Chapter 145: I Need Help

"Help."

The word came out small. Not quiet; just small.

Theoran didn’t move.

I almost took it back. That would have been stupid, so naturally I considered it.

[Do not.]

I ignored the System. Theoran’s eyes stayed on me.

"With?"

I breathed out. "Finding a way."

"To SS."

"Without destroying my channels."

"In approximately four years."

"Yes."

He nodded. I waited. Nothing. That was somehow worse.

"That’s it?"

"What were you expecting?"

"I don’t know."

"A bell?"

"No."

"Applause?"

"Definitely not."

"Good. My shoulder has been poor all week."

I stared at him. Theoran smiled, and then the smile faded.

"Yes."

I frowned. "Yes what?"

"I will help."

That simple. I had expected more difficulty. Possibly a lecture. At minimum, a question I didn’t want to answer.

Theoran reached for the tea again, then seemed to think better of it and moved the cup away. It was the best decision he had made all afternoon.

"There are records downstairs," he said. "Old advancement records. Most are useless, because people write very carefully about success and become remarkably vague around permanent injuries."

"Useful."

"Some are. Selene will have better data on safe channel adaptation. Darius knows more about body reinforcement than he pretends to, though if you tell him I said so he will become unbearable." He paused. "The royal archives have military advancement records going back farther than ours. Your father may have access to things I do not."

I became still.

Theoran noticed. He didn’t comment.

"And then," he continued, "there is the Hermit."

"If he answers."

"If."

"That’s not a very good plan."

"No." He folded his hands. "It’s the beginning of one."

I looked at the desk. Books, paper, tea. Too many things. Somewhere beneath all of it, apparently, an answer might exist. Or part of one.

Theoran leaned back. "My wife used to accuse me of collecting beginnings."

I looked up. "Beginnings?"

"Plans. Books. Projects. Once, a greenhouse."

"What happened to the greenhouse?"

"I collected the beginning."

I waited. He sighed.

"She finished it."

That sounded about right.

"She said a beginning only becomes embarrassing when you keep calling it one for twenty years."

"Did you?"

"Seventeen."

I couldn’t tell whether that was worse.

Theoran smiled to himself, then looked at me again. "You came here wanting a complete answer."

"Yes."

"I don’t have one."

"I noticed."

"But you came."

I frowned. "I have to. Weekly report."

His eyes stayed on mine. That wasn’t what he meant, and we both knew it. I looked away first.

He tapped one finger on his cane. "You know, Valerian’s final report bothered me."

There it was. I already knew where this was going.

"He wrote a lot of reports."

"He did. Far too many. Seventeen pages a season for five years. Your healing progress. Your Barrier. Your physical training. Several detailed complaints about the way you sleep after lessons."

"He exaggerated."

"He included sketches."

I stared. Theoran’s mouth twitched.

"I am joking."

I hated him a little.

"One thing wasn’t funny," he said.

I knew.

"He wrote that you never asked him for anything for yourself."

I looked at the window. The academy grounds stretched out below: part of the courtyard, and the roofs of the residences beyond it.

Theoran’s voice stayed quiet. "Not once in five years."

"I asked for food."

"He excluded food."

"That seems unfair."

"He also excluded pillows."

"Then he manipulated the data."

"Perhaps."

Theoran waited. I knew he was giving me room to turn it into a joke. I almost did. Then I didn’t.

"I didn’t need anything."

Theoran nodded. "Maybe."

That was all. No correction, no speech. Just maybe. It irritated me more than an argument would have.

"I needed training."

"You had it."

"Medicine."

"You made most of it."

"Books."

"Valerian gave them to you."

Exactly. ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Theoran’s eyes softened slightly. "Everyone around you became very good at noticing what you needed before you asked."

I looked at him.

"That can become a habit too."

The room went quiet.

I thought about Valerian, and Izabella, and Mia, and my father, occasionally. Penelope. Sanctuary. The System. Even Daphne, apparently, once falling objects became involved. People kept putting things in front of me: training, food, lists, information, a hand when I was on the floor, an explanation when I was wrong.

I had never thought of asking as part of any of it. If I needed something, I learned how to do it. If I couldn’t, I waited until I could. If somebody else needed something, that was different. That was easier.

Theoran adjusted his grip on the cane. "So."

"What?"

"Ask again."

I stared at him. "I already did."

"I am old. Humor me."

"This feels unnecessary."

"Most useful things do when you’re fifteen."

"Sleep doesn’t."

"I walked into that one."

He waited.

I looked at the books again, and then at him. This was ridiculous. The System was silent, probably deliberately. Traitor.

The last time I had asked, it had been five words on a card, from the floor of a glass box, when there was nothing else left to do. That had been easy, in a way. There had been no other option.

There were plenty of other options now. I could make a joke. I could say it was nothing. I could get up, take the long way down all those stairs, and work it out alone for four more years, the way I had always worked things out.

I breathed out.

"I need help."

Theoran said nothing.

"Reaching SS."

Still nothing.

"Before..."

I stopped. He didn’t fill it. Good.

"Before I run out of time."

Theoran nodded once. "All right, lad."

That was it. No question about what happened when the time ran out. No demand for the exact date. No promise I wouldn’t have believed. Just all right.

Something in my shoulders loosened. I hadn’t noticed it was there, which was annoying.

[Finally.]

I almost closed my eyes. ’Do not start.’

[I have waited fifteen years.]

’You said twelve last time.’

[I continued waiting.]

’You could be supportive.’

[I am extremely supportive.]

I ignored it. Theoran was watching me again, and I hoped my face had not done anything.

"Problem?"

"No."

"Hm."

He did not believe me. That was becoming common.

He pushed himself to his feet, slowly, the cane taking his weight. I started to stand, and he waved me back down.

"No, stay. One of the privileges of age is forcing young people to watch you take too long."

"I didn’t know that was a privilege."

"You have much to learn."

He crossed to the nearest shelf, then the next, and stood there for several seconds.

"Did you forget what you’re looking for?"

"No." Another pause. "Possibly."

I leaned back. He moved three books, then four. A stack shifted, and I watched it carefully.

"If that falls, I’m not healing the books."

"I’d hope not. Paper responds poorly."

He pulled out a thick volume, looked at the cover, and put it back. Another, and back. The third stayed in his hand. He returned to the desk and dropped it in front of me. Dust rose, and I moved my face out of it.

"What is it?"

"Advancement records."

"Useful ones?"

"Probably not."

I looked at him. Theoran sat down again, with some effort.

"Start there."

The book was thick. Very thick. This was beginning to feel like punishment.

"How much?"

"All of it."

"I withdraw my request."

"No."

"Can I ask for different help?"

"You may."

"Someone else can read it."

"No."

I looked at the cover again. The System was suspiciously quiet.

’Don’t.’

[I said nothing.]

’You’re enjoying this.’

[Very much.]

Theoran tapped the book. "You’re looking for anomalies."

"What kind?"

"People who advanced faster than expected without obvious damage. Ignore anyone whose record says ’unusual circumstances’ without explaining the circumstances. That usually means either politics or embarrassment."

"How many records?"

"Enough."

I disliked that answer. Theoran seemed to notice. "Would you prefer a number?"

"No."

Good. At least I had learned something.

He leaned back. "I’ll speak with Selene."

I looked up. "About me?"

"About channel adaptation."

"Without telling her why?"

Theoran considered. "I will tell her a student asked a question."

"She’ll know."

"Almost certainly."

"Then why..."

"Because occasionally people enjoy pretending they have privacy."

That sounded like Zenith.

"What about the Hermit?"

"I will write."

"Will you tell him it’s me?"

Theoran thought longer about that. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he already seems interested in you, and I would rather not waste a week pretending otherwise."

Reasonable. Annoying. Mostly reasonable.

"And my father?"

"I’ll leave that to you."

I didn’t answer. Theoran did not ask why. He pulled another sheet toward himself, and our meeting was apparently ending.

I stood and picked up the book. It was heavier than it looked. Of course it was.

At the door, Theoran spoke again. "Alash."

I looked back. His expression had changed. Not serious, exactly; Theoran always looked a little serious. Older, maybe.

"You don’t have to tell me what happens in four years."

My hand tightened slightly around the book.

"But if whatever you’re preparing for begins to affect the academy, or those students, or you, in a way I need to know about, come to me before it becomes impossible to hide."

I nodded. He waited.

"That’s not a promise," I said.

"I know."

That surprised me.

Theoran looked toward the window. "Promises made because an old man cornered you in an office aren’t worth much. I’d rather you think about it."

I did. Not for long. Long enough.

"Fine."

He nodded. "Off you go, lad. My knee says rain, and I have paperwork to finish before it proves itself superior to Selene."

I opened the door. "Your tea is still bad."

"Some traditions deserve protection."

I left.

\*\*\*

It was raining by the time I reached the bottom floor.

I stopped under the entrance awning and looked out. Thin rain, nothing dramatic, just enough to make the stone dark. I looked back toward the stairs.

’His knee is annoying.’

[You are offended by a knee.]

’It was right.’

[So was Penelope.]

’This week has been difficult.’

The System made a sound. Not exactly a laugh. It had started doing that more often.

I tucked the advancement book under one arm and looked across the wet courtyard at the five residences. Concord on the north side, Vanguard across from it, Brightvale to the east, Greywall near the gardens, and Sanctuary at the far end. Lights were already coming on behind the windows, with people moving inside.

Five classes. Five leaders. Four other vessels who still didn’t know what they were. Two bonds left. A long way to SS, and a little over four years to get there.

None of those things had improved since Monday. The problem was still there.

The difference was that I wasn’t the only person looking for an answer anymore.

That felt strange. Not bad. Just strange.

I stepped into the rain.

[You asked for help.]

’I noticed.’

[Voluntarily.]

’Don’t make it sound serious.’

[It was.]

I walked across the courtyard. The book under my arm was getting wet, so I moved it beneath my jacket.

’If you keep talking about it, I’m taking it back.’

[Your request?]

’Yes.’

[You cannot unask.]

I frowned. ’That’s not a rule.’

[It is now.]

’You don’t make those.’

[I have been inspired.]

I regretted bringing its personality back. Probably.

Sanctuary’s door opened before I reached it. Cedric stood there.

"You’re late."

I looked behind me at the Administrative Wing, then at him. "For what?"

"Training."

"I wasn’t going."

"You said maybe."

"Maybe isn’t yes."

"You always say maybe."

"Exactly."

He stared at the shape under my jacket. "What is that?"

"Work."

His expression brightened, which was concerning. "For training?"

"No."

"Combat?"

"No."

"Barrier?"

"No."

He lost interest. Good. Cedric stepped aside.

Warm air came through the doorway. Someone was arguing in the common room, Roland probably, and Lena was saying something about inventory. Penelope sat at the long table with papers around her. She looked up when I came in. Her eyes went to the book, and then to me.

"You went."

"I said I would."

"You said you’d remember."

"Same result."

Penelope looked at the wet shoulders of my uniform. "Did you bring an umbrella?"

I looked back outside at the rain, and then at her. "No."

She closed her eyes for a second. Not long. Just enough.

I went upstairs before she could give me another piece of paper.

Dream Haven was exactly where I had left it. I put the book on the desk, then moved it farther from the edge, because dropping several hundred pages on my foot would be an embarrassing way to end the day.

I sat on the bed. Then I lay down.

Better. Much better.

The ceiling had not changed. Good ceiling. Reliable.

I thought about D-Black, and SS, and the Hermit, and Selene, and old records, and my father. Theoran’s bad tea. Penelope’s hundred points. Daphne’s pebble. Sanctuary solving crates without me.

It was a lot. Too much, probably.

I closed my eyes.

[Are you going to read the book?]

’Eventually.’

A pause.

[Alash.]

’Tomorrow.’

[You have said that before.]

’And sometimes tomorrow arrives.’

The System went quiet. I smiled.

Then I opened one eye and looked at the book again.

A beginning. That was what Theoran had called it. Not an answer. Not even a particularly good plan yet. Just somewhere to start.

For most of my life, if there was something I couldn’t do, I had assumed the solution was to learn enough that I could. That part had not changed. I still needed to learn. I still needed to become stronger. I still had a countdown nobody else could see.

But maybe I didn’t have to find every answer alone.

I reached for Dream Haven and pulled it under my head. The rain tapped lightly against the window. Downstairs, Sanctuary kept making noise without me.

That was good.

The book stayed on the desk. That was tomorrow’s problem.

For once, tomorrow had help.

I closed my eyes, and went to sleep.

# END OF VOLUME 2