Julian was usually very good at reading a situation. He was usually among the first to notice when something was off.

Something had been off since he arrived, but he’d pressed forward. Not stubbornly, not stupidly–just determined. Clinging for a direction no one else would give him, and walking in darkness to find a path that still seemed hidden.

If there was a better one than this, he wouldn’t know. It was the only one he’d found.

The hair had been standing on the back of his neck for over half the trip, and his heart was pounding in his chest, working far harder than it needed to just to carry him forward. His muscles were tense, so rigid that it was hard to move. He’d pushed through it anyway.

The whistling that had distracted him but a moment ago faded into a far-away echo, bouncing between so many distant trees that he couldn’t tell where it had started, only that it was growing fainter.

A part of him wanted–so badly–to just go back to the Code. To go back to the parts of his Wonder that he knew, that he understood. He could just beg the Code again, plea for some attention, some guidance–

Be ignored, again.

Julian’s shoulders slumped and he told himself–again–that he had to do this. He had to do something.

Even if this didn’t feel like a good idea, it felt like his only idea.

So, even though every muscle in his body told him to just stop, he couldn’t.

He ignored the path ‘back’–because, really, he didn’t even know if he could find his way back at this point–and decided to press onward. The fog was thinner, but fouler, and the trees loomed lower, like petrified hands frozen mid-strike.

Julian turned forward–and froze.

Ten feet in front of him, leaning against a tree, a man watched him.

Julian hadn’t heard a sound, and silence was an impressive feat, given the layer of leaves needed to cross on the way over.

But there had been no sound at all. The fog, dense as it was, didn’t even curl around him. There was no movement in the current, as if he’d been standing there all along.

But he hadn’t been. Julian would have seen him.

Pulling his lute close to him, Julian’s fingers drifted to the strings before he’d even really thought about it. More for comfort than defense, his fingers twitched in cautious preparation anyway.

It was too dim, too foggy, to make out much of the man’s appearance, but he wore pale blues and purples. Some far away part of Julian’s mind recognized them as Lysithean colors, because his first thought was ‘Are there other Knights here?’. His second thought wasn’t even ‘Why is he here’ but instead, ‘Am I in the wrong place?’

“Turn back,” the man said, and Julian thought then that he must have ventured too far–past the borders of Dering, and into someone else’s Wonder.

“Yes, sorry,” he answered quickly, and spun on his heels to turn around again. Only, the path was spinning, and suddenly looked entirely unfamiliar. He didn’t need to think too hard about it–any direction was better than ‘the wrong direction’, and he felt an immense pressure to leave before he made any more trouble.

The man behind him did not speak–not when Julian took his first few hurried steps away. Not when he slowed. Not when the surprise finally made way for confusion.

The man had no energy signature.

He looked like a Lysithea Knight, but that was all there was to him, and even that was debatable. Julian had not seen his face, nor more than brief splashes of color.

So he started to doubt himself.

His steps became shorter and then finally, stopped.

Silence returned. He stood for a moment before half turning, and–the man was still there.

Harder to see through the fog but still there.

Julian must have stared for too long because the man pushed himself from the tree he leaned on and said, “Go on,” in the same firm, instructive tone.

“I am, I’m sorry,” Julian said again. He almost took a step. Held back. His chest felt tight. His heart was battering his rib cage. “I just–I wasn’t expecting to find anyone out here.”

It was a question, barely disguised.

The man moved towards him slowly. Each step was silent–devoid of the soft, muffled squelch of damp leaves pressing into wet earth.

“Nor was I,” the man answered. “But here we are. Keep walking.”

Julian didn’t. It wasn’t because he meant to disobey, just because he was overcome with the strange urge to wait. His body hadn’t quite frozen up, but the hairs stood on the back of his neck and his knees locked up like he wasn’t allowed to walk.

The forest did not welcome the man as he approached. The fog followed him but did not part for him. Each step was soundless, as if his feet didn’t even touch the ground.

He was taller than Julian. Older, but it was hard to tell by how much. He had pale blonde hair that fell loose, long enough that it disappeared past the dense, chest-high fog. His eyes were blue, soft in color but sharp in judgment. The warmth behind them was long gone, like a lake frozen over.

Closer, Julian could make out the symbols of Lysithea on his outfit–his uniform. He immediately noticed the lyre that hung from a strap at his waist.

Everything about him–except for his energy signature–screamed Knight.

“I’m Dering,” Julian said quietly.

The man looked at him as if he’d said fire burns. “Obviously.”

The word hit harder than it should have. Julian’s stomach twisted and his mind flooded with thoughts of what he might have said instead.

All the while, the man offered no introduction. Julian swallowed, but forced a quick, polite smile. “Oh.”

The silence hung for a few seconds, and Julian had the distinct feeling that he was being sized up. The man crossed his arms over his chest. “So am I.”

“...Oh.”

Static blitzed in Julian’s mind, loud and obtrusive. If he’d had anything thoughtful to say, the droning hum buzzed with such ferocity that it was chased away. Two Knights? There could be two Knights? No, that wasn’t right. But then–

The man broke through Julian’s thoughts with a curt, sarcastic, “Oh.” He dipped his head, patience worn thin, and started walking back down the path Julian had come from. Slowly. In invitation.

Julian followed. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Why are you apologizing? You do that a lot.”

“I know.” Not an answer. Not an explanation.

The man exhaled softly. Julian heard it but, watching from the corner of his eyes, he noticed that the fog didn’t move. When Julian exhaled, silently, the fog scattered.

“You don’t usually come here so early.”

Julian glanced up–a mistake, given how many roots were in the area. He stumbled over a small one, earning him an unimpressed side-eye. “I don’t, no.” He almost let the silence return, but something about it just felt too uncomfortable. Before the man could ask, Julian offered his explanation. “I think I’m doing something wrong. I wanted to spend more time on my Wonder.” His head snapped up quickly, worried he might have said something wrong. “On–I mean, on Dering.”

The man’s lip twitched. He was still frowning. “Do you think it offends me for you to call it that? It’s yours now, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Julian said, a convenient placeholder. The man didn’t seem outwardly angry, but the air seemed heavy around him.

“...You know there can be only one guardian at a time,” the man pressed sourly. “Did you not learn anything at the Academy? Don’t tell me this forest waited so long for a new protector just to get one with low marks.”

Julian kept walking at the man’s side but felt smaller with each step. He swallowed but couldn’t stomach the guilt, so he drew his lute closer like a shield. A large tree had toppled across the path. Julian had climbed over it before, but now it stopped him. The man next to him simply walked through it.

He walked a few steps farther before turning, annoyed.

Before he could say anything, Julian blurted, “I didn’t go to an Academy. I’m sorry. Was it the one on Earth? I think it got destroyed a long time ago.”

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean? You came from somewhere, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Julian answered quickly. The fallen tree was hip-high. He placed one hand atop it but didn’t try to climb over it. “Earth. Um. But I got attacked. And I found, um, a violin bow. And when I touched it, I was–well, um. I didn’t do anything to earn my title, I’m sorry.”

The man stared at him for a moment. Then, he snorted through his nose and looked away. “Who is training you?”

“Well–um, I don’t know. I know a few Knights. We all awakened like that, on Earth. Well–no, some of my friends spoke with the Code on the Moon. It chose to make them Knights. We, um. Mostly, we figured it out together, I think? Or, some of them have figured it out more than I have. But that’s why I’m here. I wanted to get better. Um, to do better. Be better.”

Julian spoke with such earnestness that it earned him a near-sympathetic look from the man, who otherwise just seemed agitated to be here.

“Well, hurry up, Dering. You shouldn’t be here. This part of the forest isn’t safe.”

It spurred Julian to action. He lifted his lute so it wouldn’t scrape the fallen tree, and carefully climbed over. His tunic, muddied and heavy with stuck leaves and twigs, snagged on the bark. When he’d safely crossed over, he carefully pulled it free and then hurried to catch up to the man. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

“Well, how could you? Do you know anything about this forest?”

“I know that, um–” Julian cut himself off. “No.”

The man hummed. “Nothing?”

“No, sir.”

The answer earned him another sour look. “No, don’t call me that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Should I call you Dering, too?”

“No,” the man answered, and though he seemed to be growing more agitated, he simply drew in a deep breath. His shoulders relaxed. “No,” he repeated, calmer. Gentler, almost. “You can call me Cyril. It’s my name.”

Julian nodded. He cradled his lute again, protectively curling his arms around it. He walked in sync with Cyril, keeping pace as best he could. Cyril did not need to worry about where his feet landed, apparently. When there was an obstacle, he simply walked through it. Sometimes he waited for Julian. Sometimes, he didn’t.

Julian didn’t trust easily. It was hard to open up.

And yet, he wanted to trust Cyril, desperately. He’d force himself to, if he had to.

It wasn’t off to a good start. He already felt sick from a prickling, crushing pressure.

Julian was desperate to make a good impression. Or, at least, salvage what he’d already started.

The silence was uncomfortable, and in an effort to disperse it, Julian tried to even their titles. “My name’s Julian. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Is it?”

“I think it is. I’m sorry, was I intruding?”

“A bit,” the man answered, but the further they walked, the more mellow he became. The trees were still ugly and twisted, wracked with some sort of rot, but the fog had begun to clear just slightly. Light peeked from behind the clouds as the sun rose. “Don’t go back there again. That part of the forest is very sick.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Julian said again, earning him another exasperated sigh.

“It’s fine,” Cyril said gruffly. “I suppose you couldn’t have known. You should have used your eyes, though.” He gestured to the trees. “These don’t look healthy to you, do they? Stick to where the forest is vibrant. There are plenty of other directions for you to wander.”

“Oh. I will, thank you.”

So quiet. So obedient. So quick to say the right thing. Cyril side-eyed him again. Watched as Julian stumbled around a tangled root system. He could have just snapped the dead roots and pushed his way through. Instead, he carefully moved himself, making more work just to ensure he didn’t damage anything as he went.

For a while, Cyril didn’t speak. Just walked, while Julian hurried to keep up.

Julian wasn’t particularly athletic, so the effort burned through his energy faster than expected. It got easier as they went, but he was already shamefully tired. Slowly, the obstacles lessened. The familiar softness of the forest returned, with gently drooping trees, and tall grass that tickled instead of poked.

Neither of them minded the quiet; they’d both grown used to it, in their own way.

It just seemed a waste to fall back on it.

Cyril broke the silence to ask, “How did the Academy get destroyed?”

Julian, not qualified to answer, gave a hurried, tangled summary of Earth’s history. The rise of the Negaverse, the fall of the Silver Millennium, the decay of distant worlds. He talked of Earth, of how everyone seemed to be awakening there. He stumbled over key points, backtracked, fumbled.

Cyril let him speak. He nodded occasionally, but did not ask any questions. He let Julian talk himself dry and wear out his jaw.

And then, when the silence returned between them, it was more comfortable.

Julian appreciated it so he could sip at a water bottle and massage his cheeks. Cyril appreciated it so he could sort through what he’d heard.

Finally, Cyril asked, “You said a thousand years ago?”

“That’s what everyone says. I’m not sure what it is specifically. But I know it was a long time ago.”

A pause stretched between them, broken only when Cyril finally hummed. “I see.”

There were a thousand questions Julian could have asked, and a thousand ways to ask them. Torn between curiosity and courteousness, he considered his own words very thoughtfully. “Did you…attend the Academy?”

“For a time,” Cyril answered. Whereas Julian spoke only with caution, he spoke with certainty. “I had more hands-on training elsewhere. But I am familiar with the Academy. And sad to hear that it has fallen. I always assumed it was indomitable.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“To be the bearer of bad news? Don’t apologize. It isn’t as if you were responsible.” Cyril tilted his head. “Were you?”

“No–no,” Julian said quickly. “I’m not that old.”

“No, I suppose not. You’re what, fourteen? Fifteen?”

Surprise flashed across Julian’s face and he looked up at Cyril, unsure if he was being teased. “Oh–no. Seventeen.”

“Ah.” No, not being teased. “You’re small.”

“I’m still growing.” He didn’t sound very confident.

Cyril watched him with eyes that bore too deeply. “Hm.”

Julian couldn’t say that the forest was starting to look familiar–but it looked less unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time the fog had thinned so much. It still billowed behind them, like a smokey cape, but he could see pale blue flowers growing around tree roots. It had been a long time since he’d seen them.

“Have you been here this whole time?” he asked tentatively.

“The whole time you have? I can’t leave.”

Julian’s chin tilted up slightly. It didn’t need to be said that Cyril was a ghost–Julian had a vague understanding of this concept. In theory, not in practice. But ghosts could be a thousand years old, and could walk through fallen trees, and could mysteriously appear out of thin air. Apparently.

“I’m sorry. I would have said hello if I’d known.”

“I didn’t want to say hello.”

Cyril’s words weren't cruel but they were concrete, spoken with such finality that Julian felt like he’d disappointed him. He opened his mouth to apologize again but, sensing Cyril’s judgmental eyes on him, he bit the inside of his cheek to silence himself.

This time, it was uncomfortable.

Cyril, in his blossoming mercy, broke it after a few steps. “But now that we have, I suppose we should make the best of it.”

Julian nodded, more by instinct than will. He’d said several careless things already and it was unlike him to speak so quickly, or so freely. He must have made a bad impression and he spent the next moment thinking of all the ways he might have better held the conversation. Unfortunately, curiously won out in the end. As softly and small as possible, he said, “I’m sorry for making you come out. I didn’t know the forest was sick. Thank you for stopping me.”

Cyril seemed indifferent. No emotion crossed his face, which was as bad as if he were scowling. Julian couldn’t guess what he must be thinking, feeling. It was only when the man finally shrugged. “It’s better for the both of us that you didn’t get too far. Don’t explore without me.”

“Will I see you again?” Julian asked, before he could think better of it. He was used to exploring on his own–if not here, Destiny City. He wasn’t afraid to be alone. He was afraid of making a bad impression on the once-Knight of Dering, who carried himself with such poise and grace. Even in ghostliness, he had a sort of sovereign air about him.

Julian didn’t want to risk looking at him for too long, worried that his eyes might incite fury or disgust, but he snuck a few glances here and there.

Cyril walked tall, and proud. He was at least a head taller, but he also wore a very large, decorative hat that made it difficult to tell precisely what the difference was. Every step he took was measured and controlled, like he commanded the ground he walked on.

But after a thousand years, he’d earned that, hadn’t he?

Julian’s thoughts were broken when Cyril asked, “Do you want that?”

Did he? Yes, and no, in equal but alternating measure.

Yes, because he wanted someone who knew what he was supposed to be doing. He wanted someone to tell him how to be stronger. To give him the blueprint of what he needed to do. To set goalposts for him to reach so he wasn’t running blindly.

No, because he didn’t want to disappoint them. He didn’t want to fail. He didn’t want to drive him away. Didn’t want to bother him. Didn’t want to disappoint him. Didn’t want to–

“Julian,” Cyril said, like he was testing the name. It demanded attention, which Julian freely gave. “Don’t overthink it. I can leave. You never have to see me again.”

He sounded firm, forced. Almost cold.

But lonely.

Julian clocked it in a heartbeat.

Cyril was offering to close a door he’d reluctantly opened, but it didn’t sound like he wanted to.

Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

“Please. Um–I mean, stay. Or–don’t go. Please. I’m just–” the words felt like rocks in his mouth, rolling around aimlessly, with an unpleasant weight and taste on his tongue. “I’m sorry.” He drew in a deep breath, held it, and said with marginally more control, “I do want to see you again. If it wouldn’t be a bother. I think I have a lot of questions. I’d like to talk.”

The air around Cyril had been dense and cold, but in the seconds after, something shifted. Nothing big. The hairs on the back of Julian’s neck no longer stood on end, and the strange electricity in the air softened.

“Hm,” Cyril said, like he needed time to judge the answer. “Very well.”

He made it sound so simple.