#drea

He hadn’t taken a step, hadn’t raised a hand. He only stood there, that stillness more terrifying than any advance. The crowd parted unconsciously around him — commuters stepping wide, glancing past without really seeing. As if the world itself refused to acknowledge what he was.

A car horn blared nearby, a shout carried down the street, but all of it blurred at the edges of your hearing. There was only the double thunder of your heart and the steady, patient weight of his gaze.

Your hand pressed harder against your stomach. The envelope of sonogram pictures crumpled in your grip, damp with sweat.

He tilted his head then — slow, deliberate. Like a predator scenting fear. Like he’d already known.

The city rushed on, oblivious. And you, trembling in the cold morning air, realised with sick certainty that Damien wasn’t here by chance. He had been waiting. Watching.

And now he had found you and moved.

Just one step — measured, deliberate — and the world seemed to tilt harder beneath your feet.

Your throat snapped open with a ragged breath. You lifted your chin, forcing steel into a voice that shook anyway. “One step closer and I’ll scream.”

His lips curved, not into a smile but something far colder. His voice slid through the noise of the city, low and unyielding, and though no one around seemed to hear it, it struck through you like ice.

“No, you won’t.” His head tilted again, eyes dark and gleaming. “Because I have our daughter in the car.”

The words slammed into you, knocking the breath clean from your chest. For a heartbeat you swayed, the world swimming, your pulse hammering so loud it drowned out the roar of the traffic.

Your daughter.

Every muscle in your body locked, terror rising swift and merciless. Your gaze jerked to the curb, to the shadowed car idling a few feet away. Tinted windows reflected nothing but the city around you, but your chest seized all the same, your body already screaming to move, to run, to tear her free.

The envelope slipped from your trembling fingers, scattering the glossy black-and-white images across the wet pavement. They skated on a thin sheen of water, fragile little proofs of the lives inside you.

Damien stooped with slow, deliberate grace, his hand closing over one of the photographs before the rain could ruin it. He lifted it, tilting his head as his eyes narrowed. The faint grainy shapes glimmered under the streetlight — two small silhouettes, two tiny heartbeats frozen in ink.

His voice came low, deliberate, each word a strike. “He got you pregnant.”

The sound of it gutted you. Your throat closed, air tearing sharp into your lungs as though the city itself had vanished, leaving only him, only that terrible truth spoken aloud.

Your arms flew across your stomach, a shield instinctive and trembling, your body curling inward to protect what he had just named. The photographs still fluttered at your feet, half-submerged in rainwater, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stoop for them.

Damien’s gaze lingered on the print in his hand, then slid back to you, dark and unblinking. The rain traced down his cheekbones, but he stood untouched by it, solid, waiting, as though he had always known this moment would come.

He turned the photograph slightly, studying the blurred twin shapes, then let out a low, humourless breath.

“Carrying the Dream King’s offspring might just be what will save you.” His eyes sharpened, pinning you. “But, we must speak.”

The words clawed through you, cold and final. You shook your head violently, your voice breaking as it tore out of you. “No. I want to see Ophelia.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. His reply came steady, merciless.

“She is safe. In the car. My car.” He gestured lazily toward the black vehicle idling by the curb, its windows gleaming with rain. “I picked her up from daycare before my mother could.”

Your knees nearly buckled, the pavement tilting under your feet. The roar of traffic, the rush of strangers brushing past — all of it blurred, meaningless. All you could hear was the echo of his words.

Ophelia. In his car.

Damien took one step closer, his voice smooth as glass. “You talk to me… and then you can see her.”

Your breath shuddered, your arms clutching your stomach tighter, your whole body torn between bolting for the car and being frozen by the weight of his presence.

Ophelia’s name screamed inside your head. And for the first time, the rain-slick street felt like a trap you might never leave.

Your voice cracked through the rain, thin and trembling. “Speak then. What do you want?”

Damien’s gaze lingered on the damp photograph clutched between his fingers. Raindrops slid over the glossy surface, distorting the twin shadows stamped in black and white, before dripping to the pavement. When he finally looked back at you, his eyes gleamed with something colder than triumph.

“Well, first of all, I am disappointed that you had your new boyfriend send us off to Hell.”

The words hit you like a slap, your breath tearing out in a ragged gasp. You shook your head violently, wet hair clinging to your cheeks. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—”

His mouth curled, disdain dark as the storm above. “Well, now you know. And I need you to summon him.”

Your stomach lurched, twisting like it wanted to empty itself right there on the pavement. “I can’t.”

Damien’s eyes sharpened, his voice cutting. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

You swallowed hard, throat raw, the words fighting their way free. “I can’t. We are not… anything anymore.” The confession left you hollow, small, trembling before him.

“Fuck.” The curse snapped from his mouth, sharp as thunder. His face hardened, his voice rising. “Ophelia isn’t safe for much longer and neither are you. Although—” his eyes dropped to your stomach, a flicker of something savage crossing his features “—carrying his cub puts you in a better position now. And possibly Ophelia too.”

Your hands locked protectively across your belly, fingers trembling. Cold shot through your veins, your heart stammering in your chest. “What are you saying?”

He stepped closer, closing the space by half. The photograph bent in his grip, water streaking the faint outlines of the lives inside you. His voice was low, merciless.

“Hell is at war. The Pit has dissolved, which is why I am here along with hundreds of other demons. And my mother…” His lip curled, hatred tightening every word. “She intends to keep Ophelia. To bind her to us. To use her as bait, and your death as the spark that drags Morpheus into the open. She was going to pin it on Lucifer Morningstar and have your Endless lover wage war against Hell’s Ruler by her side.”

The blood drained from your face, the ground lurching beneath you. Your breath came shallow, ragged, each word clawing like broken glass down your throat.

“No…”

Damien’s expression darkened further, the storm reflected in his eyes, thunder rumbling faintly overhead as if echoing him. “Yes. That is her plan. But now…” He lifted the photograph higher, rain running down its surface like black tears, blurring the twin shapes printed there. “…now that you carry the Dream Lord’s offspring, her design must shift. To kill you outright would be suicide. If she strikes, she won’t just have Morpheus at her throat — she will have all of them. Destiny will intervene, whispering the truth into his brother’s ear, and her scheme will unravel before it begins. The Endless do not forgive transgressions against their blood. My mother knows this. Which is why, for now, you may have bought yourself some time. And yet, the same might not apply to Ophelia.”

Your knees buckled. The strength drained from your legs as the street tilted beneath you. You caught yourself on the slick wall of a building, the rough brick biting into your palm, grounding you only by pain. The storm pounded around you, each raindrop a hammer, while the truth of his words hollowed your chest.

“Your mother?” you eventually asked. The words barely scraped out, weak and broken.

His mouth twisted with bitter contempt. “She isn’t who you think she is. She never was.”

Tears burned hot, mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “Why… why tell me this?”

For a heartbeat something raw cracked his face, hatred tempered by something almost human. “Because as much as I hate the Endless—and despise you for leaving me—I will not see Ophelia grow up in my mother’s shadow, the way I did.”

Your arms tightened around your stomach, sobs threatening to choke you as the rain hammered down.

Damien stepped closer still, until the heat of him pressed against the cold of the storm. His voice dropped, deadly soft. “You need to call Morpheus. Have him take you to the Dreaming. Take Ophelia too. Only there are you beyond her reach.”

Your voice tore out, ragged, desperate. “I cannot call him.”

The admission hollowed you out, left you shaking. You forced one more breath, words cracking as they tumbled free. “But… my father can.”

Damien stilled, rain coursing over his face, his dark gaze cutting through you like a blade. Then, almost lazily, he said it—soft, casual, but with iron underneath.

“Then let’s take a drive. To your daddy’s house.”

Your stomach heaved, bile stinging your throat. You shook your head violently, hair plastering wet against your cheeks. “If you think I’m getting into the car with you—”

His lips curved, cruel. “Ophelia is waiting.” His eyes gleamed with something savage, final. “Now come.”

Before you could move, his hand shot out. Fingers like iron clamped around your arm, the grip harsh, unyielding. Pain jolted sharp through your skin, your breath breaking into a gasp. You stumbled forward, the slick pavement treacherous beneath your feet, your other arm locking around your belly to shield what he had just claimed.

Pedestrians streamed past, oblivious, giving Damien a wide berth as though their minds refused to register him. To them, you were just another woman being hurried through the rain. No one stopped. No one saw.

The car loomed closer, its windows black and opaque, hiding what was inside. The closer you drew, the harder your chest clenched, your heart battering like a trapped bird.

Ophelia.

Your daughter was in there.

And Damien’s grip dragged you toward her like a chain you could not break.

***

The car loomed, its black metal slick with rain, windows blank and merciless. The closer Damien dragged you, the tighter your chest locked, panic clawing until your breath came in shallow, frantic bursts.

You wrenched against his grip, your voice breaking in the storm. “No—let me go! I’m not getting in there with you!”

He didn’t even flinch. His fingers dug deeper into your arm, bruising, dragging you through the puddles as though you were nothing more than a struggling child. His expression never shifted from that cold, terrible calm.

You dug your heels into the wet pavement, slipping, skidding, your other arm locked protectively around your stomach. “Damien, please!”

“Ophelia is waiting,” he hissed, the words cutting through the rain like steel. “You will not make a scene.”

The car door loomed inches away now, droplets streaming down its dark surface. You twisted violently, trying to rip free, your voice cracking into a scream. “Ophelia! Baby—”

Damien slammed you forward, pinning you against the cold metal. His hand clamped hard across your mouth, silencing you in an instant. His breath was hot against your ear, his voice low, venomous.

“Do not. Test me.”

Your body trembled violently, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the thunder above. The storm blurred around you, people passing by without so much as a glance, as if some unseen force pushed their eyes away.

The shove came sudden and brutal. Damien’s hand wrenched you off the slick pavement and hurled you into the yawning dark of the car. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the seat, the smell of leather and rain-clogged air sharp in your nose.

The door slammed behind you, sealing you in.

And then you heard her.

“Mummy!”

Ophelia’s voice was bright, warm, untouched by the storm outside. She sat buckled into the backseat, her little dragon clutched in one arm, her legs swinging happily. Her eyes lit up at the sight of you, wide and innocent. “Daddy is back,” she said, beaming, as though she had been waiting all day for this moment.

Your heart broke clean down the middle. Relief flooded first—she was alive, safe, close enough to touch. Then terror crashed in, sharper than any blade. She didn’t see him for what he was. She didn’t understand.

Your hands shook as you reached for her, brushing damp hair from your face. “Baby…” The word cracked out of you, half a sob.

Ophelia wriggled in her seat, her smile wide. “Daddy picked me up from kindergarten! He said we were going for a drive.”

The sound of the locks clicking shut echoed like chains. Damien slid into the front, his presence filling the car as the engine rumbled to life. The rain hammered on the roof, drowning out your pulse, but not enough to cover his voice when it came, smooth and low.

Damien then shifted the car into gear, the engine growling low beneath the hammer of the rain. The vehicle eased away from the curb, tyres hissing through puddles as though the city itself made way for him.

You clutched Ophelia’s small hand, her little fingers sticky-warm in yours. She was smiling, oblivious, swinging her legs against the seatbelt. “Daddy’s back, Mummy! Isn’t it good?”

Your throat tightened until you could barely draw breath. You forced a trembling smile, brushing her hair back, swallowing the panic clawing at your chest. “Yes, baby,” you whispered, your voice thin, broken, “just… stay close to me.”

Damien’s eyes flicked up in the rear-view mirror, catching yours. There was no smile on his face, only that cold, steady calm that made your stomach seize.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and rain. Each turn of the wheel pulled you farther from safety, closer to something unknown.

“Where are we going?” you forced out, your voice sharp despite the fear thrumming through it.

Damien’s hands were steady on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “To your father. Like I said.” His tone was flat, inevitable, though you didn’t trust him. Not one bit. “If you cannot call Dream, then hopefully he will.”

From beside you came a bright, small voice.

“Dream? Do you mean Grandpa’s friend?”

You turned quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat, and gave Ophelia the smallest nod you could manage.

Her eyes lit up, her little legs kicking against the seatbelt. “Oh, yay! I like him. He says he has dragons.”

The sound of her excitement cracked something deep inside you. Relief and terror tangled so tightly you could hardly breathe.

From the driver’s seat came a low, irritated sound — more growl than sigh. Damien’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing once on the steering wheel. His voice when it came was sharp, clipped.

“Dragons are lies he feeds to children. He deals in dreams, not truth.”

Ophelia scrunched up her nose, undeterred. “Dreams are true,” she said stubbornly, hugging her toy dragon tight to her chest.

You flinched, every muscle locking. A glance at the rear-view mirror caught Damien’s eyes, dark and gleaming, locked not on the road but on you for one long, burning second.

The car seemed smaller, the air denser, as if even the storm outside recoiled from him.

You forced your voice calm, stroking Ophelia’s curls though your hand trembled. “Shh, sweetheart. Let’s not talk about that now.”

***

The rest of the drive passed in suffocating silence. Rain streaked across the windows in silver sheets, the daylight muted, hazy, as though the world itself held its breath. Familiar streets blurred by, each turn tightening the coil in your stomach until your chest ached with the pressure of it.

When the car finally slowed, your breath hitched. Cobblestones glistened under the grey daylight, and there it was — Hob’s house, red-brick and sturdy, ivy climbing the walls. Normally it looked warm, welcoming, a haven from the world. Today, it felt fragile, exposed, as though even the daylight couldn’t keep the storm at bay.

The tyres hissed as the car rolled to a stop. Damien killed the engine. For a heartbeat, there was only the patter of rain on the roof and the shallow rasp of your own breath.

Then he turned in his seat, his face calm, too calm, the photograph still damp and warped in his hand. His voice came low, so soft Ophelia couldn’t catch it, but sharp enough to freeze your blood.

“Behave. Smile. No games.”

The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, dark and gleaming in the muted light.

Your body locked, terror choking your throat. You forced your lips into something that might resemble composure, though your insides shook. Your arm wrapped tighter around your daughter, her warmth the only thing keeping you upright.

Damien unlocked the doors with a heavy click. The sound was final, inescapable.

“Grandpa’s house!” Ophelia chirped, delighted, swinging her little legs as she scrambled for your hand.

You swallowed hard, nodding as if nothing were wrong, and let Damien herd you both out into the rain.

The red-brick house loomed ahead, familiar and steady, but as you walked the slick stones toward the front door, you felt as though you were approaching a stage — every step rehearsed under threat, every move watched.

And with Damien’s hand hovering close to your back, unseen by your daughter but felt like iron, you knew there would be no room for mistakes.

***

Ophelia clutched your hand, her curls damp, her dragon held fast under one arm. “Grandpa!” she chirped happily as you reached the stoop, tugging you forward, oblivious.

Damien leaned in close enough that only you could hear, his breath cutting sharp against your ear. “Knock. And smile.”

Your stomach twisted, bile burning the back of your throat. You raised your hand, trembling, and rapped weakly at the heavy wooden door.

The moments that followed stretched unbearably. The rain whispered on the leaves, the air cold and raw. Ophelia shifted restlessly at your side, humming to herself, her innocence a knife to your chest.

Then footsteps sounded from inside. The latch turned.

The door opened, and there he was — Hob.

His expression lit instantly at the sight of Ophelia, warmth breaking across his face. But then his gaze shifted, catching the tension in your posture, the pallor of your face, and finally the shadow looming behind you.

The warmth drained in an instant. His jaw clenched, his body tightening as his eyes fixed on Damien.

“You.”

The word fell from Hob’s mouth like a stone.

Ophelia squealed and launched forward, arms up, delighted. “Grandpa!”

You held her back a moment too long, your grip betraying the terror in your bones, before Damien’s hand pressed firmly at your spine, shoving you both into the threshold.

Hob crouched instinctively, opening his arms. His eyes softened for her, but his gaze never once left Damien. His jaw was locked, shoulders squared, body coiled tight as a bowstring.

“Inside, love,” Hob said, his voice low but steady, guiding his words to you as much as to Ophelia. “Both of you. Now.”

Damien’s hand pressed harder against your spine, forcing you another step forward. Hob didn’t budge. He stood square in the doorway, a wall of fury and resolve, his broad frame filling the threshold.

The rain hammered down, plastering his hair to his brow, but his eyes burned steady on Damien.

“You’re not coming in.”

Damien’s lips curved, thin and cold. “You don’t get to choose.”

Then he moved.

With one sharp shove, Damien’s hand lashed out, striking Hob in the chest. The force of it was unnatural, brutal — far beyond what any man should possess. Hob staggered back a half step, his boots scraping against the wooden floorboards, the doorframe groaning under the impact.

You gasped, clutching Ophelia tight as she squeaked in confusion, her small hands gripping your shoulders.

Hob recovered fast, planting himself firm, rage flashing white-hot across his face. “Touch her again and I’ll—”

Damien pushed harder, a second strike, this time sending Hob crashing against the hall table. A vase splintered on the floor, water and glass scattering across the boards.

“Enough,” Damien hissed, his voice low and venomous. “I am not here to quarrel. I am here because of your friend. The Dream King. And if you value your daughter’s life, Gadling, you will not stand in my way.”

Ophelia whimpered against your neck, confused, frightened. You rocked her instinctively, though your own body trembled so hard you could barely hold her steady.

Hob straightened slowly, glass crunching under his boots, his chest heaving with fury. His eyes met yours briefly — and in them you saw both apology and promise.

Damien’s voice cracked like a whip, the words striking sharp through the rain-soaked hush of the hallway.

“You need to call him here. Summon him. Whatever you do. Now.”

Hob’s jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck corded as he drew himself up to his full height. His chest rose and fell like a man holding back the urge to swing, but his eyes burned steady into Damien’s.

“Why?” Hob’s voice was low, tight, heavy with contempt. “Are you suicidal? Do you even know what happens when he comes for you?”

Damien’s grip on your shoulder turned brutal, his nails biting so deep you winced. His gaze flared dark, unrelenting.

“Call him,” he snarled. “And I will explain. But it must be now. Now, Gadling.”

Ophelia whimpered again, curling into you, her little dragon pressed hard against her chest. You rocked her gently, whispering nonsense against her hair, though your own heart hammered so hard it felt as though it might break through your ribs.

Hob’s gaze flicked once more to you — to your pale face, your trembling arms locked around your daughter — then back to Damien, fury rolling off him like heat.

“If I do this,” Hob said, his voice measured, controlled only by sheer will, “it won’t be for you.”

Damien’s lips curled into a humourless smile. “I don’t care who you do it for. Just call him.”

The weight of the moment pressed down, thick and suffocating. The rain pattered against the windows, muted but relentless, a steady drumbeat to the storm inside the room.

You felt your father’s gaze on you, heavy, searching. For a heartbeat you couldn’t breathe — caught between fear and hope, between the danger of summoning Dream and the greater terror of Damien’s grip on your shoulder.

Ophelia whimpered again, her small arms tight around your neck. You smoothed her hair, then lifted your chin and met Hob’s eyes.

And you gave him a nod.

A small, desperate movement. But enough.

Hob’s jaw tightened. The muscle ticked once, sharp, before he exhaled slowly through his nose. His gaze cut back to Damien, cold and unflinching.

“Then you’d better pray to whatever pit spawned you,” Hob said, his voice like stone, “that he answers.”

Glass still crunched under his boots as he turned, crossing the hall toward the old oak cabinet. His hand hovered briefly, then wrenched the drawer open. The small oak box lay within, the brass fittings dulled by centuries.

He set it on the table with a decisive thud, flipping the clasp. Inside, the dream-stone glimmered faintly even in the daylight, as though the shadows of another realm clung to it.

Hob’s hand closed around it, his fingers trembling only once before he tightened his grip.

And the air in the house shifted — as if it knew what was about to be unleashed.

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