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Babylon's uniform was made for this sort of bitter cold and blowing snow, but that didn't mean that he liked to be out in it. All logic and reason argued that if it was uncomfortable for him to be out here, then most of Destiny City's powered population was likely curled up in front of their fireplaces, sipping hot cocoa and calling it an early night, and he ought to join them, but... even in this weather, he felt a few signatures spinning in his peripheral vision.

Holding his lantern high against the weather, Babylon stepped off the roof with practiced boldness. He landed gracefully, knees flexing slightly, snow crunching beneath his boots. He was in his element tonight, and he'd be a fool not to appreciate that. Most of the year, he was overdressed and hopelessly out of place. But this blizzard... this he could more than handle.

So, like, he felt kind of cool! He was pretty sure he was allowed to feel cool, seeing as he usually felt like a massive dork and had people lining up around the corner to tell him so.

Tucking his cape closer around him, Babylon trudged against the wind. He felt a chaos signature nearby, a general - on most nights he would have stayed away, but in this weather, he could only wonder what a negaverser was doing out in the cold.

Rounding the corner, the man came into view. Babylon's breath caught in his throat - he recognized him, although they'd never met. "Lyonesse," he breathed, the name coming easily, brought forth from a dream. It was wrong, of course. Lyonesse was a knight, but this was... this was clearly the same man. "By another name," added Babylon, frowning slightly. "I'm sorry, we haven't met. Not in this timeline."

Babylon chided himself for his mistake. He's spoken much too soon, and now he's gone and made this awkward. The future was in motion - the fact that they were standing here, having this conversation about what was or was not to come was proof of that. Whatever bond of chivalry bound the pair of them in the future, whatever understanding they'd reached... It only had as much weight in the present as they wanted to give it, and based on Natron's tone of voice, he didn't want to give it very much at all.

"Sorry," said Babylon sheepishly. "That was hasty of me. Of course you aren't." Not yet, he thought. Perhaps not ever, depending on what turns the future took. Would Natron rather be on the winning team, given a second chance? It wasn't Babylon's place to say.

"Natron," he repeated, forcing a smile despite the cold. "And my name hasn't changed, obviously." He was awkward as ever - perhaps this struck Natron as familiar? "It's good to meet you properly."

How had he and Natron met, he wondered, the last time around? Had it been like this, two strangers passing on a dark and snowy night? Were they entering some kind of predestined dance? Or by virtue of their prior familiarity, would that never be, now?

"This weather is terrible," he said. "I'm sure you wouldn't be out here without a good reason - of course, it's none of my business."

Babylon nodded, understanding Natron's trouble. "I have those sometimes," he admitted. All of his memories had come to him in a single rush at first, but lately he'd been dreaming of single moments that stretched out into infinity, tantalizing glimpses of a future that would never be - but by all estimations that future sucked balls, so it was probably for the better that it was cancelled. "Running into me probably doesn't make it easier."

Lyonesse had been purified in the future they both remembered, but the cost had been quite high. Babylon had been the one to do it. He remembered the weight of the sword in his hand, the chill of the night air... If it was never to be, he hoped it was a fair trade.

"What helps me," he said, hoping to ease the general's mind, "is to consider all the things that have happened since the dreams began that is different, so I can assure myself that the future is in motion, and the visions we saw won't come to pass. You and I are standing here right now and having a conversation about prophetic visions - the fact that we are talking about them means that the time and place and circumstances of our first meeting have changed."

Or, in English, "We're on a different path."

He offered Natron a slightly awkward smile. "If that makes any sense," said Babylon. "I mean. Whatever we saw - we're free to make our own decisions over what we want to come to pass and what we want to avoid."

For him, he was sure that it was only a matter of time before he and Avalon were married. Antonia would probably arrive exactly on schedule. But the future was in flux on a grander scale - he was sure of it.

Babylon couldn't imagine what sort of guilt came along with knowing that there was a future where you'd betrayed the cause you held so dearly. He had his own guilt to wrestle with over the future he'd seen, but at least he wasn't dealing with broken convictions - and believing fervently in a cause that he disagreed with. "Neighborhood watch," shrugged Babylon.

But clearly, he thought, his plan of attack was completely wrong. He might take comfort in knowing that the future was changing, but Natron would have preferred ignorance.

Which, he supposed, was fine, although he would have preferred if this had worked out another way, if he'd met a Natron who was ready and excited to purify even sooner. Lyonesse had been his friend once. Was there any chance of them being that again?

"Sorry," he said. "Let me try to think of a better way to frame this." Without, like, descending into Star Trek metaphors.

Actually, on second thought...

"So, uh, we can't forget what we saw? Short of like, hypnotherapy, but between you and me that's probably a crock of bullshit. But because we know about it, we're on a separate timeline that can work out however we want it to. Like, uh, those new Star Trek movies where Spock changes the future just by going back in time. Butterfly effect stuff."

He sighed. "I know it feels real, but we shouldn't give it more credence than any other dream."

"Uh, yeah," said Babylon, glad that he'd finally hit upon a metaphor that made sense to Natron. "We are collectively old-Spock." Or, like, that show Flashforward? Or Wolverine in Days of Future Past. Actually, it was the kind of nauseatingly common plotline that mostly just made him just question whether this was actually real life, for real... but evidence otherwise had yet to present itself, so life persisted in being unlikely yet cliche.

He nodded. "I'm sure it wasn't the darkest possible timeline, but it was pretty close to it." He could think of worse timelines from a personal standpoint - but maybe that was just what happened when you took all the possible variables and averaged them for overall tragedy. There were people who hadn't been corrupted, but there were enough that it all worked out to everyone being miserable.

"The universe is weird and random sometimes," Babylon said with a shrug. Who had set the Cosmos spinning? What had created the senshi and the knights? Were they all caught up in a carefully designed system, or was it all random? There was supposed to be a balance... but what dictated the need for that?

If he started to pry into that too much, would a black hole open up and swallow him whole? Best to not involve Natron in that level of existential quandary, he decided - the general seemed shaken enough as it was. "Sure, as much as anything happens for a reason," he said. "Maybe we know about it so we can change it. I can't tell you what to do with that information - we both know what became of us in that timeline. If you don't want to walk that path, I won't force you. But if you ever want to explore it, well..."

He smiled. "Would it be weird to say, 'you know me?'"

Of course Babylon understood. He'd lost people who, given the chance, he would prevent the deaths of - and he'd lost them in this timeline, where there was no getting them back. What would he do if he woke up tomorrow and found the world spun back to July? To April? Would he find ways to have Orianna born healthy, to save his father from Avalon's blade? Almost - almost certainly.

"Right," said Babylon. He hadn't been part of that fight. He hadn't known the details, but he'd seen the aftermath. He knew how deep Natron's devotion to Fangite ran. If he'd seen a future where Avalon was dead because of something he'd done, he'd be keen to change it, too. "Of course. We've been given a chance to change what happens to us. We'd be fools not to take it."

Which made him pause for just a moment. Was he somehow hastening the apocalypse by wanting to be married to Avalon, by wanting the tiny, red-haired daughter he'd seen in his dreams? No, he told himself. It was silly to think that a wedding and a child could swing the world onto that bad path all by themselves.

"If we were to walk that path of purification again," he said, "We would have to be more careful. Plan more fully. Take more precautions." But we could do it, he thought. The future has already changed. Maybe it has already changed enough to save him.

Babylon could only hope that Natron was in better spirits now than when they'd first encountered each other. He thought that was the case, but one could never truly know what was going on inside someone else's head. "Safe travels," he said, agreeing with Natron's appraisal of the weather. Hopefully he could make it home before the early stages of frostbite set in. "I wish you the best of luck."