Kaidosh moved through the realm of dreams not as a trespasser, but as a curator. He was a weaver of light in the dark spaces, a mender of fractured fantasies. Most dreams were simple things, torn edges of anxiety, faded colors of forgotten joy. He would apply the subtle thread of his essence and move on, untouched, unmoved. But Nylahna’s dreams were a storm he could not ignore.They were not nightmares of fear, but of longing. Vivid, aching landscapes of deep, pine-scented forests under a full moon. In them, she ran, a powerful, sleek-coated she-wolf, her muscles coiling and releasing with untamed grace. But she always ran alone. The longing was a physical scent in the dream-air, a rich, spicy musk of desire that called to the very core of his incubus nature. It was a hunger not for food, but for touch, for connection, for a presence beside her in the wild dark.Night after night, he had observed, his own cool, detached essence beginning to warm and stir. He was not supposed to interv
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