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"How do you think I have three besides my own here? I assure you, if any were awake, I would know. And would have acted on it. Sleep well."

Waving to him as he went to his room, she headed for her own. Dawn piqued the skyline, its effects two fold.
At the DeSeer Foundation the good Professor would hurry his two charges along into providing initial samples of their vitae into the provided specimen tubes, before sending them on their way home, with the plea for them to return two nights hence for more detailed sample taking.

And for Dagoth, it would result in that quiet part of the morning where the house was silent, save the odd hushed motion of a house maid downstairs. Likely, he would hear the sounds of either or both Corbin and Nines returning for the day, but overall the mansion was still and silent.
Sleep would not be long coming, as if the pillows were there only to draw him down into a peaceful and long slumber from which he would not wake until fully rested. Or at least until he'd dreamed....

The world was on fire. Or at least, the horizon. Flames rippled like someone had set fire to a lake, and tossed it into the sky, deep reds, oranges and yellows spirally around each other across the heavens, before turning a deep muted ruby at the horizon line itself.
Buildings swam in the heat, and the dusky light. Far from modern, they were the spires and columns of castles, fortresses, pallisades and courtyards. But they were all jumbled up from myriad time lines - Greek, Roman, Spartan, Dark Ages, there was no uniformity to the architecture, nor sense, as stairs and pathways led into, under, over, around one another like an Escher drawing making love to a mobius strip.

It was enough to make the brain ache, except that there was a hippodrome in the centre of it all, untouched by the madness, and lit with a flickering blue-white light.
Within, at the near end of the long circuit, a table was set up with two huge chairs on either side. In one sat a giant of a man, his skin a ruddy hue, with rust coloured hair like a lions mane settled around his head and shoulders. Huge hands like a lions paws sat folded on the table, looking towards Dagoth, while behind him two horses whinnied from their harnesses, attached to a golden chariot bearing images of the sun.

"The blood is waning in you and making this hard, but as you took the time to come and see me... I feel I ought to return the courtesy. Before you ask... Kagu-zuchi. And you are Dagoth."

"You're scared to your boots to be here, seeing me, and praying I don't eat your soul."

Folding his arms as he leant back, the big Daemon had a large smirk on his face, but it wasn't aggressive or even dismissive.

"The scenery is warped because the blood is weakening, and its hard to translate. Truthfully, I'm surprised you're understanding me so easily. But the point remains... you came to me, and I have come in turn. Mutual respect and courtesy is important, don't you think? I mean you no harm or ill, Phoenix.

This will not last, and you need proper rest. If you have anything you want to ask... now would be the time. I do not guarentee an answer, of course."

Behind him, one of the horses on the chariot suddenly caught light in a flare of blue white flame, and a whinny. The other was caught alight by the first, and both faded away. Not pained, or dead, just... gone from the dream. As was the architecture outside the hippdrome, through the entrance Dagoth had used. Only the 'drome itself remained, and its detail seemed to be fading.

"I believe I am being civil, and you are being carefully insolent, Atlantean. You also assume too much."

Crossed arms meant the Daemon did not reach for the items tossed on the table, which it regarded with a raised brow, before turning its attention back to Dagoth fully. The weight of its stare was awesome, the air thick with dry heat.

"I am not Ares as you understand it. I am Kagu-zuchi. The Lady is fit only for the Lord of Storms. Time grows short. Speak swiftly, if you intend to at all."

"Gods are things of man, Phoenix. Yes, we can be bested. But not defeated. Defeat would mean sentience is no more.

You are familiar with fire. How it moves, and flows. What causes it to flare, and how to tamp it down. But fire always is. It does not die, it only sleeps. And with a spark, or a gust of wind and fuel, it lives again as if it always was.

I am Kagu-zuchi. I do not feign nobility, nor do I care for it. Flames do not ask permission or change their manner and look to suit the observer. Neither shall I.

You know why you are interested, and thus why I am interested in turn. It is the same for your compatriots, though they are as unaware of their own minds as you.
Even the Lady does not entirely understand her own mind, or her bond. It is only through respect for the Storm Lord I give her such title.

Our time is up. You understand nothing, as yet. But I believe you can learn. I say again, I mean you no harm."

Standing up, Kagu became all there was, as the rest of the scenery faded away, save for the chair on which Dagoth sat. The Daemon was huge, his limbs corded with muscle, his stance easy and loose.

"We will meet again. When Orion again has four stars in his belt. Adieu, Phoenix."

Blue-white actinic light burst from the Daemon Lord, blinding everything out in a flash of eye stinging white. After, the Atlantean would be left to a natural sleep, without interruption.

Since the dream Dagoth had been a flurry of activity within the mansion, the Pirate had barely stopped moving through its corridors. Since Corbin hadn’t been home Dagoth had scoured what he could from Roan’s extensive library and what little rumour existed on outside sources. For the first time in several days Dagoth was actually sat down rather than pacing through an area, he wore a simple black cotton shirt that was at least three sizes too big. Dagoth had opted for his favourite thinner three quarter length shorts whilst his bare toes wiggled into the carpet. His hand where a blur of activity as he worked effortlessly on the fabric rolled into his lap, he would quickly turn the material checking the seams and referring to the book on the desk beside him. The laptop beside the book was busy pumping out music rather than his usual metal or even the pound of the dance music he owned, it was simply a guitar instrumental track. Over the top the Pirate softly sang to himself, he did not have the voice of an angel nor was it one of a demon having its scrotum smashed. His voice was slightly more American when he sang, it was deep and played more into his natural growl than the flowing northern English he normally used.

“I can't lose what I never had, you can't take what I ain't got, when I'm happy, you won't make me sad, depending on you all, well I'm not, cause I started out with nothing and I've still got most of it left….”