Later, as the hearth came alive and laughter and conversation returned to the home, Hildebrand found herself alone on the porch outside. She told them she wanted some fresh air, which was true enough. The warmth inside was suffocating.

The cold night was refreshing. Even when she looked up at the stars, she couldn’t see their light. That had always been the case. To be spurned by the heavens that expected so much from her.

She could feel the darkness wrap her in its bone-chilling embrace. It showed her nothing, but its vast void gave space for a dream just as ambitious. It was unloving but ever patient. It was unforgiving but cared not for her sins. It expected nothing but gave something in return. Its painful, biting and bitter cold gave her penance. Penance in which she could find comfort. The black of the void was her oldest memory, like the face of a parent whose bosom she wished to nestle in.

She sat on the wooden bench behind her and curled up. As sleep came for her, she felt warmth cover her. It was soft, and a little itchy too, like the touch of a woolen blanket. Hildebrand gripped onto the blanket and opened her eyes.

“Sorry,” Rinaldo said. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Hildebrand said. “I was just resting my eyes.” She smiled. “I think I’d probably die if I slept out here.”

“You’d be surprised,” Rinaldo said. “There are Northmen who sleep just fine in the snow!”

“I guess it is comfortable,” Hildebrand said. “But I’m no Northman, or a Northwoman.” She added, “I’m not from the north,” to which Rinaldo nodded. “I wouldn’t want to leave a body on your porch.”

She sat up, and Rinaldo fixed the blanket around her. “Then you should keep warm,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t stay out here too long,” Rinaldo said. She expected him to warn her about the cold. “It’s not good to be alone,” he said. She hadn’t expected the wise words of the lonesome man she once knew.

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“I haven’t forgotten,” Hildebrand said.

“Good,” he said. “Then I won’t have to remind you.” After a lingering pause, he added. “And we have cocoa,” he added. “It’s quite delicious.”

Her eyes lingered on the Old Man, on his steadfast eyes and strong shoulders. Her hands rose up, seeking the reliability of a broad back. But she pulled them back. And she clenched them, confirming the absence of a dagger in their clutches. She feared that if she held him in his arms, she might plunge a dagger into his back once again.

He said nothing, but offered a steady hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s go in,” Hildebrand said, rising.

When she stepped inside, Hugo was going through his coat pockets. The long coat was just as worn as he was, maybe more. It had soaked up more than its fair share of blood, and where he had once strapped armor to it, the tough fabric had frayed. Its fringes were frayed and threatened to unravel at any second, the same as they had done for the past few years. The stitched seams and patchwork scars told a story of its long and faithful service to Hugo.

Underneath the fleece on its collar, there was a hidden scar that matched the scar on Hugo’s neck. Hildebrand was the only one in both worlds that knew its secret, because she was the one who stitched its deadly wound, the same way she mended Hugo’s neck. There was a little red spot underneath the fleece, a bloodstain. It wasn’t Hugo’s blood, but Hildebrand’s, from a mere pinprick.

“It’s a miracle that rag’s held up so long,” Hildebrand.

Hugo gave a wry chuckle. “Finally done brooding?” he asked.

A glint caught Hildebrand’s eye. “Yeah…” she said. “What’s that?” She pointed to the collar of his coat.

He unfolded the bent collar and revealed the brooch. It was a ∀ encircled by an omega.

“That’s…”

Hugo nodded knowingly. It was Rinaldo’s brooch, the one gifted to him by the emperor of the Apollyan Empire after the fighting ended against the monsters of the World’s End. The clever emperor gave it a clever meaning. It meant the end of all things. It signified the unparalleled might of the Empyrean, Rinaldo Renzi, which could bring an end to all things. And it meant that even god-like men would meet their end.

Rinaldo had been wearing it when he died. When Hildebrand murdered him. It had been stained with blood when she touched it, marked just like Hugo’s coat, proof of her deeds that only she was privy to. She could still see the dry blood nestled in the corners. She closed her eyes to the sight of it. She was the only one who knew, the only one who had seen.

“What’s wrong?” Rinaldo asked, bringing over a cup of cocoa.

Hildebrand looked over at the Old Man and saw his bloody, pained, smiling face. It was just as incomprehensible to her now as it had been back then. Hildebrand blinked the ghost away and put on the Saintess Smile.

“Nothing,” she said.