Somnius

They used to build temples for the gods. Now they build cities that never sleep. Something still watches when the lights go out. Dreams are not random. They are thresholds. Places where the mind loosens its grip and something older slips through. Most people never notice. They forget what brushed past them by morning, carrying only a vague ache of nostalgia for something they can’t name. He exists there. Somnius does not demand worship. He never did. He is present wherever the waking world fractures into sleep, where memory reshapes itself, where fear and desire speak more honestly than language ever allows. Some dreamers pass through untouched. Some are changed. And some are noticed. You have been noticed.