Flin stepped closer to the crumbling shrine, brushing aside ivy. "These inscriptions... ancient. Some lost language, I think."
Coyote leaned in, pretending to squint like he was just guessing.
But in his head?
> Wait a second… this is just simplified Chinese. I used to copy this stuff for homework.
He said nothing aloud — no way he was spilling that secret.
Instead, he slowly mouthed the characters under his breath:
"To speak is to see. To see is to walk. To walk is to wake."
As the last syllable left his lips, the wind around them stirred. Leaves trembled, rustled, then lifted — spinning in wide, hypnotic spirals. The air shimmered like heat off a summer road.
Then—
Darkness.
---
When Coyote opened his eyes, he was somewhere else. No ground. No sky. Just an endless, starless void.
And right before him, a glowing figure floated. Cloaked in flowing gold and silver, radiating peace and pressure at the same time.the dreamweaver.
"I am the God of Dreams," the voice echoed, smooth as silk and sharp as truth.
"I grant only dreams never wished before. Original. Unasked. Pure."
Coyote's chest tightened.
A god. A real one.
Not just some cult nonsense or shapeshifter pretending — this one felt cosmic.
So I get one shot. Something no one's asked for before?
A grin crept up his face.
Alright then… time to get creative.
---