He’d floated the idea by a few people, but no one so far had offered Babylon any solid suggestions about what to do to solve his ancestor’s predicament. No one had even confirmed to him that what he aspired to do could be done. But, he decided, he was not going to make any progress on the issue by sitting around on Earth playing armchair philosopher. In order to move forward, he would have to go to his wonder and do the legwork himself.

Upon his arrival, he set to work tending to the lamps, so that if he made headway with his project the lights would not go neglected. As he drew the Wick forth from the heart of his lantern, Babylon drifted deep into his own thoughts.

Magic, he knew from his brief experience with the Code, had rules. The ways in which senshi and knights and their corrupt counterparts interacted with Order and Chaos were, in so many words, spells. The great cosmic forces behind their power were compelled to behave in certain ways, and for certain people – but there didn’t seem to be any reason you couldn’t create a new spell. All spells had been new once, and the power he wielded was not fundamentally different from the power his ancestors had.

They had created new spells. They had innovated. Someone had built the city, and someone had invented the lamps and created the barrier. Someone had forged his signet ring and imbued it with its magical properties. Someone had carved Mistral from the bedrock and set all its careful traps. Someone had created the surrounding, wove its pavement from starlight and space dust and built each and every outpost.

All ancient things had been new once.

He did not believe that the world had changed so much since that ancient empire that new magical processes could no longer be created.

When the last dim lamp shone brightly once more, Babylon slipped the wick back into his lantern and vanished it to give his arms a rest. As he descended the stairs down to the knights’ square, he contemplated the barrier arching across the sky. How ancient was it, and who had built it? Was it as old as the city, or a later addition?

Perhaps one of the books in the study held the answer – but he doubted he’d ever be able to read them. Even if he and Mistral could piece together enough of a key to read their family tree, there were miles between deciphering names and reading actual text – even if he were able to figure out the phonemes, he’d never find the words.

So: a dead end.

He headed into the study, sliding his fingers over the sconces on the wall to light them. His little cache of supplies was right where he’d left it, and Babylon briefly entertained the idea of finding a way to tap into the city’s magical energy source and adapt it to power modern devices. It would certainly make longer visits more feasible – but if he was going to be messing with new and unsteady magic, then he needed to prioritize. This first, and then he could figure out how to put a minifridge in the study.

After a quick snack of crackers and peanut-butter, he was feeling ready to devote himself to the mission in earnest. “Menachem?” he called.

His ancestor appeared. “I am not a dog to be summoned, boy,” he said. Finn blushed sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said.

Menachem made no move to indicate whether or not he accepted the apology. He asked, “What did you need me for?”

“I’ve thought a lot about what you’ve been saying lately, about how you’re bound to the city,” said Babylon, calling his lantern back into his hands – he always felt a little more secure when he had it. “About how you want to leave and go to the cauldron.”

“What of it?” asked his ancestor, impassive.

Babylon was unsure of whether this conversation was going well or not. He tried not to hesitate too much. “What keeps you here?” he asked. “How does your binding work?”

Menachem looked… calculating, maybe? “I died,” he said, “defending the city against chaos, as was my destiny all along. A knight of Babylon serves his city until their last breath. My starseed should have gone to the cauldron, but it was…” he trailed off, as if looking for the exact word.

“Yes?” asked Babylon.

“Impeded,” said Menachem carefully, before continuing. “My heir was safe on earth. My line was secure. And so my vigil began. I believed I would be released first when you attained your knighthood, and then when you lit the lamps, but now – I do not know. I am glad to have seen Aria again, but… I am very tired.”

Babylon nodded – all this made sense to him so far, and he had accepted shakier explanations from more questionable sources. “What keeps you here?” he asked.

“My starseed remains in the city. I think you can probably guess where.”

Babylon nodded, rising from the table, his lantern in hand. He knew where he needed to go. It was obvious, really, he thought as he walked. He’d seen Menachem stare into that light for hours, and it was fitting that even though his ancestor’s bones had never made it to Babylon’s crypt, his starseed had.

Menachem followed him wordlessly, his eyes trained on the statues lining the walls, the larger than life faces, the lanterns glowing in their motionless hands. Babylon went down to where the floor began to slope towards the well and then looked back towards his ancestor. “It’s down there, yeah?” he asked.

“There was a ceremony,” said Menachem, “In the Silver Millenium. When pages first arrived from the academy, they would descend into the well to solidify their connection to the city.”

“I never did that,” said Babylon. He’d never even seen this place until long after becoming a knight.

“I didn’t trust you enough to bring you here,” said Menachem. “I believe it was only ever a formality, anyway.”

“Right,” said Babylon, looking down into the well. He couldn’t very well judge how deep it was, and that made him anxious. What if he hurt himself on the fall to the bottom? And how would he get out? And he didn’t even know for sure that he’d even be able to free the starseed from whatever was keeping it there-

Menachem must have picked up on his uncertainty, because he said, “You have to trust the light. You are a child of Babylon. It will do you no harm.”

Babylon took a tentative step down the slope.

Behind him, Menachem said, “I’d like a statue. When you get the chance.”

Babylon took another step forward, and as the floor became steeper and steeper, his feet felt lighter and lighter beneath him. He did not fall so much as he sank, slowly, towards the bottom of the well. The light had no clear core, no clear source, and yet he could feel it all around him, magic crackling lightly against his skin, his hair standing on end. The light simply was. It was limitless, and he wondered which, if any, of the stories of its origin were true.

He could be content to never know.

His feet touched the bottom, and Babylon looked around. He could not see the edges of the chamber in which he stood, could not pinpoint exactly where the walls joined the floor, and he felt vastness and claustrophobia all at once. The bottom of the well was simultaneously large and small.

Inches in front of his toes lay the remains of a railroad lantern. The metal was rusted and crumbling and dented. The glass was long since shattered. Despite all that, it was still clearly recognizable as Menachem’s. Babylon sank into a crouch and ran his finger delicately along the metal.

A shiver ran down his spine. The knight slid his glove off his hand and slipped his fingers inside the husk.

He’d never touched a starseed before, as far as he could recall. This one, as he lifted it from the lantern, felt fragile in his hands, like glass full of hairline cracks. He could feel its age in the power it radiated, an aura like old paper, warm and delicate in his hands.

Too delicate, he thought, to remove from the well. Not by itself, at least. But if he had somewhere to put it, to protect it-

Babylon nodded, a slow smile crossing his face. He understood. He didn’t know if this would work, but he understood

He lifted the starseed to his chest. “I’m getting you out of here,” he said, and slowly, carefully pressed it to his sternum. Warmth spread up his throat and down into his belly, out into his arms, up to his fingertips, and the starseed sank into his chest.

As he stood, he began to float slowly upwards towards the top of the well. His feet met the floor. Babylon looked around the empty chamber. “Did it work?” he asked.

The inside of your head is a mess, said Menachem. Babylon breathed a shaky sigh of relief, and closed his eyes to focus on the journey home. He had plenty of work ahead of him - and next to no idea where to start.