself to my knees before her.

Her eyes widen.

“What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done the moment you awakened me.”