Chapter 270

I don't know how you got here.

Morpheus's first words made Schiller frown, but he could tell Morpheus wasn't lying.

If a conceptual entity truly doesn't want to speak, no one can force them—though throwing a clown at someone's home is annoying, it's far from threatening. Since Morpheus chose to speak, he's willing to talk, so there's no need for him to lie.

But the moment you arrived here, we noticed you.

"You"? Who else besides you?

"Fate. Everyone in every universe escapes Fate's gaze. The instant you arrived here, he noticed you."

Schiller frowned—he hadn't expected Fate to be involved here.

"Fate" is the oldest and most peculiar of the Endless, so much so that he has transcended the Endless family entirely—he is the highest being in the entire DC multiverse.

Before the universe was born, it was already recorded on the first page of the Book of Souls—meaning Fate stands above all things in the universe.

Usually, Fate appears as a hooded man with no eyes, yet he observes everything, holding a book bound by chains wrapped around his arms; in some comics, however, he can remove the book from his arm and hand it to others.

"The Book of Souls," Morpheus said, naming it.

"It records everything in this universe—past, present, future, all tangible and intangible things, all that has appeared and all that has not."

"Except you."

After stating this conclusion, Morpheus fell silent, and Schiller said nothing—the room sank into stillness.

After a while, Morpheus seemed to drift into memory. He said: "One day, Fate came to find me. It's rare—few ever come to me."

"He told me he'd found someone—a person not recorded in the Book of Souls. We observed you together, but found nothing."

"In the past, beings from other universes have entered this one—but the moment they crossed over, their names were etched into the Book of Souls, and Fate could write their stories."

"But you appeared, and your name didn't appear. So Fate came to me, hoping I could observe you in dreams and find out why."

"I can observe anyone's dreams from the Dreaming. When I saw this grand structure in your dream, I was truly startled." Morpheus's tone rose slightly.

"I've never seen such a structure in anyone's dream before. I was intrigued—but it didn't help, because I found no reason for your uniqueness here…"

"Fate told me that a name absent from the Book of Souls, a being without a story, could severely disrupt the universe's coherence. He had to complete your name and your story."

"Fate instructed me to anchor your presence in the Dreaming, then he began writing your name—but at that very instant… you vanished."

"Vanished?" Schiller narrowed his eyes.

"Yes. At the moment Fate's pen touched the page, you vanished from this universe—even I couldn't hold onto your dream."

"I can't describe what happened then, because our perspectives differ—but the fact is, in an instant, you and your dream left here."

"What do you mean by 'here'?"

"Everything within the 'Wall of Origins.'"

"I crossed the Wall of Origins?"

"We don't know whether you crossed it. We saw nothing."

Schiller kept his eyes narrowed—it was hard to believe a near-omnipotent conceptual being in the DC universe claimed to have seen nothing.

"Whether you believe it or not, that's what happened," Morpheus said, his bony fingers interlaced. "When you returned, Fate took no further action—as if he accepted it. I don't know what he's thinking…"

"Then why did all this happen while I was asleep?"

"I don't know," Morpheus shook his head, then offered another hypothesis.

"It might be connected to my anchoring of your dream. It's just a guess… I don't know where your physical self went, but your dream has always carried my beacon—deep within your subconscious."

Schiller understood Morpheus's theory: the dream beacon was like a rope tied to Schiller. When he left this universe for Marvel, the rope ensured he could return.

He knew the crossing was likely the system's doing, but he didn't ask Morpheus—because he wasn't sure if Fate or the Sandman had observed this mysterious system.

Morpheus explained everything, yet seemed to explain nothing. Schiller asked: "Why didn't Fate try again to write my name in the Book of Souls?"

"I don't know. He didn't tell me. Throughout, I only observed you in your dreams for a while, then left a beacon in your deep dream. If you want answers to those questions, you'll have to ask Fate yourself."

At this, the Sandman suddenly gave a strange expression: "No… I'm not suggesting you install a doorbell at his house. You'd better not."

"Since the universe began, we've each held our roles, and our duties are never meaningless. Every member of the Endless governs a domain vital to the universe—and Fate is no exception."

"As I told you, a name absent from the Book of Souls could harm the universe. He wanted to write yours—part of his duty. But in the end, he abandoned it. I don't know why, but there must be a reason."

"We don't care about any individual's existence. We don't care how your lives unfold or what you do within them…"

"When I first saw your dream, I was startled. You were the first human to make me feel that way. Before you, no matter how many dreams I'd witnessed, I'd never felt this."

"Perhaps that's your uniqueness—you might be special to every member of the Endless, you just haven't met the others yet…"

"The others?" Schiller recalled and said: "Forget the others for now—I've encountered Desire, haven't I?"

Morpheus shook his head. "Desire doesn't work."

"I once heard a story carried on the wind through the Dreaming…" Morpheus's voice always carried a poetic beauty.

"Death is my sister. Every person she takes each day of every century deepens her understanding of her duty…"

"It's not a beautiful feeling—to feel that all things must end. That's the price of her great power. So I often wonder: what price will I pay for my own power?"

Schiller seemed captivated by his words. He always loved philosophical topics. He said: "I've always been curious about the perspective of higher-dimensional beings. I've wondered: how do you think? What answers do you reach?"

Morpheus gave another strange expression: "Today, for the first time, you've made me realize—it wasn't I who created dreams. It was dreams that created me."

"That doorbell you put in—that's the price I pay for controlling dreams."

"He's too mad, too irrational. I've tried countless methods, but he always escapes my control and turns my home into chaos."

Schiller heard Morpheus let out a faint sigh. He said: "Perhaps it's not me controlling dreams… but dreams controlling me."

As he sighed, the spinning globe on the table slowed and stopped. When Schiller awoke, the figure across from him was gone—as if it had never been there.

Schiller stood, walked behind the table, picked up the globe, spun it gently with his hand, and said to the empty air: "If a dream is too real, when you wake, you'll wonder if you're still dreaming."

"And perhaps the price the Dream Lord pays is never knowing whether he truly exists—or whether he's just a dream."

Schiller's sigh echoed through the room. Suddenly, Jack on the single sofa woke up. He rubbed his eyes, sat up, and grinned broadly.

He gestured with his hands, as if describing an incredibly joyful dream—then his hands froze mid-air, as if the return to reality had crushed him. His smile faded, lips curling downward.

He sat slumped on the sofa, covering his face. "I'm back in this boring reality… My god…"

beqege.

Schiller looked at the still globe in his hand and said to Jack: "Your boring days are ending. Batman should be back soon."

Jack stirred, lifted his face, peered through his fingers at Schiller: "Should I prepare a big surprise to welcome him home?"

"Do as you like."

Schiller placed the globe on the table, turned, and took a book from the shelf.

Jack, hands behind his back, whistled as he approached the table. The instant Schiller turned back, Jack snatched the globe and hugged it to his chest.

He held it like a dance partner, whispering: "Look! My little treasure… I love you so much. I can imagine all the joy you'll bring us. Let's dance—right now…"

In the twilight-lit parlor, Schiller sat quietly reading. Jack spun and danced around the room, hugging the globe.

Sunlight streamed through the windows. Jack spun again and again, his face glowing with bliss.

When he stopped, the globe kept turning—and Jack's smile deepened.

At that moment, Bruce's car sped down the highway until a large sign came into view: "Gotham Ahead."