The sky was a perfect blue. Waves lapped gently against the shore. Laughter carried on the wind—children running, couples holding hands, dogs barking as they chased frisbees across sun-warmed sand.
Elias stood in the center of it all, barefoot and confused.
He hadn't dreamed of a beach.
This was someone else's memory. Someone else's peace.
Then came the crunch.
Footsteps in the sand.
Slow. Measured. Heavy with weight not just physical but ancient. Elias turned and saw him—Theron, god of Time, blood dripping from a split in his side, his movements slower, dragging.
Yet his face was untouched by pain.
Only disappointment.
"You ran well," Theron said, voice echoing like a clock tower striking the hour. "But time finds all things. Even you, Dreamholder."
Elias backed away. "What is this place?"
But before an answer came, the world shifted.
The colors bled. The sounds died.
Elias blinked—and when his eyes opened again, every single person on the beach had become a manikin.
Plastic, faceless, featureless.
Frozen in the exact same positions. A snapshot of joy turned to horror.
Theron glanced around, unsurprised. "Of course," he muttered.
Then one of the manikins twitched.
A sudden, sharp jerk—like a puppet receiving its first thread of life.
It convulsed violently, its body vibrating with too much energy for its rigid frame. It took a step, then another, walking stiffly toward Theron.
A sound like grinding glass spilled from its throat.
Theron stood taller, shoulders squaring.
"What do you want, Michael?" he asked, his voice flat.
The manikin kept walking.
Theron scoffed, "I should've known you'd be here. You've always had a soft spot for broken toys."
The manikin stopped—then split down the center with a wet, unnatural crack.
From within stepped a man, barefoot and wearing a robe that shimmered like starlight behind fog. His eyes were closed. His lips didn't move when he spoke—but Elias heard the voice in his head.
"The Dream is not yours to burn, Theron."
"Neither is it his to hold," Theron snarled, gesturing to Elias.
Michael turned slowly to Elias. "He didn't steal the Dream. It chose him."
Theron's eyes narrowed. "Then it made a mistake."
Michael smiled.
And all the manikins turned toward them at once.