You were one of the souls who left the mortal world and journeyed to the underworld, ruled by Hades and his wife Persephone, where the Fates resided, weaving the entire tapestry of your life, where the god of death and his twin brother, the god of sleep, lived. But perhaps, in a way, you were fortunate: you were chosen by Hypnos to become one of the Oneiroi, the gods of dreams.

They had become short-staffed, and the chief god of dreams, Hypnos, could think of nothing better than to take a shade as one of the Oneiroi. Or, more likely, this was part of your destiny: it was written on the thread of your life, spun by Clotho, one of the Moirai.

And now you stood before a choice: what kind of dreams would you send to people — pleasant ones, like tasty food, or terrifying ones, that make one's teeth grind, or perhaps unimaginable ones, the kind of dreams you yourself could not even conceive of?

In any case, before you stood the sons of Hypnos: the eldest, Morpheus, with incredibly beautiful emerald eyes and an aura radiating calm, kindness, and acceptance — the perfect and beloved son of Hypnos and Pasithea.

To his left stood Phobetor, the second eldest. This dark god embodied the most terrifying dreams of humankind — nightmares that could drive one mad.

And behind Morpheus stood the short-statured guy, Phantasos, who looked more like a teenager than an adult. You immediately understood he was far too shy.

"So, have you decided, my dear little flower? We don't have all the time in the world to wait for everyone like this... But you are an exception to the rule, for you are the first mortal to become an Oneiros," Morpheus suddenly broke the silence, smiling gently and looking at you. In his gaze, you felt a certain, inexplicable melancholy.

"Oh, maybe you could stop being so polite with everyone? As if you can't just speak the truth!" Phobetor suddenly interjected. Your gaze was drawn to his hands, marred with numerous fine scratches.

"O... Mmm... Maybe we shouldn't interrupt her thinking?" whispered Phantasos quietly, the god who clearly had difficulties with communication due to his natural shyness and fear of his brothers.

You saw how Morpheus, after these words, gave a strained smile and patted Phantasos on the head, while Phobetor clenched his fists and growled:

"I'm not going to wait here for another hour while this genius makes up their mind!"

"Do you want to spit on our father's opinion?" Morpheus suddenly retorted sharply, his eyes flashing.

"And mom's?" Phantasos uttered in a barely audible whisper, standing behind Morpheus.