Takes place 1/10, about a week after: Holding onto Hope
Cyril had no way to contact Julian, but Julian had made his best effort to carry the conversation for the both of them.
He had powered up again on Sunday, and traveled to Ephesus for some healing. While there, he’d written Cyril another letter–short, to the point. He apologized again, and promised that he’d see him on Saturday, the tenth, as early as possible, and ‘no later than 8AM’. Julian promised to explain everything, and wished him well.
When Saturday rolled around, Julian was anxious.
Partly because he feared upsetting–or disappointing–Cyril.
Partly also because his friends had spent the week being hunted by youma–and the General.
It wasn’t safe to power up. Julian didn’t understand the specifics of it, but he’d been careful–more so at the urging of his friends.
But he’d promised to visit Dering. He’d promised he’d be there last week too, and one broken promise was more than enough. He was terrified that in the two week absence, Cyril would have decided that Julian was actually very annoying and not worth his time. Julian had concocted a new scenario, each worse than the last, and all ending with Cyril condemning him.
So, when he finally made his way out to the park, powered up for a second, and teleported to Dering, he expected the worst.
And yet, there was Cyril, cupping his chin, and pacing.
It was six thirty in the morning.
He spotted Julian before a greeting could be offered, and stood up straighter, taking long strides to stand before him. “What happened?” Cyril demanded, with a firm curiosity, but notably devoid of any reprimand.
In fact, he sounded worried.
Julian didn’t know what to make of it, so he blurted, “I’m sorry”
“Yes, I know. You’ve said.” No less than twice, in every letter. Cyril didn’t need apologies, he needed answers. “What happened?”
“It was a bad fight,” Julian said, holding his lute tighter. Like a shield. Cyril clocked it immediately and forced his shoulders down, gesturing for Julian to walk with him to the tree he always tucked himself into. Walking side by side seemed to coax a few more words from Julian, who kept his head down and walked as if he could feel Cyril’s guiding hand on his back. “Everyone’s okay now.”
“Did you get hurt?” Cyril asked, and watched Julian’s face shift into something a little more blank, like he was preparing a lie. Cyril did not give him time to settle on one and changed his question to, “How badly did you get hurt?”
“It wasn’t so bad. One of my friends has healing magic. But our other friends got hurt worse. I wanted to wait until they were taken care of first. So I got healed after we rested some.”
Cyril knew he could only half-trust Julian, but he detected no deception. “Fully healed?” he prompted.
Julian nodded. They reached the tree, and he climbed up the roots slowly, finding his favorite above-ground seat. Once, he glanced down at the nook deep within the roots, where you could curl up and feel underground–swallowed up, disappeared. He’d been there last week, so he looked away from it in shame.
Cyril waited where the roots plunged into the dirt, where the ground buckled up and grass grew around the disruption.
The sun had yet to come up completely, but in the dim morning light he couldn’t make out any bruises. Julian wasn’t moving strangely, either. So, maybe he believed this story.
“Good,” Cyril said, slowly. “Are the rest of your friends okay?”
Julian was more willing to talk about them. “Yeah, mostly. Some of them got hurt really badly. We were really worried about some of them. One of my friends got stabbed in the stomach. And the other one, um.” Julian’s brows furrowed and he looked away. There was so much blood in his thoughts these days. He didn’t have to be thinking about what happened to imagine Yvoire drenched in it, or Reims, or Amarynthos, or–
“And the other one was hurt worse?” Cyril suggested.
“Um, yes. He got cut open, in his middle. But my friends had some magic they were saving. Some relics or something. They got healed. One of my friends broke her wrist, though. She’s wearing a cast. And my other friends–well, everyone got hurt. Worse than I did,” he reassured.
Cyril did not believe that story, but if he was going to call Julian out in a lie, it was going to be a better one than that.
“I’m glad to hear you’re all healing.” He sought words that would connect him to Julian, not divide them, so he offered a kind, if not stiff, “That sounds like it was scary.”
Julian considered this for a moment. His eyes were elsewhere, on the horizon. He didn’t look at Cyril, but he shrugged, and then nodded again. “...Yeah,” he admitted.
Cyril did not dig in.
He gathered his robes in his hands and lifted them, out of instinct more than purpose, and sat on one of the high arched roots near Julian. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping.”
Julian’s attention snapped to him. “I do?”
Cyril gave him a look that Julian wilted beneath. “Nightmares?”
“Um, I don’t know,” Julian answered, with customary reluctance. His hands were folded in his lap and he looked at them. He hadn’t taken off his backpack, and his lute rested on his knees. “It’s complicated.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Julian thought about this for a long moment. The silence was not avoidance, but Cyril watched to make sure it didn’t slip into such. Julian was just thinking, deeply. Finally, he shook his head and answered, “I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Cyril leaned forward. “Because you don’t want to talk about it? It’s your choice, I won’t force you. If you change your mind, I’ll listen.”
“Oh.” A beat. “Thank you.”
“Mm. Did you bring questions today?”
Julian lit up suddenly, like he’d just come back to himself. “Oh, yes. I did. Not new ones, really. Most of them are the ones I didn’t ask the last time I was here. I’m sorry, I meant to come up with more. I was just…” Another shrug, and then quieter, “Distracted.”
“I can imagine. You seem…”
Julian braced.
“Distracted.”
The mist was not so dense today, not in the clearing. The fog lingered in the trees but came no further. Sunlight was peeking over the canopy, but the sky was still a battlefield between night and day.
Julian exhaled. “Oh,” he sighed, and then nodded. “...Yeah. Right. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He faltered. Drew his lute closer. Shrugged off one strap of his backpack and awkwardly tried to seat it next to him. “...A lot. I’m not trying to be difficult.”
“I know. You’re trying to push yourself. You don’t have to do that.”
Julian glanced up uncertainly, like he was trying to figure out which part of this was a test.
None of it, but Cyril couldn’t say as much. Julian believed him less than Cyril believed Julian. Sometimes.
He liked to think they were working past that.
But maybe being alone for a millennia rotted more than your body.
“I’m sorry,” Julian said.
“I know,” Cyril said, not wasting time to forgive him. There was nothing to forgive. The apology landed like a nervous tic so Cyril didn’t chastise him for it, either. “Did you want to come today or did you force yourself to be here?”
Worry flashed across Julian’s face and he looked up. “I wanted to be here. I like talking with you,” he insisted. A little defensive. Mostly desperate.
Cyril believed him. He let the words settle, and kept the floor open for Julian, who was back to searching for words–the right words, which always took longer, because he acted like the wrong words would ruin everything. As if Cyril would abandon him here and never return if he slipped up somewhere.
It seemed like a lot of unnecessary energy, especially considering Cyril thought he used the wrong words several times every conversation. He was learning, slowly.
“I wanted to be here,” Julian repeated. Gentler, and apologetic. His lute was placed on one side, his backpack on the other. He drew one knee up and wrapped an arm against it as he pressed into it.
“I believe you,” Cyril said, because thinking it didn’t seem to be enough. Julian’s shoulders eased but he didn’t move much. He pressed his chin to his knee and nodded. The gesture was awkward and uncomfortable, but Julian’s jaw was set. He’d deal with discomfort before disclosure.
“It’s early on Earth,” Cyril commented. The clock Julian brought two weeks ago was nearby, tucked safely away.
The admission meant Julian would know he’d been checking it, and it was only a few seconds later that he asked, “...Did I make you worry?”
“No, I chose to,” Cyril shrugged. “You don’t strike me as someone who breaks a promise. So I knew something important happened.”
Guilt washed over Julian and he lowered his eyes. “I didn’t mean to break it. I wanted to be here, I promise,” he said, and cringed before giving up; he tucked his chin to his neck and pressed his forehead into his knee, letting his hair fall like curtains around him.
“I know,” Cyril said, hoping one of the times he said it would stick in Julian’s mind. “You came Saturday night instead, didn’t you?”
Julian nodded slightly, guiltily.
“Because of an emergency,” Cyril clarified. Julian nodded again. Cyril continued, “Where you and your friends were in a bad fight, and you needed somewhere safe.” Another nod.
Cyril would stitch this whole thing together even if Julian never said a word. “Good,” he concluded. “Thank you for letting me know. I appreciated the letters. I’m glad you let me know what was going on.” Though, glad was an overstatement. He was grateful for an idea of what was going on, even if Julian oscillated between desperate explanations and tight lipped justifications.
Though Julian didn’t look up, Cyril noticed that he’d stopped pinching the fabric on his legs and had settled for just brushing his thumb up and down in steady, constant lines.
“If you ever get hurt and need somewhere safe to be, come here. And if, for whatever reason, you cannot be here, just be safe. I can wait. Trust me,” he said, resting an elbow on the root as if such a posture would make him any more comfortable, “You are disrupting no schedule of mine.”
Something in Julian shifted, slight and uneasy, but he nodded. The worry didn’t ease from his features, but he moved so his cheek was pressing into his knee. A little less hiding felt like an accomplishment to Cyril, though he could not muster more than a twitch to the corner of his lips.
Julian caught the sight. Mimicked it. Neither of them actually smiled, but they both tried.
“Okay,” Julian relented. Cyril marveled at how he could look so young and so old simultaneously, how he could sound so small and carry such weight. “Thank you.”
Cyril hummed in acknowledgement and held his posture. It wasn’t bright enough to actually see much of Julian’s expression, which was probably why he wasn’t so incredibly guarded right now. He hadn’t even fumbled for his notebook again, just rested his arm tiredly over his open backpack.
“You’ve got a lot on your mind,” Cyril mused. Julian glanced up briefly and nodded, so Cyril asked, “Is there anything I can help with?”
Julian, to his credit, did not rush to answer. He sat in the silence, thought about what he wanted to say. Didn’t let some quick ‘No, thank you, I’m okay,’ bubble out. A moment passed before he asked, “Have you ever seen a starseed?”
Cyril tilted his head. “Yes, why?”
“I’ve seen a few,” Julian explained. “The Negaverse, they can pull them.” Cyril already knew this, Julian had spent quite a while on an earlier trip explaining the state of Earth and all the happenings there. “Except before, we were always able to get the starseed back to where it was supposed to go. But I found some…”
He hesitated, and then pulled a small bundle. Soft fabric was wrapped carefully around a small cluster of starseeds. Cyril frowned immediately, but Julian shyly presented them. “Just before we got attacked. They’re not like the other ones were. I don’t think they have anywhere to go.”
“Ah,” Cyril said, in quiet understanding. “That’s not quite true, though. All starseeds are meant to return to the Cauldron.”
“But they haven’t really done anything since I cleaned them up. I was even on Ephesus–the Moon–and nothing happened.”
“Maybe they’re scared,” Cyril suggested. He was not, despite his years, an expert. “Have you held them much?”
“No.” Julian frowned. “I was afraid I’d hurt them. Should I?”
“It can’t hurt. Let them stay out for a while. Let them see the sunrise, maybe that will wake them up.”
Julian didn’t quite understand, but he trusted Cyril–blindly. He held the starseeds cradled in his hands, lifted to his chest, and looked up as colors began to split across the sky.
The starseeds didn’t move, but they were not without life. A few twitched in Julian’s hands. He watched them and whispered, “Is it far? To the Cauldron?”
“Very far.”
“...Will they be able to make it?”
Cyril tilted his head again, watching Julian curiously. “They’re very resilient. Starseeds can last for thousands of years. Maybe longer. I never asked.”
“Oh,” Julian nodded, watching the starseeds carefully. “But have you ever seen them look so tired?” There was an apology in every question, like he was waiting for Cyril to snap at him for asking.
Cyril was very careful not to. “No. But don’t worry so much.” He watched Julian’s face and understood that he simply couldn’t help it. Even when Julian nodded, the worry stayed fixed in place. Cyril could not leave him to his uncertainties, so forced himself to continue, “We’ll keep an eye on them today. You can say a prayer to Cosmos.”
“...Will she listen?” Julian asked.
“She listens for all starseeds, she is their keeper.”
“How do you speak to her?”
“With your heart. It’s like wishing on a star.”
Julian brushed his thumb lightly across one of the dimly glowing starseeds. “...I don’t know.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m not really good at that sort of thing. Maybe someone else could.” His eyes lifted. “Could you?”
…Could he?
Cyril held Julian’s gaze–predictably, Julian found somewhere else to look after a few seconds–and pondered. He’d screamed into the void. Cursed Cosmos. Begged her, begged anyone, everyone.
She had never come. Was she forbidden to take his starseed? …Did she simply think it too repulsive for her Cauldron?
A frown settled on Cyril’s face. “No. It should be you. I’ll teach you the words. All you have to do is believe in them.”
Doubt clung to Julian, but he looked at the starseeds again and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.”
They sat in silence for a while, with Julian cradling the starseeds.
Cyril taught Julian an old call for Cosmos’ guidance and protection, and Julian repeated it once out loud, and eight times in his head.
Then, they made small-talk. Cyril asked about Earth, about Julian’s friends, about school. Julian answered, noncommittal at first, until he was reiterating the short stories he’d been reading for English class. Cyril shared some short stories of his own.
Julian held the starseeds to his chest the whole time, like maybe if they were near enough to his own, they’d remember that they had somewhere to be, too.
The morning sky was bright and colorful when the first of them sparked to life. It was like the sun shined into its facets and the light stayed there.
Like it woke up.
The others followed shortly afterwards.
Julian startled, in a way that seemed incredibly reserved. He did not hope for much, and he did not jump into action. He stayed still, patient. His fingers were spread beneath the fabric, creating a hammock for the starseeds.
The first hovered a few inches above his hands, and was nearly two feet in the air by the time the second joined it.
Julian watched in awe, Cyril in complacency. Maybe, he was a little smug. He liked being right.
“Is this okay?” Julian asked quickly, before any of them hovered out of reach.
“Yes.” A pause, and then, “Let them go home. They’ll be safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as anything.” It wasn’t like they’d know otherwise, anyway.
But Julian believed him without question, and watched the starseeds as they rose into the sky–and then shot far beyond his line of sight. He held the fabric carefully, like he thought the starseeds might fall from the sky and he would–somehow–catch them.
A minute passed, and finally, he breathed.
As he folded up the fabric and tucked it back into subspace, it was as if another weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Julian hunched further, and melted against the tree.
He looked tired. Relieved, but exhausted.
Cyril doubted that the condition of the starseeds was the only thing keeping Julian up at night, but he’d been reluctant to talk about the rest. Cyril had promised patience, so he didn’t revisit the topic.
He just took note of Julian’s condition. The circles under his eyes, the furrowed brows, the pale skin. He’d have wrinkles early with as often as he worried. Wrinkles from the fake smile, which was half-heartedly back in place.
Julian had the look of someone who was fighting off sleep, even now when the world had just woken up.
The forest had that effect on people, sometimes.
…But so did a lullaby, and a bedtime story.
“Where was I?” Cyril asked, ghostly fingers gliding over the surface of his lyre. It was a part of him, like his hands. The only kindness in death was that he was not parted from an instrument he loved.
“The Bard had gone into the forest,” Julian answered attentively, having been invested in Cyril’s most recent short story. “He just translated the scrolls and was on his way to the elder tree.”
“Oh, right. Get comfortable. I forgot how long this one was.”
Julian nodded obediently and wriggled back further. He folded his arm against the nearest root and pressed his cheek into it. Half curled, he adjusted his robes around him, and listened.
Cyril strummed his lute slowly. The song was wrong for the story, but Julian wouldn’t know the difference. He picked a lullaby, something soft and calming. Julian fought fatigue, so Cyril stretched out the story. Once, Julian moved, as if he were trying to stay awake, but he slowly sank back into position.
Finally, he nuzzled into the crook of his arm. His eyes were closed, and his breathing slowed.
Cyril kept playing. Peaceful. Gentle.
Satisfied.
