The darkness dissolved, giving way to something else—something that shouldn’t have made sense, yet somehow did. The world twisted like a fever dream, like an artist had started painting, then gave up halfway, smearing wet colors in a frenzied rush. The ground beneath my feet flickered—cobblestones, soft grass, polished marble—each surface changing with every blink, like a deck of shuffled cards. Colors bled together: reds, blues, yellows, all shifting like liquid, swirling and blending like a kaleidoscope caught mid-turn. I felt unmoored, as if gravity itself had loosened its grip on me, like it was merely a suggestion rather than a rule.

I blinked, my senses reeling, and my gaze fixed on a figure poised atop a pile of shattered clocks. The clocks ticked in a maddening, disjointed chorus, each out of sync with the others, creating an orchestra of chaos.

The figure’s attire was a masterpiece of contradiction, crafted from fabrics that shimmered and shifted with the light. A long, tailored coat, midnight black, clung to his shoulders with precise cuts and sharp lapels, yet the hem flared out in jagged, untamed edges. Beneath it, a deep crimson vest embroidered with swirling patterns in gold caught the eye, the designs dancing like fire in motion. His shirt, ivory and smooth as moonlight, had a high collar that framed his neck with an almost regal precision, but the cuffs spilled into dramatic, flared ends, untamed and unpredictable.

His trousers were fitted, charcoal grey with faint streaks of iridescent thread running through them, catching hints of green and violet in their wake. High boots of supple leather reached to his knees, each adorned with straps and silver buckles that gleamed like tiny stars. A belt slung loosely at his waist bore intricate carvings of vines and thorns, a blend of nature’s beauty and its menace.

“Am I… am I dead?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper in the topsy-turvy void.

The figure laughed, a sound like shattered glass catching a golden light—sharp, jagged, strangely beautiful. He tilted his head, studying me like I was something curious that had washed up on an unfamiliar shore.

“Do I look like a cab driver?” he asked, gesturing to his elaborate attire, his voice dripping with dry amusement.

“No, I suppose not,” I muttered, eyeing the sharp lines of his coat and the strange shimmer of his boots. He stepped down from the pile of clocks with a fluid grace, his boots making no sound on the ever-shifting ground beneath us. “No, Jack,” he said, his tone somewhere between bemusement and pity, “you’re not dead yet. Though, not for lack of trying, I’d wager.”

He began to circle me, his gaze appraising, sharp as a scalpel. It wasn’t the kind of look you get from a stranger on the street—it was deeper, like he was peeling back layers, studying what lay beneath my skin. His eyes narrowed, the judgment tempered with a hint of curiosity, like he couldn’t decide if I was a masterpiece or a mistake.

“So, what are you, then?” I asked, meeting his gaze, though the question felt feeble in the face of his presence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, the clocks surrounding us shuddered, their faces spinning wildly before melting, their metal limbs stretching and twisting into something new. The gears groaned and clicked as they reformed into an arched bridge that climbed into the sky, each step shimmering like polished obsidian under moonlight.

”’What’ is but a form,“ he said finally, his voice layered with something ancient. “A form requires existence. And existence… requires belonging to your world. I do not. So, a better question might be: how am I?”

Draped across his shoulders was a half-cape of shadowy fabric, its surface alive with embroidered constellations, the stars flickering in and out of existence with his every step. The edges of the cape were jagged and irregular, torn by the passing of eons. Together, the ensemble made him seem both a noble lord of a forgotten era and a chaotic force of nature, striding effortlessly between worlds of order and madness.

“Great,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Another cryptic Eternal.”

“Walk with me, Jack,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I didn’t have a choice; the ground shifted beneath me, sweeping me forward. The bridge arched high into the sky, carrying me upward alongside him, with an infinity of realities swirling far below. My stomach twisted violently, the vertigo hitting like a punch.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I muttered, clutching my gut.

His hair was a halo of unruly blond, framing a face with eyes that didn’t match—one blue, one green—both seeing too much, as if they peered through me and into something deeper. He moved with an unearthly fluidity, his gloved fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air, as though he could pluck notes from the ether and command them to dance.

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He glanced at me, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “If you defend your limits, you’ll always be bound by them, Jack.” He gave me another look. “But perhaps something a touch more… familiar might suit you better.”

And with a blink, the impossible melted away, replaced by reality—or at least, something close enough.

We stood on the edge of a massive cliff, the roaring cascade of a waterfall stretching endlessly below us. The water crashed into the rocks far below, throwing up a fine mist that caught the sunlight, scattering rainbows across the expanse. Trees lined the cliffs, their autumn colors blazing in shades of gold, crimson, and amber, as if the entire world had decided to set itself aflame with beauty for this moment. The river above the falls sparkled like liquid silver, winding lazily through the landscape before plunging into chaos. The air smelled fresh, like pine and damp earth, carrying the faint call of distant birds.

I turned in awe, taking in the place that felt more memory than reality. “I know this place,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “This is where I took Leah on our first date. My ex-wife. They closed this place up years ago when the river was diverted. Some factory bought the land.”

The man sat on the edge of the cliff, letting his legs dangle over the drop like a carefree child.

I hesitated, then sat beside him, careful to keep some distance. The roar of the waterfall filled the space between us, but it wasn’t oppressive. It was grounding, like the sound of the world breathing.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of violet and gold. Birds flitted across the water’s edge, their wings catching the fading light. It was the kind of quiet that wasn’t empty, but full of a calm that didn’t need explaining.

Finally, I broke the stillness. “So… this a dream?”

He smiled, not answering right away, as though the question itself amused him. “Close,” he said at last. “But not just a dream.”

“My dream,“ I said, half a question, half an acknowledgment.

His smile deepened, and for a moment, he almost looked human.

“Which makes you… the Sandman, I’d suppose?” I finished.

He tapped the side of his nose playfully. “She said you were a clever one.”

“Who?” I pressed.

His only answer was another maddening smile.

The quiet lingered, broken only by the faint chirping of distant birds. But something shifted—an almost imperceptible change, heavy and deliberate, as his expression turned grave.

“What is life,” he mused, his voice lilting with an almost playful curiosity, “but a dream within a dream within a dream, hmm?”

I stared at him, utterly lost, no clue what he was getting at.

Then his gaze sharpened, as though he’d just recalled something of immense importance.

“I come with a message,” he said, the words taking a dark and sobering turn.

“From who?”

“Who is less important than what,“ he said, his tone dropping to something colder, sharper. “And what is this: you are straying from the path, Jack. Whether that’s good or bad remains to be seen. But it is happening, nonetheless.”

“The path?” I asked, frowning. “Fate’s path?”

His grin returned, boyish and cryptic. “There are things in play, Jack. Things that might just be beyond your imagination for now. Things far outside your wildest dreams.”

I clenched my jaw. “You’d be surprised,” I muttered, my voice low and tight. I was done with being told what I could or couldn’t understand, done with being boxed into a role someone else had written for me.

The man paused, one eyebrow arching high, amusement flickering across his face.

“Perhaps,” he mused, nodding thoughtfully. Then his expression shifted, darkened, his smile disappearing as his mismatched eyes turned cold. “But do you understand, Jack Callaghan? Right now, you’re nothing more than a pawn. But it doesn’t have to be that way forever.” He leaned in, his eyes widening, pupils narrowing into something sharp and dangerous. “Nothing is as it seems—not life, not death, not your destiny.”

He stepped back, throwing his arms wide, the world around us shifting again, everything flipping and blurring, scenes changing like pages caught in a hurricane. “Fate, Death, the Devil—don’t you see it, Jack? Nothing is as it appears, not like you think. Your daughter, Jack—just another string in a larger web. The forces at play are pulling you, guiding you like a marionette.”

I swallowed, my throat dry, my body feeling weak. “What do you know about my daughter?”

His smile returned, somehow both curious and knowing. He looked at me as if I were a child asking why the sky was blue. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to reverberate through the surreal dreamscape. The sky darkened in an instant, the world recoiling as if yanked away by an unseen hand. I fought to hold it there, to keep the fragile veil from shattering entirely.

“Oops,” he said with a crooked grin. “Pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to say all that. I always do manage to botch these things, don’t I?” He gave me a wink, his expression somewhere between amused and distracted. “But I’m forgetting something… something important… what was it?”

He paused, tapping a finger against his temple, feigning deep thought. Then his eyes lit.

“Ah, yes. It was this—Take control of the path. Or it will control you.”

The dizziness hit me suddenly, a disorienting pull, like I was being dragged underwater. Everything around me blurred—the swirling colors, the clocks, the shifting ground. The Sandman watched me with those wild eyes full of secrets, his form becoming hazy, dissolving into the chaos of light and shadow.

“Looks like our time is over, Jack,” he said, his voice echoing, distant and mocking.

I reached out, desperation clawing at my chest. “Wait!”

But the world splintered, a brilliant shattering of light and sensation, and I felt myself falling through it. My breath caught in my throat—

I woke with a gasp, my lungs burning as I sucked in the air, cold and unfamiliar. Sweat clung to my skin, soaking through my clothes, my heart pounding in my chest—a phantom rhythm that shouldn’t have existed. I stared into the darkness around me, trying to shake the last echoes of that strange, twisted dream.

The Sandman’s laughter still echoed in my ears—a reminder, a challenge. To what, I hadn’t the faintest clue.

Damned Eternals.