Chapter 2: Breaking Waters
Morning in the Dreaming was not marked by sun, but by a soft quickening of the twilight, as though the realm itself leaned closer to listen. You shifted from the bed, intending only to stretch stiff muscles, and then—
A sharp pop. A sudden warmth rushing down your thighs, darkening the silken carpet beneath.
Your hands flew instinctively to your belly. “Morpheus—” Your voice broke on his name. “My waters— they’ve broken.”
He was on his feet before the last word left you, cloak pooling like liquid shadow around his ankles. His hands caught your arms, steady and sure, even as his eyes flared pale with raw intensity.
“Beloved,” he said, low and fierce, his gaze never leaving yours. “Breathe. You are safe. She is safe. This is only the beginning.”
A contraction followed—deep, low, a tightening that pulled a gasp from your chest. You gripped him, forehead pressing into his shoulder, teeth clenched against the pressure. He held you immovable, one hand strong at your spine, the other pressed firm to the swell of your belly, reading the rhythm as though it were written in stars.
He did not waste a heartbeat. With a flick of his long fingers, the air thickened, starlight shimmering into form. Figures in robes of silver and white appeared at the edges of the chamber—dream-healers summoned at once, their faces calm, their eyes glowing softly with otherworldly light.
They bowed low, not to him, but to you. One spoke, their voice gentle as running water. “We are here. We will tend you both.”
Morpheus did not move from your side. His body was a fortress, shadows coiling close, his arm steady at your back as another wave began to build inside you. His jaw tightened, but his voice remained level.
“See to her comfort,” he commanded without looking away from your face. “Nothing more. I remain.”
The healers spread quietly around the room, preparing warmth and light, laying silks and cushions, filling the chamber with a hushed readiness. One placed their glowing hands above your belly, and the pressure softened fractionally, not gone, but easier to bear.
You gasped, eyes wet, clutching tighter at Morpheus’s wrist. “It hurts—”
His forehead pressed to yours, pale fire steady in his gaze. “I know, my heart. Let it come. Let it pass. Every wave brings her closer.”