Arias had not been sleeping well, but that wasn't really anything new. It wasn't just difficulties in getting comfortable; he'd had a bit of a hard time adjusting to the burns on his arm and just generally being sore, but that was manageable.

His sleeping problems had been going on for a while, though.

He used to dream about terrible futures—about the people he cared about, lost or dead. About at world where the Negaverse had everyone in the palm of their hand. Sometimes, he still dreamed about those things.

Sometimes he dreamed about his ancestor's cold, judgmental eyes. Dreamed about whatever he could do to please him, or at least prove that he was somewhat deserving of the job. But the man residing at his wonder was more of a Knight than Arias thought he'd ever be, and he hated that every time he thought about going he wounded up talking himself out of it.

He had dreamed about the Code, too.

As Newgrange, he'd explored nearly nothing of his Wonder, in part because he'd been there so rarely, and in part because he was just afraid of meeting up with the guy that still lurked there.

But he dreamed about it, and it didn't make it any easier to want to go.

It always started the same. He walked into the parts that he knew—down the stairs, and through the dark staircase. There was always a light at the end. A small, glowing little orb that seemed like it belonged. That seemed old, and ancient and all-knowing.

He always approached it with respect and hesitation.

Sometimes he spoke to it, and sometimes it spoke back.

Arias had learned that it was better not to speak to it; he never liked to hear what it had to say.

The first time, he'd asked, "What…are you doing here?"

It had told him:

"I am here because you are fumbling so pathetically, little Knight. You require guidance, something I can but attempt to provide." The light dimmed briefly, in a way that might have resembled a visual sigh. "Though I suspect you will not listen."

The second time, he'd said, "I don't think my ancestor likes me much. He seems a little hostile, and I don't think he wants me here. Is there anything I can do to make him trust me?"

It had told him, then: "Your ancestor knows how inadequate you are to take up his post. Perhaps if you put in just a little more effort." Something like a laugh, but an eerie sort, emanated. "Or perhaps you ought to seek succor with the Negaverse. Surely he would respect your strength then."

He hadn't spoken to it again.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he found himself powered up and walking towards the piece. Sometimes he reached it, and just looked. Sometimes the ground crumbled beneath him before he even got there, an he had to watch it fade into the distance as he fell, endlessly.

He always awoke with a start.

Now, Arias feared sleeping.

Now, he got to dream about that, and fire, and pain and giant youma, and the disappointing stare of Newgrange's old protector.

He had to go back, he knew it.

But he was tired, and sore. So he put off his visit, again.

He'd have another excuse for tomorrow night, and probably a new one for the night after.