A World of Feathers and the Island of the Moon

Our story starts with myself, currently taking the form of a large figure made of shifting sand, akin to a statue, waiting still on a glowing rock with its blurry golden surface pulsing of my power. The surface of my rock is slowly becoming something new, morphing into the next refuge's idea of paradise. After all, whoever escapes the desert of the surrounding world and reaches the oasis deserves some reward.

My unmoving figure watches a creature approach... a creature miles and miles away... far beyond what mortals would be able to see. At the current distance it will take serval days for the new visitor to arrive.

While I wait, all I can do is think. And all I can think about, besides the unending sands and the merciless eternal black sky, is myself.

I sometimes wonder how mortals perceive time, because I suspect it is drastically different from how I do. Many that have come across this oasis, at one point in their life, believed when time passes every part of the world is prone to change and may reform into a new shape, bringing limitless possibility for the future. Yet for me this place has always been all there is and ever will be, time can not change the cruel nature of these everlasting sands; only my power, my oasis, can provide brief shelter for the poor souls who stumble into this realm unknowingly.

Alas... only my domain and the dark Night Sky above can ever truly change in this world, time is an irrelevant factor, although the sky only ever decides to change into a darker hue rather than revealing the light of the moon.

It makes me wonder, do mortals understand the concept of time when they are out there, out among a place not even I can roam freely? Can they know of themselves while wandering the sands, can their minds even comprehend the infinity of time and distance it takes for them to reach this place? And yet they do reach this place. All creatures who get sent to the sands eventually have to end up here, they can not awaken from their slumber or fade to the eternal Night without allowing me and my competitor to do our assigned tasks. We were created for this purpose, created to wage an eternal competition between my warmth and the sky's coldness; a competition to shape the future of these mortal souls.

The Night Sky, or the Mare as some would call it, my eternal companion and adversary. The Mare has never properly communicated with me... it rarely takes a physical form. They... it... draws the mortals to despair, to a state of emptiness. I have a fair amount of reason to suspect The Mare is not quite like me. I suspect it never attained an intelligent level of consciousness. It likely has not had a reason to, it works by striking fear and pain into the hearts of mortals. These emotions are instinctual, primal, The Mare does not need to have a logical mind to work effectively.

Conversely, I am made for the opposite purpose, to give the broken and dammed souls a guiding light. To show them the world still holds a place for them. It is an odd thing, to convince mortals of the hope of their future when I myself have little belief in the shifting of the tides and the so called 'inevitability of change'. Maybe that's why I gained intelligence, maybe it is not instinctual to believe in a better future. Maybe the only way I could ever save the lives of the mortals was to understand their pain, to understand the feeling of loneliness and the fact that wallowing in ruination leads only down a path of emotional destruction.

Or maybe its just some cosmic game, I have never exactly understood why The Mare and I were created, simultaneously tied to the will of this strange sandy world, and yet serving to achieve completely opposite functions. I envy The Mare... I envy the simplicity of its existence.

I can see the mortal more clearly now... it wears an expression of pain, all of the refuges do, only the pained are sent here. Only the pained need our guidance.

But not enough time has passed, and this one is still far enough away. My rock is still shifting to a new form. There is still time to think... to allow myself to be... well myself.

Sometimes, on the rare occasion when I am being myself, I think odd thoughts. It is the downside of an eternity with no talking partners I suppose. Do I exist? Am I a person? Am I more of a person than The Mare?

I can think, and to an extent I can feel, but does that make me a person? I am naturally a force of nature, an aspect of reality. I am The Sandman, a entity made to restore the hope of the world. I know for fact that The Mare is no more a person than the Night Sky itself, but am I more than The Sands that make me? Can I be... Should I be a person? Or was I only given a thinking mind to carry out my duties more effectively?

And yet, I want to be a person. I want to relate to these people I am made to save, the people I have aided since the dawn of morality. I suspect I am more a person than The Mare, for I have a name. A self-imposed name albeit, but still I have the name of a person.

I am Morpheus... and because kings are the greatest of people... I have decided I am the King of Dreams.

More time has passed, by the distance the mortal has traveled it has been at least a day.

It is a human... it is young. Barely into the realm of adulthood. Many worlds connect to the World of the Sleeping, so it is still unclear where this human originates from. However, like all the ones that came before, this one did not come in times of peace.

The oasis has taken form now, it looks to have become a small village. It is full of stone pathing, log houses with thatch roofs. There is a dense forest on one side that extends for miles. On the other side the town is connected to a large river, and boats seem to come and go. The river leads off into the desert, eventually fusing with the sands. Silhouettes of people start to form, but they will stay blurry. Even my domain can not imitate independent life to any detailed extent, for that illusions will need to be utilized.

Whatever troubles the mind of this human, this scenery will help solve it. It always does. It will help to reveal the pains of life and hopefully spark something I can use to bring hope back into the heart.

The human will arrive soon, and then it will escape the trance the sands forced it into.

I can feel the power of the Night Sky growing, preparing for the human to step into my domain. Preparing for another round, another bout to see if hope or despair is stronger.

I too must prepare, and first I must take a form that is less jarring for humans to see.

I start changing, making my sandy body spiral into a column. In a sense I am my power, and my power is my true self. I am only as bounded to the physical realm, and any particular form, as I want to be. I imagine changing myself is like using a muscle for mortal creatures, instinctual.

As the column disperses, I shake my new small body so I am no longer covered in the sand of my past form. I have become a Nightingale, a creature of virtue and a melodic voice of nature. Now I am far more than capable of observing this human with subtly.

It is always odd to change into a form with internal components, I much rather prefer being sand. Mortal forms feel so strange on the inside, there is too much excess for my liking. It is simple to be sand, sand does not need food, or sleep. But maybe it is not simple to be a person. Maybe part of being a person is feeling these feelings, dealing with the constraints of the mortal form. Maybe that's why all that come here are in despair, maybe they all just have too much feeling inside them.

At any rate, the time is no longer for my thinking. The human visitor has arrived at the oasis. The game between myself and The Mare once again begins, and I pray that I can save this human. It is my duty, and... and I think... I think it is my desire. I want to help this person, I want to prove my actions have more effect than being a part of some cosmic game.

For this one's future... and for my sanity... I will do my best to win this round.