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The dream scatters like fog in the sunlight, and Sheridan wakes up to find that only a few minutes have passed.
A current of time sweeps over them.
Sheridan is in their high school lunchroom / auditorium, which is also the Trinity College Old Library. Wulfric is floating ten feet above the ground, his long white hair swirling in a cloud around his head. Behind him, a row of golden organ pipes spiral into the night’s sky, and at the edge of them hearing Sheridan can make out an ominous fugue playing in the background. The books in the library burn with a fire that does not consume them, creating a swirling background of red and orange behind Wulfric’s long, flowing skirts.
“Thank you for coming, Sheridan.” Wulfric’s voice booms out, harmonizing strangely with the pipe organ. “As you can see, I have…”
A current of time sweeps over them.
“I have to warn you that it will take time to study.” Sheridan glowers. “Believe me, I know. It’s not the kind of thing you can pick up in a few hours.”
“Well, according to many promising theories, time should not be too difficult for me to come by, these days.”
Sheridan begins to sing, and then to Sing, leading Wulfric through the complicated melodies of the Song of Ethereal Creation.
A current of time sweeps over them.
“Thank you for coming, Sheridan.” Wulfric seems rattled, his typically calm demeanor looking a little shaken. He sits down in an old, rickety chair. “I know how… difficult travel can be these days. In sealing off the War in Heaven and the Mystery of the Name of the God, I had thought to end our troubles. But it appears that an entirely new set of troubles has begun.”
Wulfric’s head is, briefly, a dog’s head.
“I was not close with Anjeli and had no idea that their heart contained such a potent well of chronological power. Nor did I know how volatile it had become! Clearly, it required much more study than the Crescat gave it. But I’m afraid that the time-cracks throughout Chicago are the lesser...”
A current of time sweeps over them.
“... the defeat of the Demon Lords…”
A current of time sweeps over them.
“As you can see, I have mastered the powers of Ethereal Creation!” A gout of fire explodes behind him and the pipe organ plays a minor chord.
Sheridan would never admit it aloud, but they are impressed. Not with Wulric’s aesthetic, of course—the current environment is a dazzling collection of the most trite “I am a god in this realm!” tropes from a hundred crappy fantasy movies. Levitation, flowing white hair, and the idiot even has a pipe organ, of all things. Astonishingly, Wulfric found a way to become tackier.
However, in their own mind, Sheridan admits that his control is impressive. “Not bad,” they allow, making it clear from their tone that the pipe organ is a bridge too far. “You seem to have a knack…”
A current of time sweeps over them.
Wulfric’s head is, briefly, a dog’s head.
A current of time sweeps over them.
“Hmmm,” Wulfric mutters, twisting his long white hair in uncertainty, “It might be… this might be a more stable locus. If I’m right, we should have a chronologically sustained period in which to…”
A current of time sweeps over them.
“I’m afraid that the time-cracks throughout Chicago are the lesser problem.” Wulfric stands, pushing the old chair to one side. “A far greater problem is that, in sealing the Celestial Realm off, we have also sealed a number of Demonic Princes in.”
“Yes, Wulfric, obviously. I was there, too, remember? I saw Lucifer snapping bones left and right. What do you want me to do about it?”
Wulfric pauses. “It is a substantial request, but according to my current theories, the optimal method of combating Lucifer and the other ex-Angelic entities would be via the Ethereal Plane. You have displayed control over all three manifestations of the Song of Creation, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could share with me the knowledge of the Ethereal Song.”
“I can do my best, but I have to warn you…”
A current of time sweeps over them.
“You seem to have a knack for Creation theme. It’s been, what, a few hours since you learned the Song? And you’ve already mastered… uh… creating gaudy pipe organs and what not.”
Wulfric’s response booms out in what, to Sheridan’s ears, is an unfortunately melodramatic laugh. “A few hours, yes. But in that time I have spent over a hundred years in study!”
Sheridan doubts this. Wulfric is hardly a 140-year-old man, for one thing. Judging from hair growth, they'd guess five or six years have passed, maximum. Still, that would give him plenty of time to practice the Song, they suppose.
A current of time sweeps over them.
“If I’m right, we should have a chronologically sustained period in which to talk.”
Sheridan notices that they are in their mother’s house, although it is an old growth forest. She’s fairly certain that their mother did not live in a forest, but it feels right. In the distance, a circus tent crouches menacingly under a deep yellow moon.
Wulfric continues, “If I am right about this. Well, things are a little hard to predict theme. This is the intersection between the Ethereal Realm and one of the chronobreaches near the Harold Washington Library. The Tether of Knowledge is right there, and there is a small overlap with the breach. I have been trying to learn how to predict them, but it has been quite difficult. According to my best guess, if you take your leave soon then you should be able to exit the chronobreach mere moments after you entered it. Of course, I could be entirely incorrect—if I’ve learned anything it is that nothing can be reliably predicted, and certainly not in this place.
“At any rate, thank you again for your help. I have no idea if it will allow the defeat of the Demon Lords, but I certainly feel more prepared with this knowledge. I hope to see you again soon!”
The dream scatters like fog in the sunlight, and Sheridan wakes up to find that only a few minutes have passed.