A man in black made his way from a bawdy, crowded, feast hall on an otherwise cool evening. Meat and drink had been shared by all, before the meat was replaced with stories and new drinks were passed all around. The skies above were smooth and ebon, beset with countless twinkles of silvery bright light from stars far above, themselves dead besides. And though dead and extinguished, their lights shined on forever far from their home in the vastness of creation. 

After the man in black relieved himself at the base of the nearby tree, his dark eyes settled on the sky above. There he lost himself in the thoughts of the moment. Even he did not sense the presence approach him. "How fares the celebration?"

The Dream King's thin lips smiled even as he stared up at the heavens. "Aroesus feasts, drinks, laughs, and knows little more than he is at a feast."

"A Feast that never ends."

He shrugged, before finally turning to see the image of his sister between he and the feast hall behind her. It appeared made of stone and wood, but in reality it was made of will power and dreams. Aroesus had been called to the Nightlands, allowed to escape within and be free from the influence of so many. "And what is it that's been happening away from this feast?"

His sister did not move, save for a slight narrowing of her eyes. "There is a battle for Caesilinus." Surprised, the Dream King roared in laughter. He laughed loud and openly, until he was holding his sides and barely able to see his sweet sister. His sister simply stared. "Our young fiery brother has awakened. The dead King's wife treads water."

"I should speak with her."

His sister's brow perked. "Speak to her of dreams?"

"Dreams, and fires, and nights, and husbands, and brothers." In truth, his concern was closer to Krona than Caesilinus. "Something should be done about Caesilinus, but what? And how?"

"Ask the reveler."

For a beat, his head turned to the feast hall, his mind to the feast within. To the revelers. "I have. His words were wise, even if he was unaware of the true nature of my questions. Ask his wife?"

His sister looked uncomfortable at the suggestion; even if she did not move and gave no outward suggestion to discomfort. He could see it still. The Dream Queen was a solitary, quiet creature. [i]So are you[/i], a voice echoed within his mind. And it was true. But in the absence of order, it would be difficult to carry on with even simple duties. The bloodshed in Caesilinus alone had plagued the Nightlands with nightmare after nightmare. With death and terror. 

Dream understood the nightmares and the death and the terror. All things had their place, and in their place all things needed to be. But that natural, organic order to things had been shaken by the actions of Aroesus and other gods of the Pantheon. Did change need to come? It was a question that had all but plagued Dream endlessly for a longer time than he'd want to admit. 

"I would sooner ask our youngest brother."

His starry eyes jerked to his sister's appearance once more. By saying so little, she had said infinitely more. "So you should, sister. Find our brother and ask him what you need to. It is I who will approach Krona and see what has become of things." By the time he finished, she was already gone, leaving him with only the night skies above and the distant sound of laughter and cups coming together in cheer. 

So Aroesus would stay, and feast. And the Dreamers would escape the night, their long dream coming to end as the former God King's endless dream had just begun. For a moment, Dream felt not but jealousy and spite and resentment. It was Aroesus' fault. All of it. If Vael was ready, but Nys was not? Or if Nys was ready but Vael was not? What then?

No answer came. When the Dream King was gone from that endless dream of the dead God King, he appeared in the cracking halls of Krona, his black starry eyes upon the throne of that had once belonged to Aroesus, to the younger brother. Aroesus had taken to the trappings of godhood, while Vael and Nys had escaped into dreaming, and learned of a god's power in a harsh, darker, way.

Could such a strange god matter? None were more ancient than Dream. The image of Vael considered it, his clothing little more than black robes and black sandals, his skin ashen and his dark hair wildly affixed this way and that. It was only after Aroesus' throne had turned black as night that the elder brother took the few steps, turned, and sat upon the throne of the God King.

While the younglings squabbled, The Dream King would simply rise. Dream, King of Gods. It had such a strange sound to it...he could at least appreciate it, even if his own ears did not love the sound of it.