The next morning, their boots crunched as they marched to the beat of a hammer in some distant forge, like a heartbeat that grew ever stronger. It led Hildebrand and Hugo towards the heart of the town, far from Anya’s estate, from where they had been kicked out in all but name. Couples strolled through the snow-dusted streets, like birds drawn to the tall red pine that stood in the town square. The red pine alone stood untouched by the pervasive tyranny of the white sheets that covered the town. It stood tall, like an unbowed king. Its surrounding air was ever so slightly warm, and it gleamed ever so slightly, like a smoldering torch amid snowfall.

Hugo followed an invisible path towards the tall red tree, like retracing an old path, stepping carefully into unseen footprints left in the snow. Hildebrand stepped into his footprints, following after him. Together, they stood in the tree's warm, rosy, red shade.

“Wow,” said Hildebrand. “It’s beautiful.” She moved closer and pulled her mitts off to touch the rough bark. She felt a gentle pulse, the pulse of life itself.

“Hey,” Hildebrand said to Hugo. “Try touching this.”

“I’ve felt it before,” he said, approaching the tree. Even though he spoke dismissively, he touched it anyway.

“You’ve been here before?” Hildebrand asked.

“Yeah. It’s quieter than I remember,” Hugo said.

“I’m sure. There’s no war with Brenngard,” Hildebrand said. “You came here with Anya, right?”

“With you,” he said.

“Huh?” Hildebrand murmured. “With me?”

His eyes went dark, like the bark of the tree, but a nostalgic smile slipped onto his face. A crease crept onto his brows, like a crack splintering through wood. He nodded. Or was it the bob of a gulping head?

“I told you this place was famous for its yellow pines,” he said. “You couldn’t believe that Altamea would make something so tacky. You just had to come see it for yourself.” His long fingers inched ever closer towards Hildebrand’s hand. “When you finally saw this tree, you got so mad you punched me.” His face became lighter, like the dark spell over him had been broken. And he laughed. “Hahaha! It hurt so much… I thought you broke my ribs!” He coughed in pain, holding his ribs where Hildebrand had struck him before.

“What are you talking about?” Hildebrand asked, smiling. “I don’t remember that.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Hugo’s laugh settled to a grin, then to a sullen smile.

“Humor me,” Hildebrand said. “Remind me.”

“You said you’d never seen something so beautiful.” Hugo’s hand lingered in one spot, like he was trying to hold on to something that should have been there, something that had been lost to a place unknown, beyond his reach.

Hildebrand didn’t even realize her hand had drifted closer to Hugo’s until his fingers overlapped with hers. He held her hand, his large palm covering hers, their fingers almost intertwining.

“You held it… We held it. Just like this,” he said. “You wanted to remember this feeling. So we would never forget.” His hand, large and trembling, shielded hers from the chill, carrying a warmth that felt achingly familiar.

Hildebrand weighed his words with her heart. They tugged on her heartstrings; they carried such unstated certainty. Thoughts and ideas raced through her mind, inconceivable ones. And then she laughed. “Greg really rubbed off on you,” she said, closing her eyes. “But this is strange even by his standards.”

When he said nothing, Hildebrand opened her eyes, certain that she would see the truth she imagined—the clever smirk of a prankster, eyes squeezed by smiling cheeks, a mischievous glint in Hugo’s eyes.

Instead, there was an ever so slight wetness on his eyelashes that had frosted over white. Like a wandering storm, the dark spell returned to Hugo, casting him in a shadow. He had the look of a man full of regrets, so many they were escaping from his eyes, like a man who had died once without letting go of lingering sentiments. He was so wholly possessed by melancholy, Hildebrand wondered if he was a ghost, a lost soul.

She offered him a shaky smile, hoping to ease his heart, and hers too. She would let him have his misplaced memory if it gave him peace. And she would partake in it too. “Thank you,” she said. “For reminding me.” They lingered in the warm presence of the memory only Hugo recalled—a tender, intimate secret that belonged only to a deeply secretive man. A falling veil of snow separated them from the rest of the world, from time itself. They lingered for a lifetime before the veil lifted, returning them to reality. “If I forget. If I’ve ever forgotten,” Hildebrand said, “I hope you’ll remind me again.” If it was something she had forgotten, she didn’t want to forget again.

“You told me,” Hugo said. “You never held anything in your hands.”

Hildebrand shuddered at his words. At the distant memories of words she’d spoken in her younger days. Words she’d only ever told herself in pathetic self-pity.

“Me too,” he said. He squeezed Hildebrand’s hand. “Only you.”

It shook her spirit. Because she knew he had more to say. “If I forget,” he said, his hand drifting down. “I hope those memories stay forgotten.” The tips of his fingers caught the spaces between Hildebrand’s fingers. They were heavy, like sinking anchors, but she hoped her hand was a safe place to catch onto. When Hugo’s hand fell away, she tried to catch it, only for it to slip between her fingers like an illusion. He combed his hair back with that hand, unveiling his open eyes. They glistened like wet jewels. They glimmered like dancing emeralds.

“It was just a dream,” he said.

“Hugo…” Her doubts grew. That it was just a dream. That he wasn’t a ghost. She reached a hand out to him, but her fingers curled back in fear. In fear that she would only confirm her fears. She doubted she could hold him. He might fade into the ether the moment she touched him, just like a dream.

“Let’s go,” he said.

She knew to where without another word. They returned to Kesselberg, where the story began.