SUMMER 1978

At first, Fiddleford thought that Bill Cipher must be a figment of his imagination.

The yellow triangle appeared in his dreams. Fiddleford thought nothing of it, but when a yellow triangle — occasionally with a top hat and a bowtie, of all things — kept showing up in his dream journal, he started to take notice. Fidds faithfully chronicled all his dreams, as he had since his childhood, and he wondered why his subconscious mind would be fixated on such a symbol.

He didn't tell Ford about it. After all, why should he waste precious time expounding his dreams to the debonair Stanford Pines, busy as he was? They had creatures to find, theories to develop!

. . . Ford would probably laugh at Fidds for keeping a dream journal, too.

For days — possibly weeks; Fidds could not remember all his dreams in perfect detail — the triangle appeared, sometimes as nothing but a fuzzy shape, other times in full clarity. The dreams were about all sorts of things: interactions with Ford in the forest, interactions with pesky locals in the town of Gravity Rises, interactions with Lilith back in Tennessee. But it didn't matter what the dream was about — the triangle was consistently there.

Then an eye appeared, right in the center of the triangle.

Fidds puzzled over this image in his mind's eye for some time. It looked familiar. . . and a bit disturbing. . . but where had he seen it before? Ford probably knew, but he didn't dare ask him; he was afraid of getting further questions. Instead, he spent a day in the library, and eventually came up with the Eye of Providence, which he recognized from the back of the dollar bill — the symbol of the Illuminati, apparently, and frequently tied to conspiracies. Why would he pull that image into his dreams, though?

Eventually, he decided it must be an abstract representation of his interactions with such things. After all, he was coming up against conspiracies every other week. Like the locals' staunch refusal to believe in the supernatural, even though it was right at their doorstep.

But then. . . then the dream triangle spoke.

That evening, Fidds crawled into bed after a long day of researching — and consequently evading — the naiads. One could only take so much of Ford's insistence on getting close to the water, only to nearly get drowned by the playful-but-deadly creatures. Fidds could hardly focus on what they were learning about the naiads when he spent so much time fretting over Ford's safety.

He'd spent some time meditating before bed, using the methods Lilith taught him and trying to calm himself down, but it didn't last long. He just needed sleep. So, finally, he gave up and got into bed.

Needless to say, he fell asleep quickly. And hours later, he had a dream that would permanently alter the course of his life.

He was back in college, getting bullied by some faceless jock. Ford — his usual protector in these situations — was nowhere to be found. But Lilith was there. She swooped in and shoved the jock away from Fidds, yelling something nonsensical. Fidds tried to ask her what she was doing at his college, why she left her lair, but the soothsayer didn't answer. Instead, she turned to him, regarding him with hooded eyes. The bracelets on her wrists jangled as she raised her arms and intoned, "Prepare, for he comes."

Then she disappeared in a burst of blue smoke.

Fidds stood alone in the hall. The bully had long since disappeared, and Fidds gave him no thought as he wondered about what had just happened. He had much more pressing things to worry about. What was Lilith doing here, and why had she disappeared? What had her mysterious message meant? Who was 'he'? Stanford, perhaps?

He turned to go somewhere else. Where, he did not know, but moving felt right. Perhaps he would find Lilith.

As he walked, his surroundings changed from a lecture hall to his hometown. He walked the streets, instinctively headed for Lilith's lair. Surely she'd be there. He would ask her to explain her message, though he doubted he'd get a straight answer. The mysteries of the cosmos were not for her to reveal outright, she always told him. They were for him to discover through her guiding words.

Lilith's shack came into view, and Fidds' heart lifted. There it was, his home away from home. He quickened his steps —

— Then stopped as a yellow triangle appeared, superimposed onto the cloth entrance to the lair.

The triangle, fuzzy at first, faded into view. Brick patterns. A bowtie. A top hat. An eye.

The Eye of Providence. Symbol of the Illuminati.

Fidds stood, frozen. What was the Illuminati doing here? Was its presence at Lilith's lair a good or a bad omen?

"Don't worry about your mentor," the Eye of Providence said. "You haven't seen her for years, remember? This is actually a dream."

"A dream?" Fidds repeated. That would certainly explain why a geometric shape just spoke to him.

"Yes. Remember? You're conked out after a hard day at work with Stanford Pines. None of this" — thin black arms appeared to either side of the triangle and gestured at the surrounding area — "is real. Except me."

Fidds stared. Not real. . . hard day at work with Stanford? His memory slowly returned as he recalled the naiads. Yes. That's right. He was dreaming. The Illuminati, after all, was something he only saw in his dreams.

Still, he hadn't expected it to talk.

He wondered what to say to a talking triangle. Finally, he settled on a simple, "Who are you?"

"The name's Bill Cipher. Separate from the Illuminati, though I may have inspired it." As it spoke, the triangle floated away from Lilith's lair, becoming smaller and more defined. Eventually, it — he? — floated close to Fidds, becoming a solid triangle with stick-like arms and legs. "And your name is Fiddleford McGucket."

Fidds blinked. "Well, yes, but — if I'm dreaming, then you're a projection of my subconscious. So of course you'd know my name."

The triangle bent back and forth in a gesture oddly reminiscent of shaking one's head. "Nope. I'm my own being. A supernatural creature, if you would. My only form of communication with anyone, though, is through their dreams."

This made sense, though there wasn't really any way to test it. But Fidds was sure he'd never heard the name "Bill Cipher" in his life, so maybe this creature was telling the truth.

That left another important question, though. "Why me? Why my dreams?"

"Because." Bill's arm extended until it was long enough to rest on Fidds' shoulders. "I've been watching you, and I see someone I can go to for help."

Fidds mulled this over. Then shook his head. "You must be thinking of Stanford. My research partner. He's the one who's actually useful."

"No," Bill said. "I'm thinking of you. You're certainly useful. Or have you forgotten what Lilith Crypt told you?"

Fidds glanced warily at the triangle. "How do you know about Lilith?"

"She told you that you were meant for great things. That your fate would surely coincide with the motions of the ether."

He was right. She used to say that. Those exact words. How. . . ?

His mind alighted on an explanation, and his hopes swelled.

"She meant you? You're my destiny?"

"Why do you think I'd appear by her lair?"

Fidds felt a smile stretch across his face. "Did you know her?"

"Unfortunately, no. I'm sure we would've gotten along wonderfully, though. She did much to prepare you to meet me. To fulfill those great things."

Fidds could feel his palms start to sweat, despite this being a dream. He was just that excited. "What great things? You said you needed help?"

"Yes. Your talent with mechanics is exactly what I need. Can I trust you?"

"Trust me with what?"

"Secrets."

"What kind of secrets?"

"The mysteries of the universe. Mysteries you have to protect from people who wouldn't understand them."

Fidds immediately thought of the idiot townsfolk of Gravity Rises. No problems there — he didn't tell them anything anyway.

"Yes, them. But also Stanford Pines."

Fidds started. "Ford? Why would I keep secrets from Ford?"

"Same reason you haven't told him about your dream journal. Or your past with Lilith Crypt. He wouldn't understand. For now, this is something between you and me. We'll tell Stanford eventually, but he'd deal more harm than help right now."

Fidds nodded slowly. Of course, Ford wouldn't understand. He'd probably make fun of Fidds for reading too much into his dreams. And perhaps Fidds was doing just that — but no, Lilith had taught him how to discern power, and Fidds could definitely feel power coming from this strange triangular being. Fidds had a level of understanding that Ford, for all his genius, didn't have. The thought made Fidds feel good about himself.

"Yes, Fiddleford. I didn't go to Stanford. I came to you. You are the one I need."

Pride swelled in Fidds' chest, and he looked into Bill's eye. The wide eye penetrated Fidds to the center, but Fidds found himself strangely comfortable with that. This being saw him. This being knew him. Lilith had been the only one to really understand Fidds, and she was gone. But now this supernatural being, this Bill Cipher, had appeared to him. And Fidds was once again understood.

Bill removed his arm from Fidds' shoulder and floated back. "I have to go soon," he said. "My visits are limited to your REM sleep. But I'll be back."

"When?" The word tumbled from his lips as he regarded Bill with a mixture of alarm and longing.

"Every night that you can remember me. I suggest writing this dream down as soon as you wake." He regarded Fidds with a half-lidded gaze, something like a smile. "But you already do that."

Fidds nodded. He was already planning to record this dream, even before Bill mentioned it.

"Pleasure to finally meet you, Fiddleford. I'm excited to speak to you further."

The dream faded.

His eyes opened; the day's new sunlight filtered in through the window. It took Fidds a moment to remember — remember the dream, remember Bill, remember his destiny — but once he did, he sat bolt upright, his hands fumbling for his dream journal. He kept it by his bedside, primed for him to write on its pages.

And write he did.

He couldn't remember much of what happened before and after Bill's visit, but he remembered Bill himself in near-perfect clarity. It was amazing! Never in his most vivid lucid dreams did Fidds experience this level of recall. If this was what every dream with Bill was like, then Fidds couldn't wait for the next one!

Fidds wrote feverishly, but it still took him quite some time to get all the details down. He was just writing Bill's words about the mysteries of the universe when a knock sounded on the door.

"Hey Fidds, you awake?"

Fidds started so badly that he hit his head against the wall. He adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew, and looked wildly to the clock — fifteen minutes after he was supposed to meet Ford downstairs. And he wasn't even out of bed yet!

He quickly shoved his dream journal under his covers, in case Ford came into the room. "Scrabdoodle! Yes, I'm awake! Sorry! Give me, um. . . twenty minutes! I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," Ford called through the door. "See you then."

Fidds waited until the footsteps faded before pulling his dream journal out from under the covers. He hurried to write down the rest of the dream, jumped out of bed, and rushed to get ready. He was just pulling on his tweed jacket when Ford knocked on the door again. "Just a minute!" Fidds called. He glanced to the clock again, surprised to find that another half hour had passed since Ford first came to check on him. Cursing himself for his terrible sense of time, Fidds pulled the door open.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I lost track of time, I'm sorry—"

Ford waved away his apologies with a grin. "You had some interesting dreams last night, I presume?"

Everything stopped. It took Fidds a full second to process what Ford had said. Then his eyes widened in horror. Ford — Ford knew? Did he know about Bill? Did he know about Fidds' destiny?

Ford laughed at the expression of sheer terror on Fidds' face. "I take it from that look that you do keep a dream journal, then? I figured. I start my day by writing in mine as well."

Fidds stared at Ford for a minute before stammering, "Y-you mean — you keep a dream journal t-too?"

"Of course I do! Practically every scientist is right now!" Ford glanced at Fidds with eyes full of mirth. "So, what was so interesting in your dreams that you were almost an hour late this morning?"

The two men started down the stairs, descending from Fidds' attic room atop Ford's new laboratory. Fidds couldn't believe his awful luck. It was only a few hours after Bill told him to keep their visits a secret from Ford, and the scientist asked about them? What was Fidds going to say? He hated lying, but if he was going to keep Bill's trust. . .

"Um," he said. "I d-dreamt that we w-won a N-Nobel Prize for our r-research."

Ford laughed and clapped a hand on Fidds' shoulder, making the engineer jump again. "I love dreams like that. Can't wait to make them a reality, yes?"

Fidds laughed nervously. "E-exactly." While his head felt light from relief that the lie had worked, his stomach churned with guilt.

Man up, Fiddleford, he told himself. If you want to fulfill your destiny, you're probably going to have to do hard things like this. It'll be worth it to help Bill.

Ford started talking about something, but Fidds wasn't sure what. His mind was off daydreaming about all the amazing things Bill could do. All the amazing things Fidds would do as part of his destiny.

Fidds did his best to pay attention and to help Ford with the work. But his memories of Bill never fully left his mind. As he discussed naiad habitats with Ford, he wondered how Bill represented the motions of the ether. As he sketched blueprints for a trap to capture the gnomes, he fantasized about what Bill's mysteries of the universe could be. Through it all, a small smile never left Fidds' lips.

If only Lilith could see him now.