[ backdated to January 6th, after this rp ]


"Tell me," says Aurelius, late one afternoon, as the pair of them stand in Celsus's main room on his Wonder, "What are you thinking about?"

Outside the windows, there is sunlight; not true sunlight, for outside of the Wonder of Celsus, there is the Surrounding, with its glorious road of rainbow colors and all of the outposts that belong to the once revered Zodiac. Inside, however, there is magic enough to make it seem like the rays of the sun are filtering through, basking the labyrinthine library in a haze of gold that speaks of warmth and serenity and peace. It has been a long time since Celsus has come to regard his wonder with such a feeling; it has felt cold and enormous and too much all at the same time for months now, almost a year. He has been afraid of it; of what it has told him.

Except now - now he understands. Now he knows that in order to breathe, he needs to come here, at least once a week, to make sure that he is in the place that he belongs. It is not easy, nor is it fast; Celsus has not felt some sweeping, overall relief of his sickness and his anxiety, but it is steadily making him feel at least that he can take another step forward even when he already has.

Celsus misses the Zodiac. He misses the ones whom he has sworn to protect with his life.

He misses the Princess, so lovely and so true to her heart.

He shrugs now, a gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

"Of the past," he says, and Aurelius chuckles, the sound oddly similar to Rhys's rare laughter.

"Of me?" he teases, and reaches to pat a ghostly hand to his descendant's shoulder. "I jest, my young friend. What sort of past do you think of this time? Surely not the Code again, I thought we settled the matter some weeks ago with that senshi friend of yours."

"No, not that."

"What weighs upon your mind, then?"

Celsus hesitates, then turns slowly, leaning back against the window with his arms folded across his chest. The magical sunlight reflects off of all the gold edges of his uniform, the glittering marks of Chronos etched into the fabric and the tokens, giving everything a glowing hue of warmth.

"Of what I used to have," he says, "Of what once was."

Aurelius considers this, his patrician face contemplative as he taps a finger absently against the sill of the window. He doesn't look like Celsus, not really; his hair is a shade of sandy brown instead of vibrant red, curly and short, instead of straight and long. No freckles. But he has the same eyes - a fervent, intelligent green - and the same manner of carrying himself, little lines about his eyes to indicate that the age at which his time stopped was perhaps around forty or so. His jawline is similar to Celsus's as well, strong and a little angular.

"The point of the past is so that we do not repeat it," says Aurelius, after a moment. He flashes a smile at Celsus's somewhat exasperated expression and continues, "Or rather, the point of regrets or mistakes is to remind ourselves not to be repeated. Wasn't there a phrase you once spoke of? About insanity?"

" 'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again hoping for a different outcome,' " says Celsus, remembering the conversation. "Yes, there is that. But I suppose...there is too much to regret in my past. I have made too many mistakes to think that I am capable of rectifying them all."

He glances down at his hand, at the signet ring resting on the index finger of his right one. It had taken a great deal of doing, and a lot of calls to people who understood technology better than he, but the ring was upgraded now, the blueprints safely stored. He wiggles his fingers, and the ring catches the light, spindly little golden dots appearing on Celsus's face, across his cheekbones.

"My dear boy, who says you have to rectify them all?" Aurelius asks, arching a brow as he looks at him. "Apologize, certainly. Learn from them, of course. But there are some things that are not going to be fixed, and you must learn to accept that and let them go. Failure is not a thing to be ashamed of, Celsus. it is simply a fact of life."

Celsus drops his arms, hands moving back to grip the windowsill behind him. He has never thought of failure as anything but something to be shamed, something to be disappointed in. Failures are a part of his life, too much so, so that at every turn he feels as though he is walking further and further into the quicksand as it wraps around his ankles and pulls him deeper.

"How can that be?" he asks, and is galled at how tentative, how feeble and childlike his voice sounds, as though he is asking a question that makes him afraid of the answer (is he afraid of the answer?). "How can one just...move past it all? What if all there is laid out in front of me is a hell?"

Aurelius lifts a hand, fingers running ever so lightly across the Chronos sigil emblazoned across the chest of his own robes.

"You keep going."