Saying goodbye was painful, so Hildebrand made it quick. Hugo, however, lingered in the doorway. He wanted to talk about everything as if he would never get another chance. The morning came and nearly went. And in the end, it ended with hugs. He held Rinaldo like a young boy held onto his father. He held Rinaldo like a young man setting off to war held his father, knowing he would never return home. It was a scene Hildebrand had seen too many times not to recognize.
Finally, he said the word, “Goodbye,” drifting like a leaf caught in a whirlwind towards Hildebrand.
“Are you okay?” Hildebrand asked.
He was weepy-eyed. For someone who could be callous and harsh when he needed to, he was so sensitive to the small things. He wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve.
“You’ll see them again,” Hildebrand assured him. Hugo’s quiet sadness made Hildebrand all the more nervous. She didn’t know what to do to help him. She only knew how to mend an open wound, not mysterious heartache.
“What about you?” he asked. “How are you okay?”
Hildebrand had no answer to that. Her solution was simply to wave and quickly turn her back, but even that didn’t come easily. She felt the temptation to turn back. She clutched the pouch of sea salt milk candy that Gisella and Aurelia had given her. It felt like an anchor tethering her to the Renzis’ home.
“Come on,” Hildebrand said. “Don’t be a crybaby. You’ll see them again…” She took hold of Hugo and walked. She walked away even when she heard Rinaldo’s voice saying “Goodbye” one last time. She walked like she would collapse onto her knees if she didn’t have one foot in front of the other, to catch herself mid-fall.
When they were finally a distance away, Hildebrand finally turned back to look at the distant family, who looked like specks. She emptied the pouch of candy into the ground by a tree, cutting the line that tied her down. She gritted her teeth and gulped down her regret, and continued leading Hugo away. She continued until they were able to turn around a corner and vanish.
It was there that Hugo’s steps slowed to a shamble and his strength left him. He fell to his knees with the same heaviness as his falling tears. He collapsed with a heavy thud, as though life itself had left him. Hildebrand held her arms out to him, but her hands recoiled, and her fingers clenched. Her hands held nothing at all. Hugo let out quiet and anguished moans as he pressed his face to the sand, and then he wailed. He wailed like a baby. He wailed like a dying man.
“What’s wrong!” Hildebrand asked. “What is it? Hugo?”
She longed to place comforting hands on his back, to heal him. But she feared her own hands. She asked herself What do I do? but never found an answer. She could only wait with her hands outstretched, yet unable to hold him.
Even as Hugo crawled to his hands, as if he was begging her, she could only watch. “Why are you doing this to me?” he croaked out. He clutched onto Hildebrand’s robes like he was clinging onto his tormenter.
She didn’t know what he meant, and she didn’t know what she could do for him. Hildebrand didn’t even know Hugo could hurt so horrendously. Even when mighty foes wounded him, he trudged through with a stoic grit, tough as stone, tough as that coat he wore. When he survived those battles, Hildebrand had always placed her hands on him and healed his mortal wounds, but now she didn’t even dare to place her trembling treacherous hands on the man she wounded so deeply. She just waited.
They sat together in the quiet shade of foliage, hidden away from the world and even the eyes of the gods, if they even existed. Hildebrand curled up, holding her knees, too filled with shame to even look upon Hugo. The silence evoked memories of too many words that had gone unspoken, of too many quiet moments she shared with Hugo without saying how she felt.
She broke the curse of silence. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Hugo offered a hand, simply to hold. Hildebrand took it, hanging her fingers off of his rough palm. She couldn’t bring herself to accept everything he offered. She never could.
“I’m sorry,” Hugo said, quietly. “I don’t know what came over me. I showed you something embarrassing. Crying all by myself like that… That wasn’t very manly, haha.”
“That’s not—”
“Didn’t you say we were going to see Anya next?” Hugo said. He combed through his hair with his sandy fingers, revealing eyes that still glistened with sadness. “Or do you have someone you want to see?”
Hildebrand rubbed her fingers against her robes. Two people came to mind. And then a third.
“No,” she said. “There’s no one else. I’m just glad I got to see the Old Man.”
“Then let’s go,” he said.
He was right. The quicker she could leave him alone, the sooner he could accept the perfect world, the quicker he would heal. The quicker his eyes would dry. That was what Hildebrand thought. But her hands didn’t agree. They gently wrapped around Hugo’s head, their fingers running through his messy auburn hair. Hildebrand pulled, and he followed, resting his head on Hildebrand’s lap. She held him gently, as if she had always known how. It was a nostalgic feeling. The feeling of something she’d never done before, like a long-lost memory that didn’t belong to her. Something long forgotten by the world itself. But the way Hugo closed his teary eyes—the comfortable way he settled in and rested his hands like a boy—told Hildebrand that it was a feeling he remembered.
Only when the sun was high in the sky, spying on them like the prying eyes of the gods, did they escape to their next destination.
***
They arrived with the cracking of thin ice and the crunch of feet on snow. They had landed in a growing but still quaint town, nestled in between slopes covered in sheets of white and guarded by white peaks in the distance. It was a good place to disappear to, and a good place to settle in to.
Sheets of packed white powder covered the sloping rooftops and the pines that hid the town away. But underneath those weathered roofs were the chatterings of a lively community and the warm aromas of freshly baked goods and hot drinks. Behind the dusted windows were people and mannequins clad alike in colorful coats and sweaters, moving like busy bees, or not at all.
“Anya’s hometown,” Hugo observed. It was in the far north, on the border of the kingdom of Rothenboden. Or maybe it was the territory of the Northmen. Both were equally cold, and the people were of the same blood.
So what difference did it make? thought Hildebrand. It made enough of a difference that Rothenboden had more than one tense conflict with their Brenngard neighbors. Hildebrand had seen the posters and the horrible things they said and the atrocities they called for. It was her first time seeing Anya’s hometown, and she hoped it had always been so quiet and peaceful. The loudest thing to be heard was her own shivering and huffing.
The cold night was one thing, the freezing white north was another. Even under the clear, unobstructed sun, Hildebrand felt like her arms were going to freeze right off of her shoulders. She already couldn’t feel her feet. They were deep in the snow. She didn’t dare complain to the man who hurt more than mere cold. Just one thought came to her mind, and Hugo read it perfectly.
“It’s way too damn cold,” he said.
For once, he was completely, utterly correct, and unbiased. It wasn’t negativity; it was simply a fact. And he looked to Hildebrand for confirmation.
“Y-yeah,” Hildebrand stammered out between shivers and huffs so cold she could see her own breath. “I’m freezing!”
Before she could even conjure up some warmer clothes, the familiar fleece of Hugo’s coat surrounded her, as well as his scent. It was both acrid and piquant. Strong hands whisked her out of her the snow and into a warm embrace.
“Are you crazy?” Hildebrand asked. “Yuna’s going to kill you.”
He simply smiled. And then chuckled. More admonishments lingered on her tongue, but she swallowed them.
“Thank you,” she said.
Hildebrand squeaked as Hugo pulled her in closer. The ending of her favorite book came to mind—when the Hero whisked the princess away. Hildebrand pulled the coat close around her and nestled into it like a blanket, one that would keep her safe from untoward feelings.
“Just take me to an outfitter,” Hildebrand muttered, trying to hide her blushing red cheeks. They felt like they were on fire. It’s just because of the cold, she told herself.
She pulled the coat collars over her face. She felt Rinaldo’s brooch, and then a curious pin on the other collar. She felt it first, and then looked down at the crossed circle, a simple and crude version of the Sword in the Sun, a symbol of Emperor Apolly’s dedication to the goddess, Altamea.
“What’s this?” Hildebrand asked. “I didn’t know you were religious.”
“I’m—” He thought about his words as he marched through the town. “I am,” he said. “I believe in Altamea.”
“That’s quite the secret,” Hildebrand said with a smirk.
“Not really,” he said. “Most people are Tenebrists.” That was true in the west. Most were followers of the goddess Altamea.
“Only with their tongues,” Hildebrand said. They said grace before a meal and bed and attended church service to be with their communities. Not many openly preached their faith, increasingly so as people lost faith.
“I guess that’s true,” Hugo said.
“I thought you were a heathen,” Hildebrand admitted. It was ironic that the Hero, Hugo, had never been caught professing his faith despite being called a servant of the gods. It never mattered much to Hildebrand.
“A heathen? No, that’s crazy,” he said. “But that’s not why I wear that.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, really,” he said. “It was a gift.”
“From who?” Hildebrand asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
“From you.”
Hildebrand chuckled. “Hah, very funny,” she said. She rolled her eyes at his little prank. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said.
Hildebrand froze. Or maybe it was the chill that was still creeping up her legs.
“Did I really give this to you?” she asked.
Hugo nodded.
The thought, the possibility, that she had crossed paths with Hugo once in her past crossed Hildebrand’s mind. But I would’ve remembered him, she thought. What was he talking about? She couldn’t figure it out, no matter how many memories she combed through.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Mind your head,” Hugo warned.
“Agh!” Hildebrand took a glancing blow to her ear from the wooden door frame.
“Sorry,” Hugo said.
“You better be!” she yelled in a hushed voice. She practically jumped out of Hugo’s arms, before he could even let her down. She rubbed her ear and let out a huff.
“I did warn you,” Hugo said.
“You said it after you bumped my head,” Hildebrand quietly argued. Then she put her hands up and waved it all away. “Ugh, never mind. Never mind. It’s okay. I was already going deaf thanks to your shouting anyway.”
“That’s only because your hearing is scary good,” Hugo said.
“It’s because you’re too loud,” she said, touching her ear. “This thing is just for show at this point.”
Hugo chuckled and gingerly held Hildebrand’s ear between his rough fingers. “It’s quite the show.”
Hildebrand slapped his hand away in a hurry, her mouth agape with shock and a little horror. She scampered away, unsure of what to even say. She escaped into the aisles of coats and apparel, and some indistinct time later she emerged layered with a fresh coat, scarf, boots, and warm mitts, among other things.
“I’m ready,” she announced, trudging out in the rotund winter armor. She found Hugo looking through coats. “What are you doing?”
“I was wondering if I should get a new coat,” he answered.
Hildebrand trudged faster; she waddled forward. “What?” she said, gripping onto Hugo’s coat. “But this one is perfect.”
“It’s a rag, like you said,” he replied.
“I was joking,” she said. She held tighter onto the scarred coat of patchwork and amateur stitching. “It’s fine,” she said, pulling so tight her work began to unravel and come apart the seams. She went quiet as her grip loosened. “I can fix it again,” she said.
Ryu and his damned cup surfaced to the top of her mind. That ugly cup had been lingering deep in the back of her mind. She gulped down the realization she had started to understand the prince a little better.
“No,” she said, hanging her head. “Never mind.”
A hesitant hand hovered around her shoulder. It trembled and coiled back, but when it finally held her, it held her firm and tender. “I’ll hold onto it,” Hugo said.
“You don’t have to,” Hildebrand said. She waved her hand dismissively. “What do I care?”
Hugo’s answer was to secure his coat tight. He plopped a thick trapper’s hat onto her head and patted it securely into place. The long ear flaps flopped down against her long hair and covered her ears in soft fleece.
“Here,” Hugo said. “To protect those big ears of yours.”
“You!” Hildebrand punched Hugo in the side.
He recoiled and shrunk in pain. “Agh! Oh! Ough!” He held his side like it was a deadly wound, bleeding him dry of life.
“I didn’t hit you that hard,” Hildebrand said. “Did I?” She fretted over him, trying to push away his hands that tried to push her away. “Let me have a look,” she said.
“It’s fine. I think you only broke two ribs, no big deal,” Hugo moaned.
“Are you being serious right now?” Hildebrand asked with fright.
Hugo just laughed until he groaned in pain.
***
“Are you okay now?” Hildebrand asked.
“Yeah, mostly,” Hugo answered. “It’s still a little raw. I thought you’d do a better job.”
“Healing isn’t that easy,” Hildebrand said.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes! It’s not like magic,” Hildebrand said.
“Seems exactly like magic to me.”
“It’s not.” She pulled her scarf down; it kept getting in her mouth. “It comes from… faith. I have to believe in it.”
“You don’t believe in Altamea anymore?” Hugo asked.
“…” Hildebrand moved to flip her hair but found the furry trapper’s hat instead. “I didn’t believe you were really hurt,” she said.
“Heh.”
***
Warm and cozy now, they made their way to Anya’s home. Even though the rows of homes had white roofs, covering what were surely once blue and yellow and red, the new town had street signs that hung from orderly lamplights.
“It’s very modern,” Hildebrand said.
“This place always pretty modern,” Hugo said, touching one of the cold, black lampposts. “Don’t lick it. Your tongue will get stuck,” he said. “I know you’re thinking about it.”
“I’m not!” Hildebrand barked. She bumped Hugo with her well padded shoulder. There was just the quiet oomph of her well-padded coat striking him.
“Hahaha!”
They stopped what was virtually a mansion, in stark contrast to the townhomes they had passed. It wasn’t quite the estate of upper nobility, but was suitable for a young aristocrat family.
“Is this the place?” asked Hildebrand.
“I don’t know,” Hugo said. “I thought you would.”
“Me?” Hildebrand asked. It was a fair point, in all honesty, but she had followed his lead. “Why would I know, she’s your friend.”
“I didn’t make this world.”
“…True. We could ask the neighbors,” Hildebrand suggested.
“No way,” Hugo said. He pulled on the bell string and waited. “I’m sure it’s the place.”
After a short wait, the door behind the gate creaked open and someone peeked out. A girl, a woman with blue, almost white, hair, it was so light.
“Anya!” Hugo called. He waved to her. “It’s Hugo.”
The woman narrowed her eyes before closing the door.
“She looks fine,” Hugo said. “We can go.”
Hildebrand grumbled and rang the bell more, and more and more and more. Anya finally came out. She was muttering something from afar, still hiding halfway behind the door.
“What do you think she’s saying?” Hugo asked.
Hildebrand put on a falsetto voice. “Oh Hugo, I’m so glad you’re here to see,” Hildebrand said, mocking Anya. “I’ve been so lonely in this cold wasteland by myself. And thank you, Saintess Hildebrand for coming to visit this poor little soul. You truly are an angel. I’m super grateful, and mostly certainly not telling you to go away.”
Hugo doubled over in laughter as Anya kept going, muttering like she was chanting a long-winded curse, like all witch’s curses.
“Let me try,” Hugo said.
“She’s coming,” Hildebrand said. But Hugo loudly cleared his voice over her warning.
He spoke normally, if not deeper. “Oh it’s just Hugo, go away. I don’t want to see your ugly mug. And who’s the—”
“What do you want?” Anya asked, looking more perturbed than angry.
She was a disheveled mess, like she hadn’t cleaned up in weeks. Her hair would have been a mess if it wasn’t oily and flat. She wore thick, round glasses and just an oversized fraying sweater and undergarments.
“Ahem,” Hugo grunted. “Anya, good to see you. We were just in the area.”
“In the area? This far north?” she grumbled. “And who’s this fat bear?” she asked, looking to Hildebrand.
“Wanna die?” Hildebrand asked, slowly raising her fist. Anya shrank back, putting her hands up.
“No?”
Hildebrand put her hand back down and tried to cross her arms but found her coat too thick. “Invite us in,” she demanded.
***
The spacious mansion was too spacious. It was barren, with no signs of life or even signs that life had once existed there. The spacious dining room had a long, ornate table covered in a thin layer of dust, but that was all. There weren't any signs of fine china or other furnishings.
Anya walked in later, holding a platter with two cups of what smelled bitterly of old tea that brewed too long and stale treats. Anya herself looked stale and annoyed.
“What?” she asked flatly. Her voice was scratchy, like she wasn’t accustomed to speaking.
“What happened to you?” Hildebrand asked, voicing her disappointment openly in her sharp tone. She inspected the chipped cups before setting hers aside. “Why are you such a slob?”
“Who are you?” Anya asked, annoyedly.
“I’m Hildebrand. We used to be rivals,” she said.
“I was? With someone like you?” Anya scoffed. She looked Hildebrand up and down and blushed slightly. Her eyes revealed her guarded shock at seeing Hildebrand without all her layers of warm clothing. “They say the pretty ones are insane. Guess it’s true.”
“At the academy,” Hildebrand lied, knowing full well she didn’t exist in this world’s history.
“That was a long time ago, I don’t even remember anyone like you,” Anya said with a shrug. “I’m just a loser now.”
Hildebrand clutched Anya’s wrist. It was scrawny. As a witch, Anya’s main focus was magic, and witchcraft, but she was still good with a blade. It didn’t come easily, not without the strength to wield one. The Anya Hildebrand held now couldn’t even be bother to resist, let alone put up a resistance.
“Hugo, say something,” Hildebrand demanded.
He looked like a deer who had been caught out in the open by a predator. “Uh… Where’s Sasha?”
“She’s out,” grumbled Anya. “Busy with her cosmetic business. She doesn’t even live here anymore.”
“That’s terrible,” Hugo muttered. He gave her a sympathetic look that triggered a response.
“I’m happy though,” Anya said. “I get this place all to myself. And she pays for everything. I-I used to have servants, but I fired them because they got annoying.”
“That’s crazy,” Hildebrand said, still holding onto Anya’s wrist. “We’re taking you out.” She dragged Anya away. “But first, we’re getting you cleaned up.”
Hildebrand dragged the overgrown child to what appeared to be a bathroom and fiddled with the handles on the tub. She had used something similar once before in the old world—it was a newer technology that only some wealthy aristocrats had. But in this world, it was common. Even Rinaldo’s little cottage had it. She gasped with glee as warm water poured out. She understood the basic principles of it, enough that she might recreate the idea with help. It was, in part, thanks to Rinaldo and Hugo’s explanations, but mostly thanks to her own genius.
“Get in!” Hildebrand ordered, pointing at Anya.
***
It was an ordeal, but Hildebrand had managed it somehow. She even managed to clean up Anya’s filthy room with Hugo’s help. The trash went into an ill-forgotten trash bin, where they awaited burning, instead of out the window. Hildebrand and Hugo collected the dirty, scattered clothes and apparel in the mudroom at the back of the home. That would be Anya’s problem, Hildebrand was no maid, she was the Saintess.
When she completed a little dusting, Hildebrand perused the bookshelves. Just as much things changed, some things stayed the same.
Anya stepped into the room, looking cleaner and orderly, like a normal human being. Perhaps it was the cold weather, but the witch’s wardrobe was on the conservative-side compared to how Hildebrand remembered it. It was more archaic. Rapid urbanization and scarce resources had led to the invention of more efficient, more comfortable, but also plainer clothes. The outfits Hildebrand saw in the new world were both more ornate, yet more traditional, like Alexandros Legato’s officer ensemble, which dripped with luxury. Compared to her dress and the coat and pelerine she held, however, Anya’s hair remained overgrown compared to the neat, shoulder-length style she had maintained for years in the other world.
“Should I cut your hair?” Hildebrand asked.
“No,” Hugo answered. “Don’t do it,” he told Anya.
“Why?” Hildebrand asked.
“I had to have Rinaldo chop my hair off after you cut it,” he said.
“It wasn’t that bad…” Hildebrand said. Was it? She tried to recall it, but found she couldn’t, like a repressed memory. It was. Must have been. “Ok,” Hildebrand said. “No haircut for you.”
“I wasn’t going to let you anyway,” Anya grumbled.
“Tch,” Hildebrand clicked. She changed the subject onto the books, whose spines she brushed with fingers. “Still love books?” she asked. But every book she saw had bookmarks halfway through them. When she pulled one, Hildebrand noticed the folded corner not even halfway through and the dusty top.
“Still?” Anya asked. “I always have and will ever more.”
“Did you ever take up writing?” Hildebrand asked.
Anya’s silence gave Hildebrand a disappointing answer. The answer of someone who wanted to but couldn’t find the meager courage to take action.
Hildebrand opened the book she held. It was a steamy romance. And yet Anya stopped where it was only starting to get good.
“How can you live this?” Hildebrand asked, closing the chapter. “Mooching off your cousin. Leaving things unfinished.”
“It’s… nice,” Anya said.
“Living like a hermit? Are you happy like this?” Hildebrand asked. “Is this what you wanted?”
Anya let out a tired sigh and rolled her eyes, but averted Hildebrand’s judgmental gaze. “It’s my life,” she said. “I’m just living it just the way I want to.”
Hildebrand groaned, expressing her discontent at Anya’s answer. “Let’s go out,” Hildebrand said. “You can’t just stew in a dusty old house like this.”
She invaded Anya’s closet, hoping to find a hat to cover the woman’s unpresentable hair. She yelped, “Wah!” at the sight of the stuffed dolls staring back at the intruder with beady eyes. “What is all this?” Hildebrand asked, picking through Anya’s secret collection.
“Stop!” Anya said, trying to restrain Hildebrand.
But Hildebrand held the lightweight Anya back with one hand and picked up a grumpy-looking asberlin doll with the other. The small bear-like animal and its narrow, annoyed eyes were ringed by black circles that gave it a tired and gloomy countenance. It held a soap bar; the small creatures were known for washing food and trinkets they collected, much to people’s amusement.
“Not Hector!” Anya shouted. “Put him down!”
“Hector looks like he lost a dog fight,” Hildebrand said.
Hildebrand recalled a vague memory of their days back in Helmsgrave Academy. But she couldn’t quite recall it. Hector—it was a familiar name, but now one that came to mind. Was it a student? Possibly. Or was it someone she knew from the Apollyan Empire? Or maybe it was nobody at all. The animal, and the doll on which it was based, wasn’t native to the cold north. Hildebrand knew that much. It was a memento of a warmer place, and warmer days.
Hildebrand gave the animal a once over inspection. It was cleaner than the others, but more worn. It had been stitched back together more than once, with unsteady, unskilled loving hands. Hildebrand carefully placed Hector back where she found him and shut the closet door.
“Let’s get something warm to drink,” Hildebrand said.
***
Night came early in the north. They followed the rows of amber lamplights and the aroma of cooling baked goods to a bakery. Its window glow beckoned them forth, and the warm draft invited Hugo inside, who held Hildebrand’s hand to lead her in, who towed Anya in behind her. It was lively but quiet, more like a cozy home than a shop.
The trio sat with hot cocoas in hand. Hugo quietly pouted. He wanted the hot mulled cider, but they were freshly out. Anya looked around nervously in between long stares into her cocoa.
Hildebrand sat quiet, trying to maintain her pleasant smile in the face of her greatest rival, at least in most things, just not all. The deflated sack of potential in front of her was so pathetic, she wanted to smack some sense into Anya. It was even stranger that Sasha had let her cousin degenerate so helplessly.
Wait, thought Hildebrand, no… That’s not strange at all.
“You should,” Hildebrand said. “You should write a story about a beautiful angel who comes down to save mankind. Isn’t that a good idea?”
Anya raised a brow at the suggestion, then the rest of her face followed its lead in cringing. It was an abhorrent idea, apparently.
“Or not,” Hildebrand said quieting down.
They wasted the night quietly, nursing their drinks.
As they walked back in the dead of night, Hildebrand asked once more, “Are you really happy living like this?”
Anya stopped and looked back with an annoyed glare. She turned back and took a few cautious steps to put distance between herself and Hildebrand. “There’s more than one kind of happiness,” she snapped.
“Maybe happiness isn’t even that important,” Hildebrand bit back.
“Maybe it isn’t,” grumbled Anya.