Morning light

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In the heart of Olympus, Zeus sat brooding, the stormy clouds surrounding the peak of the mountain crackling with frustration. He had watched a mortal, Bruce Wayne, endure the trials of the Furies and not only survive but grow stronger from them. It had shaken the foundation of the gods' confidence. Fear had been their weapon, and now even that seemed powerless against the mortal's indomitable will.

Morpheus stood before him once more, his dark form blending into the shadows of the great hall. The god of dreams remained calm, his expression unreadable as he awaited Zeus' response.

"He cannot be allowed to remember what has transpired," Hera said, her voice tense with both anger and unease. "This man... this mortal... he is dangerous. If he recalls the battle, he may grow more curious, more relentless."

Zeus nodded in agreement, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes—something akin to respect for the mortal who had withstood the wrath of gods. Yet his pride would not allow him to accept defeat.

"Morpheus," Zeus spoke finally, his deep voice reverberating through the halls, "you will erase all traces of the duel from his mind. Bruce Wayne must believe it was nothing more than a fleeting dream, a trick of the subconscious. We cannot afford his curiosity leading him back to our realm."

Morpheus tilted his head slightly, considering the command. "I can dull the memory, obscure it within the fog of dreams. But know this: I cannot erase everything. A mind like Bruce Wayne's—ever sharp, always probing—will hold onto the faintest echoes, the lingering doubts. He may not remember clearly, but he will never fully forget."

Hera stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. "We must ensure he does not act on those doubts. We must protect Themyscira, Olympus, and our secrets."

Morpheus glanced at her. "I will do as you ask, but this will not come without a cost. Bruce Wayne will continue to dream, and those dreams may give him new insights. They may inspire him in ways you cannot predict. Are you prepared for that possibility?"

Zeus leaned forward, his eyes flashing with a final surge of divine authority. "Do what must be done. Ensure he forgets."

Morpheus inclined his head. "Very well."

The Dreaming
Bruce Wayne slept soundly in the Batcave, though his mind was anything but quiet. His dreams were a swirling vortex of half-remembered horrors—visions of the Furies, of Gotham falling, of shadows that consumed everything he had ever known.

But as quickly as the nightmares had come, they began to fade. Morpheus entered the dream, his presence like a soothing wind that gently blew away the remnants of fear and darkness. The chaotic images blurred, dissolving into a mist of forgotten memories.

Bruce stood at the edge of the dreamscape, his form no longer monstrous, but his usual stoic self. He stared out at the fading remnants of his nightmares, his keen detective's mind trying to grasp at the slipping images.

Morpheus approached, his voice soft but firm. "You have faced much in your dreams, Bruce Wayne. But not all dreams are meant to be remembered."

Bruce turned to face the god of dreams, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "This… feels too real. Like more than just a dream."

Morpheus smiled faintly. "Dreams often blur the line between reality and imagination. But there is no need to dwell on them. Your mind is sharp, but even you must rest."

Bruce hesitated, his mind whirring, trying to make sense of the feeling that something deeper had occurred. But as Morpheus waved his hand, the thoughts began to scatter like dust in the wind. The detective in him still grasped at the edge of understanding, but the dream was slipping from his mind, becoming nothing more than a haze.

"You may wake now," Morpheus whispered, his form beginning to dissolve. "And know that it was just a dream."

Bruce's eyes fluttered open in the Batcave, his heart pounding. The faint echo of something dark lingered in his mind, but when he tried to grasp it, it eluded him. He exhaled, shaking his head, dismissing the thoughts as the remnants of a vivid dream. Yet, a lingering doubt remained, like a whisper at the back of his mind.

Olympus
Morpheus reappeared before Zeus and Hera, his task completed. "It is done. Bruce Wayne will not remember the details. The duel is nothing but a shadow in his memory now."

Zeus leaned back in his throne, satisfied. "Good. Now let the mortal return to his world of gadgets and shadows. He will trouble us no more."

Hera, however, was not as convinced. "What of his technology? His computers were tracking us, analyzing our magic. His tools were getting closer to uncovering our secrets. Even if he cannot recall the battle, his machines may still hold traces."

Morpheus nodded. "I anticipated that. His systems have been tampered with. The data he gathered during the duel has been erased. It will be as though none of this ever happened."

Zeus looked pleased, but Hera still frowned. "And yet... Bruce Wayne is not a man who simply lets things go. If he ever grows suspicious, if he begins to remember... he could become a greater threat than we realize."

Morpheus' expression remained impassive. "That is always a risk. But for now, the immediate danger has passed. He is none the wiser."

Back in Gotham
Bruce Wayne sat at the Batcomputer, running diagnostics on his system. He had awoken with a faint feeling of unease, something just beyond the edge of his understanding nagging at him. As he reviewed the data from the last few days, he found nothing unusual. No anomalies, no traces of magical interference—nothing.

Still, the dream continued to linger in his thoughts. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened, something important. But every logical check told him otherwise.

Shaking his head, Bruce leaned back in his chair. "Just a dream," he muttered to himself, but the words rang hollow.

A new thought sparked in his mind, born of the lingering echoes of the dream. A movie idea—something about a secret brainwashing program using dreams as a weapon, a kind of James Bond meets Inception thriller. He made a mental note to bring it up to his contacts in the film industry. It wasn't his usual focus, but it could make for an interesting diversion.

And yet, as Bruce sat there, staring at the flickering screen, he couldn't help but feel that the truth was still out there, just beyond his reach. Something about the dream, the nightmare, felt unfinished. But for now, it would have to remain a mystery, one more puzzle he would solve—eventually.

For now, he turned his attention to Gotham once again, his thoughts already shifting to the next threat.

But in the depths of his mind, the faintest echo of fear—and the strength he drew from it—remained.