Each visit to his wonder after his initial visit with Corvus is like a small breath that is pushed into his chest, making it easier to breathe; like a ray of sunshine across his face after a cloudy day making it easier to breathe - a reminder that he is in the right place. His lungs still feel scarred; not physically, but emotionally, because breathing is still difficult, and there is likely some irreparable damage because not everything is able to be healed.

But still, he goes. And still, he feels better each and every time afterwards.

Aurelius is there, as well. Guiding him day by day, keeping the conversation lively, passing mischievous comments back and forth about the state of affairs down on Earth, or reminiscing about days of his life as Celsus. Sometimes they simply open the doors of the library and sit on the steps, watching the way the world moves around the Surrounding, basking in the glittering light of the rainbow road. There is something relaxing and calming about the steady, continuous presence of his ancestor; Aurelius feels like a balm to his heart after so many months of hardship and pain and anguish. Celsus can talk to him, because out of everyone that he has ever known, only Aurelius truly understands what it is to be the Knight Celsus.

It changes, one moment of one day.

"I believe," says Aurelius, "It is time."

They are sitting on the steps again, the vast, untouchable sky stretching black above their heads, millions of tiny pinprick stars expanding magnificently across their vision. Celsus is constantly in awe of it, and he is trapped by it now, only vaguely hearing what his ancestor is saying.

"Time?" he says distractedly, watching a star shoot across the velvety ink. "Time for what?"

"For me to go."

It takes a moment for these words to register. When they finally do, Celsus feels a jolt somewhere in his chest, a sharp pain that drags him forcefully out of the universe and back down into the reality of the moment. He turns his head to stare at Aurelius and finds that his ancestor is watching him with a serious expression that Celsus has never seen before.

"Go..?" he repeats, trying to calm the rapidfire beating of his heart. "What do you mean, go?"

Aurelius eases out a breath. "To - return, Celsus. To go back."

It's growing more difficult to breathe by the second. "Go back where?"

The corners of Aurelius's lips curve up in a rueful half-smile.

"You know where, my dear boy."

Celsus feels a tightening of his chest, a pressure that has nothing to do with the expanse of space around them. He can't stop the panic from rising, can't stop himself from clambering ungracefully to his feet, the golden coins jingling, his chest rising and falling fast with the intake of breath.

"To the - no - you can't go back to the Cauldron, you've only just - you haven't taught me everything - no - "

Aurelius has gotten to his feet as well, slowly and gracefully. His hands are tucked into the draping sleeves of his robes, and he looks out at the Surrounding, his gaze slightly unfocused, as though he is seeing things that are not there - but perhaps, were once there.

"I have spent a long time here, Celsus," Aurelius says quietly, and Celsus struggles to calm himself, to breathe deeper, slower. "I taught many in my former lifetime, but I must say. Nothing has brought me a greater joy and a more wonderful pleasure than teaching you. Than watching you grow into the man you are. I have done my best, and so have you. You have far surpassed any expectations I might have held of you, and you have done so with grace and dignity as befitting someone of your role. It has truly been a delight to watch over you, and I have no doubt that you will continue on the path you have chosen."

Aurelius turns to him then, and his eyes are too bright, the smile on his face of such affection and care that Celsus has trouble grasping it all.

"I have done what I came here to do, my dear descendant. So let us take this final journey together."

It takes a while. The starseed is not in the main library room, nor the office that Aurelius is so often found in. They separate to look, which makes Celsus more than a little nervous; he does not want Aurelius to disappear without him, without being able to say goodbye, without....

Without a lot of things.

Celsus is standing in a small side room that was once a reading room; there is a large window on one side with flowing white drapes and a built in window seat, cushioned in white and gold fabric. Armchairs rest in the corners beside large, towering shelves, and while the room itself is not wide, the ceilings reach high, high above Celsus's head, stretching almost all the way to the top of the wonder.

It is basked in sunlight and brightness and hope. Celsus finds it there.

He calls Aurelius when he does, and his ancestor stands beside him as Celsus opens the book he has found sitting on the window seat. The title is something in a language that Celsus does not recognize, but the Chronos sigil marks the front, and he can feel it, even if it is not his to feel; a gentle, pulsing warmth.

The book is hollow. Inside, crystalline and glowing gold, is Aurelius's starseed.

Aurelius's breath is shallow beside Celsus. He seems transfixed by the sight of it, the feel of it, the warmth of it; but he tears his gaze away after a moment and looks down at Celsus, offering him that same rueful smile as before, his eyes still over bright.

"To the road," he says, and it is to the road they go.

Outside, the road glitters, every color flickering here and there. It is both a masterpiece and a beauty, the reflected light bathing them in gentle hues as they step out onto it, one facing the other. Celsus holds the book carefully, though his hands shake; he doesn't feel ready for this, doesn't know if he can do this, if he can truly let this go.

"I can't do this without you," he blurts out, "Don't go." - and Aurelius's eyes widen for a moment, then relax, his expression affectionate as he looks at his descendant.

"You can," he says simply. "And you will. I have every faith in you, Celsus. I know you. I know your heart. You will be the man you have set out to be - you already are. You have made me prouder than anyone could possibly have hoped for, and you will continue to make me proud."

Aurelius lifts a hand. There have always been moments of tangibility with him, brief flickers where he can move about almost as a regular person can do. This is one of those moments, as his palm gently presses against the side of Celsus's face; a quiet, reassuring touch that, in spite of all that Celsus has gone through, does not make him feel unnerved or discomforted.

"Do not be sad," he says softly, "You are strong. You will be all right."

Celsus closes his eyes once, then opens them again.

"Thank you," he says, and the two words don't feel like enough, not nearly enough, his voice breaking on them, because his throat feels too tight to speak, and he can't put into words everything he wants to say, everything he wants to ask. But Aurelius understands, and he knows, his head tilting slightly to the side, his fingers warm against Celsus's cheek.

"It has been an honor, Celsus, Knight of Chronos," says Aurelius, and now his voice is trembling ever so slightly. "Until we meet again."

He lets his hand fall away. Celsus takes a shuddering, painful breath, and this moment is too much and not enough at the same time. Both of them open the book between them, and the starseed lays there, pulsing gently, warming, and Aurelius draws a breath of his own, his eyes glimmering. Celsus reaches in, and lifts it out, letting the book fall to the ground as he cradles the starseed between shaking palms. Already Aurelius is beginning to fade, the edges of his fingers and toes and robes beginning to grow translucent.

"You - " says Celsus, and swallows hard. "Where will you be going?"

He knows the answer already. Aurelius's smile is blinding.

"Home."