There is a man in a helmet holding a small object

A gritty close-up of Morpheus in the trenches of World War I, his pale, gaunt face smeared with mud and shadowed by a steel helmet. His haunted eyes are locked on a dream-shard he cradles in his hand—a small, glowing fragment of hope amidst the chaos. The dull orange glow of distant artillery reflects in his expression, a mix of sorrow and resilience. Around him, the fog of war merges with the dreamlike haze of his realm, blurring the line between the nightmare of the battlefield and his eternal dominion. The scene is rendered in a raw, dramatic style, with muted colors and stark contrasts.

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A gritty close-up of Morpheus in the trenches of World War I, his pale, gaunt face smeared with mud and shadowed by a steel helmet. His haunted eyes are locked on a dream-shard he cradles in his hand—a small, glowing fragment of hope amidst the chaos. The dull orange glow of distant artillery reflects in his expression, a mix of sorrow and resilience. Around him, the fog of war merges with the dreamlike haze of his realm, blurring the line between the nightmare of the battlefield and his eternal dominion. The scene is rendered in a raw, dramatic style, with muted colors and stark contrasts.

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