Phobos beamed with pride at his father's approval but shortly after his smile faltered. He looked at his father with a worried, fearful expression that seemed almost twinged with sadness. "Father," Phobos called. He reached out a hand for his powerful, impressive parent but stopped short of actually touching him.
"Father, I think the mortal is waking. He's regaining control," Phobos continued. The booming voice he had previously, filled with pride from his success on the battlefield, was now quieter. A mere child speaking of his own fears to his father which he adored. "I can't... he has the upper hand now, that damned mortal."
And indeed, Rylee was pushing through, regaining control and feeling more so like he himself was the one standing in the moving chariot. He was no longer a witness to this dream but a part of it and Rylee was growing uncomfortable in the position he slept in. Waking up was drawing near which meant Phobos had very little time remaining with his father. "I'll return, Father. It's taken this long and we are so close to one another. I'll find you and we will cause havoc where ever we please!"