Julian had been avoiding the Code for a while now. He could dress it up in any excuse he wanted–he’d been busy tending to the Wonder, he’d been busy patrolling Destiny City, he’d been swamped with school–with enough time, he could have come up with a dozen reasons. A hundred.

But, he knew the truth.

And, maybe the Code did, too.

It wasn’t that Julian didn’t want to speak with the Code–he did, desperately. And, he talked. He said too much, too quickly. He tried.

Not hard enough, he thought, because the Code didn’t share the same enthusiasm for conversation as he did.

He was used to the silence. But, being used to something didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt you. Sometimes that just meant that it cut deeper.

Hiding wasn’t going to solve this problem. The Code wasn’t going to magically change its mind just because it hadn’t seen him for a few weeks. He went to his Wonder. He just didn’t seek conference with the Code.

…But he needed to.

Really needed to. Dread had been building up in his chest, and the familiar ache of old emotions festering in his chest was no longer able to be ignored.

He couldn’t shake the uncomfortable tension that had taken root in his bones.

Drowsiness often washed over him, sometimes out of nowhere, and he'd had to get used to the embarrassment that came with falling asleep in random places. Mostly at home. Once in class. He'd been sick three times, which was more upsetting than he'd admitted.

Before this year, Julian couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten sick.

He'd missed school twice because of it. Only three days, but he felt like he was weeks behind. Maybe months. Maybe years.

Things he knew were there some days, and gone the next, and then back again when he didn't need them.

Julian spent a lot of time studying. He spent a lot of time trying to put himself back together.

He didn't even know what pieces he was missing.

But it wasn't just that his body was acting strangely. Or that his mind was so foggy.

It was that something felt wrong, too.

Julian was trapped in an uncomfortable pause--the space between one moment and the next, when you knew something was coming but didn't know what. Like peering through a door, into a dark room. He should know where the light switch was but he couldn't find it, and sticking his hand into the void felt like waiting for something to bite it.

Static crawled over his skin, and a more uncomfortable current ebbed beneath it. Tar in his stomach. Caltrops in his veins. Thorns in his lungs, crawling up his throat, pricking his tongue. He tasted blood often, even when there was none to spill.

He was used to it.

So much so that he hadn't even noticed how badly he'd actually bitten his cheek while worrying earlier this week.

The last time he'd felt so unnerved was when they were still dealing with the Calamitous Hollow.

Naturally, he hadn't been sleeping well.

He dreamed of stars, which were nice at first. A blanket of beautiful, glittering lights.

It was peaceful.

Until something dark bubbled in the distance. Until the universe itself ruptured, splitting in two like something shard cleaved right through it. Until a thousand shadowy, pitch-black hands shoved through, greedily plucking up each star and swallowing it up. Like a black hole, hungry. Hungry.

And then they came for him.

Julian never stood a chance. He was small.

A single hand could crush him. Pinch him out of existence.

He floated in space because he already learned he couldn't run. There was nowhere to go.

All he could do was stare into the darkness and wait for it to consume him.

And, it did.

The darkness crashed over him in waves. He felt it rolling over his skin, cruel and biting. The darkness plucked him from the sky like it plucked the stars. Fingers dug into his ankles, dragging him through the endless nothingness with increasing, horrifying speed.

He couldn't breathe but his heart wouldn't stop.

It was death without dying.

And he always woke up.

But the shadows of hands remained. Pinching, scratching, bruising.

They crept over him like the anxiety he couldn't shake.

It didn't help that the thread connecting him to his magic sometimes felt dangerously close to snapping.

He lived in constant fear of the day he needed a shield and it wasn't there.

So he had to do something. Before someone important got hurt because he couldn't carry his weight.

Willing himself to travel to Dering had been a struggle. Convincing himself to follow the hidden stairway down to the Code’s chamber was another battle.

The third, and greatest obstacle, was actually presenting himself to it.

But, he’d made it this far.

He couldn’t give up. He hadn’t come this far to give up. He wasn’t allowed to back out.

So, he sucked in a breath and puffed up his chest as much as he could, because with each step he deflated a little more and he wanted so badly not to stand before the Code, shoulders curled in and chin tucked low to his chest. But, wanting something did not mean you were entitled to it, and Julian—intimately familiar with this concept, appreciated the fact that he’d at least made it to the Code at all, even if he stood before it feeling half his age and lesser in size.

"Hi," he greeted, too friendly. He winced and bit his tongue. Disrespectful. He forced his back as straight as it would go but somehow he still managed to look small. "Hello," he corrected, with much more reverence.

The Code spun silently, and Julian couldn't tell if it was looking at him or if he was just imagining the sharp sensation of eyes looking at him, through him. A silence passed, so Julian said, "It's me again, sorry."

Silence.

His lips were pressed tightly together, corners curled into a smile.

"I was wondering, if you have a minute..."

Silence.

Julian swallowed the lump in his throat. His voice lost volume. "I had a question..."

Silence.

"...If it wouldn't be too much, I was wondering..."

Silence.

Silence from the Code, silence from Julian.

His fingers hovered over the lute. He wasn't sure which one twitched, sending a discordant echo throughout the chamber. It made him wince. He lowered his hand entirely. "If you..." What was he going to ask? He'd rehearsed this a dozen times, before he came here, when he arrived--on the way here. Julian’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. The Code was bright, not enough to burn, but his eyes suddenly hurt so he found a dull spot on the floor. "...have a minute..."

He could feel the blood rushing in his ears. Dizziness flooded him quickly and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A fog had rolled into his mind. He'd invited it in. He took too long, he gave himself those split seconds of doubt. He knew better, that's why he rehearsed this. That's why it was so important to practice. His veins felt more like ice than blood and he stared at the empty spot on the floor for a few seconds longer, like he might outwait the Code's silence.

Like the last time, and every time before it, the Code was silent.

It had spoken once, in all the times he'd been here, and it hadn't been to him. Before, and after, it regarded him with silence.

It could talk. It chose not to.

--Or, maybe it couldn't.

Maybe--it was just busy, of course. There were, what--thousands?--of Code pieces? Maybe they couldn't all speak at the same time. Maybe it was just busy somewhere else. Someone else needed it more. It would have been selfish to demand an audience now--what was even wrong, anyway? If the Code wasn't able to speak, there was certainly a reason.

It was busy thinking. It was disappointed in him. It was stretched too thin. It hated him. It was helping someone else.

Julian’s eyes lifted once more. The light of the Code itself was not enough to hurt his eyes but he felt them burning, anyway.

A minute passed. Or maybe ten, or maybe none at all.Julian's eyelashes felt heavy and his face felt stiff. He was still smiling.

"...I'm sorry," he said, the only words that felt comfortable on his lips. They had the same effect on the Code, which was to say--none at all.

Nothing in the room changed but Julian, who felt an insurmountable pressure growing in his chest. He searched the room for something else to fixate on beyond the brightness of the Code and the spot on the ground. Vines clung to every wall, and pretty white flowers sprouted plentifully. It was more lively down here than when he'd first discovered the Code but it didn't feel any more welcoming.

It wasn't that the Code itself was cold to him; it was just silent, and in that silence, Julian heard the unspoken words. They came from his own thoughts but were never spoken in his voice, so they were automatically so much easier to believe. He let the echoes of someone else's criticism echo within the walls of his mind. He smiled a little softer. "I don't mean to keep making problems for you." He wrapped both arms around his lute and gathered it close, cradling it like a child that needed to be held, and bowed slightly. The Code didn't ask for such displays. It didn't ask for anything.

But Julian wished it would.

A request. An instruction. A command.

Anything.

Every effort he took here on his Wonder was a shot in the dark, and no matter how much energy he poured into it, nothing changed. It didn't get worse, it didn't get better. He was no closer to understanding Dering today than he was the first time he arrived at the misty forest. He found no landmarks, no buildings, no signs, no notes.

He'd fallen down a hole and found the stairs that brought him here, and he found a room full of dusty old instruments, and he found the Code.

There were no animals in this forest. There were no memories for him here. There were no books, no artifacts, no guidance.

He couldn't say there was nothing because he knew there was something here--he just wasn't good enough to see it. He'd looked, and he hadn't found it. The forest was beautiful--alive with dense shrubs, and ferns with long-stretched fronds, and stubborn lichens, and slippery moss, and flowers in as many lively colors as there were dreary ones, and trees that dipped low like they were trying to bow into the ground.

This Wonder would have been a beautiful forest, if only it wasn't always cloaked in a dismal fog.

No--that wasn't quite right. Sometimes, rarely, when Julian arrived, the forest was bright and clear.

But then the fog rolled in, a little after he did.

It was too consistent for him to think he did not, in some way, summon it.

The heavy weight of eyes on him drew Julian’s focus back to the Code, who did not look at him with any readable emotion. In its silence, it never presented in anger, but it certainly never presented in joy, which left Julian in the awkward realm of trying to distinguish if it was politely displeased with him or if he was such a poor Knight that he was not worth the waste of any emotion at all.

"What I mean is," he said quickly, as if there was any way to salvage this conversation, which he had butchered worse than most of the others despite the more than adequate preparation, "If there was something I could do, I hope--I mean, I would really appreciate--if you could help--I mean," he shrank again, because he knew what he meant, he knew what he wanted to say.

He just couldn't get the thought from his mind to his mouth.

Please tell me what to do.

Please tell me how to get stronger.

Please tell me how to help.

Please tell me how to be better.

Julian’s shoulders fell. His body felt heavier. He wasn't giving up, just giving up for now. He'd try again. How could he expect the Code to put in any amount of effort to meet him halfway when his attempts were so pitiful?

He sucked in another breath but deflated all the same. "I mean," he said, "I hope, if there's anything I can do to help, you'll let me try. Please."

Julian expected the silence, and maybe even let himself be glad for it this time. If the Code had said anything at all, he couldn't imagine it would have been words worth celebrating. Maybe, if he was lucky, the Code hadn't even heard.

Maybe he could try again next time.

Julian bowed quickly, folded over so intensely that both knees cracked, loud in the quiet. He stayed that way for only a second, as if the sound itself had spooked him, and retreated quickly.

Before he succumbed to the ache in his chest, and the burn in his eyes.