He remembered a dream. In it, he awoke to the rhythmic rustling of leaves and distant birdsong, cushioned on a bed of white flowers. And there she was; a being of cosmic power older than the first blade of grass to sprout from the earth's soil. She was a Titan, and he had just turned 4.

And somewhere far away in the steep mountain ranges, another remembered one too. In it, lands lay razed and desolate. The world naught more than a barren rock, he'd felt like he'd wandered its endless wastes of ash and futile tears for aeons. Yet blood forever wetted his hands. So he looked through the lens, filling a page with hasty scribbles, confirming it all once more: Coordinates, time, expected trajectory, the many threads of fate that would sever and be spun anew.

"Do you like them?" She'd asked, gesturing at the array of flowers that surrounded them in the forest clearing, sparkling brightly in the ever blue skies. She was Mepheia, the Titan of life and beauty. And no depiction of her that he had seen in story books and paintings could have compared. Her eyes were a solid white, a dizzying contrast against the darkness of her deep and velveteen umber skin. Thick and luscious roots sprouted from her scalp that coiled and curved at odd angles, braided together with cascading wisteria all the way down to the roots embedded in the soil below. And a plethora of different flowers all in that same satin white adorned her head like a halo.

A cold breeze blew past his clamming cheeks, his dark skin ashen from sleepless nights and self-neglect. The golden trim of his navy blue robes unwound at their fringes, the jewels in his ears connected by a web of silver chains glistened with a frostbitten glaze. He was writing fast but not fast enough. The hour was drawing near. His time was up.

"They're pretty," He'd answered, with an innocent smile obscured by messy waves of dark auburn that reflected golden in the light. Hazel eyes matching the never ending woods around glanced along the clearing and its flora, before they landed back upon the Titan. "Like you!"

With the cosmic tail of a burning comet still in the corner of the telescope's view, it was no sound nor sight that betrayed their presence. It was the stab of a needle in the back of his neck.

Mepheia's full lips curled into an ecstatic smile. "Oh aren't you just the sweetest," She'd said, brushing a gentle finger against the child's rosy toned cheeks; brown and soft, which she would liken many times to fuzzy rabbits and new-born deer. "You're very pretty too."

"No," He croaked, gasped, and coughed. The rapid spread of poison in his twitching fingers, he begged them to finish what he'd started but they would not respond. His vision blurring and throat tightening, as his legs were about to give, he turned around to face his murderer.

His smile had grown wider, before a sudden flash of realisation turned the feeling to confusion. Her introduction was not necessary, he'd known. She was the champion of humanity, after all – she who'd saved the world from the destructive forces of her kin. All children were told the story of why they worshipped her, and her alone. But even back then, he'd known something wasn't right. "Ehm... I'm sorry, miss Mepheia. Where am I?"

Cold, yellow eyes, thin pupils slit like a snake's, burning through the dark of night and the shade of their cowl. The old man sputtered a laugh over his quivering lip as he saw them, before he sunk to the floor. "You..." He smiled as the light faded from his eyes. "Then the stars... Are... Right."

She laid her hand back on her lap, clothed in a satin robe soft as tulip petals. Her words were gentle, spoken in a melodic voice, every sentence a lullaby. "You're in the dream, my dear."

His lifeless body slumped to the ground. In that desolate mountain cabin it could be days before he was discovered. And when he was, they'd find no more than an overworked old man who met his untimely end with a heart attack. The shaded figure turned to leave, their job done. But then it caught their eye. A letter.

It was odd.

'Sleep tight my dear, Like Mepheia does in Haven's heart. Dream sweet my dear, For Mepheia gave us a new start. She'll save our world so we may rest, Together with a girl most blessed.'

That's how the song went, one of many that his father sang to him every night before tucking him into bed. There were many more, more than he could yet count, about Mepheia and her chosen champion – her Dreamer. And if he were here, in Mepheia's dream, then that must mean that she'd chosen him. But the stories only ever mentioned girls. "Why me?" He'd asked.

They already knew what it entailed, and weren't sure why they reached for it regardless. Serendipity should not be trifled with for the consequences could be dire, but their curiosity won them over. Black upon white was the information they had recently come to learn themself. It was doubtlessly meant for the high priest of Oyane, although why the old man had suddenly grown a conscience was beyond them.

"I'm sure this is a lot to take in," She'd answered. "Great things are in store for you, little one, and I do so look forward to witnessing them. Know that I will be there for you every step of the way."

What was more intriguing, however, was what was written below. Penned with a shaking hand, desperate to get one final message across, a still wet stain marking the final breath he drew. One word, a name, a city-state.

"But until then, I hope we can become good friends."

Venshale.