Apollo.
Sleeping like a content fool, even in the cramped trunk.
Wang Xiao's gaze didn't change.
From behind, the driver chuckled, voice stretching like silk over knife.
"He was sniffing around your name. So I snatched him up. Slapped some lullabies into his soul. Had to tie his ego down with three dream-chains."
Wang Xiao turned slightly.
And the driver shimmered.
The illusion melted.
His form morphed.
His limbs straightened.
His coat extended into a long, ethereal robe of midnight stitched with nebula threads.
His eyes now glowed like mirrored moons, and from his back unfolded four phantom wings, featherless, composed entirely of dream-smoke and shifting symbols, runes, ancient tongues forgotten.
"I suppose it's polite to finally say it-" He bowed in mock theatre. "Morpheus. Keeper of the Eleventh Realm. Weaver of Sleep. Lord of Dreams and Delirium. Former simp. Now freelance lunatic."
Wang Xiao raised a brow.
"You again."
