Hildebrand found herself standing alone before an ornate fountain in the town square. She had sent Hugo to the bottom of the tall stairs that ran up the vertical city, so he could experience the pain of walking up the so-called Stairway to the Heavens. Even under the sun she couldn’t help but think that it was cold compared to the warmth she shared with him beneath the red pine tree. Without Hugo’s tall frame and his ragged coat standing in its way, the full chill of the air reminded her the end of their short journey had arrived, and she would never share that comfort with Hugo again. So she looked to the fountain for comfort in his stead.

She held one copper coin, clutched tightly in her hands, just one. She had it before she received any coins from Rinaldo. She had it before she created her new world. She had it before she ever started her crusade, and even before she became the Saintess. She had carried it all along. It was marked with a scratch across it, a scar as old as her oldest scars.

She stared down at the rippling water and at the web of lights that danced at the bottom of the limestone fountain. When the sun hit just right, they looked like dancing emeralds. It was a simple source of delight, one from her childhood that she carried in her heart all the way to adulthood. She admired the illusory jewels that promised to make her wishes come true. If only she could pay the steep cost of one copper coin.

Hildebrand rubbed the coin in her fingers. When she was a slumrat, it seemed so precious, like holding onto life. Letting go of it felt like inviting death. The cost of one wish was the same as letting go of everything. The scales always balanced precariously, swinging back and forth ever so slightly. But they never tipped in the favor of a little girl’s wish, until now.

“Hey,” said Hugo. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she answered. “Just littering.”

Hugo let out a chuckle.

Hildebrand flipped the coin, but it missed. It rolled away somewhere unseen before she could even react. It slipped away.

“Hahaha,” she laughed wryly. “Just my luck,” she said. She knelt down, even onto her hands, hoping to find it.

“Should the Saintess be crawling on the ground like that?” Hugo asked.

Hildebrand scoffed. “Why not?” she said. “I’ve crawled through worse.”

“You’re something else,” Hugo said.

He pulled out a copper coin from his coat pocket and held it out for Hildebrand. She froze over his outstretched palm, her eyes locked onto his emerald eyes.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “It’s a lot of money,” she added sarcastically.

Hugo smiled. “Isn’t it? It’s the price of a wish.”

“Where did you hear that?” Hildebrand asked, her voice shrinking.

Hugo said nothing. He only gently turned Hildebrand’s hand over and placed the coin in her palm. For a moment, Hildebrand didn’t move. The words had been hers, once, long ago—something she’d muttered as a scared child who needed the courage to let go of the only thing she ever held in her hands. Ironically, those words weighed the heaviest on her, keeping her hands shut tight. It was a lot of money. It was worth more than money could count. It was priceless. That was what she told herself when she was child.

She felt like a child again. At the end of her journey. Now more than ever. And just like many years and many dark nights ago she grasped the coin tightly, so tightly that it burned in her palm.

Hildebrand looked into the pool of water. There were no coins. In her memories there were countless. Everyone wished for something, whether they had it all or had nothing at all. She was the odd one out. If all the fountains in the world held a coin from everyone in the world, they held one from everyone but her.

She could never bring herself to wish for anything. She had never let go of the coin even when she had nothing and could have wished for everything; she had never made any wishes to the dancing jewels despite their beautiful allure. It was more comforting to clutch onto a vague wish deferred, than to know it wouldn’t be granted.

She wanted to dream, even if it never meant waking up. Perhaps a reality kinder than any dream awaited her if she cast the coin. Perhaps the dancing jewels would actually grant her wish. Perhaps all those beautiful enticing things were as grand and good as they purported to be. Or maybe there was nothing at all waiting for her.

What Hildebrand feared most was that she might put all of her hopes and dreams into that coin and throw it away, only to find out the only thing she ever held was worthless all along. What she feared was that she might come to know that she had held nothing at all her entire life. There was no wish worth the asking price; the cost was too steep.

But now she had a wish worth the price. It was a selfish one. It was a final little act of evil to bury her countless sins. It was a curse.

Hildebrand flipped the coin into the water. She watched the little splash and heard the plink.

And then she heard another.

She turned to Hugo.

“You made a wish?” she asked, surprised. “What did you wish for?”

“Wishes don’t come true if you tell them,” he said.

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“Do they ever come true?” she asked.

“You never know,” he answered. It was the kind of vague answer she expected from him. It annoyed her how uncertain it was, and it annoyed her that it was comforting too.

“Come on,” she said. Hildebrand thrust her fingers at Hugo’s side, to jab him, but her fingers curled back. She didn’t want to hurt him any further. He would need his strength to carry one last burden she placed on him. “Just tell me,” she quietly pleaded.

“I wished for you to be happy,” he said, his voice steady.

Hildebrand blinked. The words hung in the air for a moment before she let out a short laugh. It sounded playful, even teasing, but there was an edge of frustration to it, sharp and biting. When her laughter came to an end, it was time for her to go. She wanted to leave on a high note.

“Hugo,” she said sweetly, with a voice that dripped of honey. “Will you accept this world?”

“What happens to you if I do?” he asked.

The question killed her playful tone, and even the frustration hidden within it. “We part ways,” she said flatly, honestly.

“What does that mean, Hildebrand?” he asked. Frustration lined his tongue.

Hildebrand glanced back at the fountain. The dancing lights had already gone, having taken the coins and left. All that was left was the reflection of her own flickering frustration.

“The Saintess rises to the heavens,” she murmured. “As an angel. That’s how the story goes.”

Hugo took a step closer, anger lowering his brows. “What does that mean?” He looked like a wild beast ready to pounce, so fearsome. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“It means I disappear,” she said, quietly. “Like I never existed.”

Hugo’s voice lowered to a quiet, guttural growl. “Is that why no one knew who you were?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Hildebrand said. Her tongue was bitter just saying those words.

“What about me?” Hugo asked.

Hildebrand just laughed. “I wished you’d forget. Just like you wanted…” she lied.

Hugo lunged at Hildebrand like the beast he was. She just closed her eyes, ready to accept whatever punishment he would inflict on her. It was well deserved.

What she felt was the careful strength of two trembling arms that held her tight, like she was going to slip away. And two hands that held her back tenderly, like she was something precious. His face nuzzled her neck, like that of a crying boy seeking comfort.

“How much more do you have to hurt me?” Hugo asked.

Hildebrand barely held the trembling Hugo with cold hands and callous fingers. She would give him one meaningless comfort before they parted ways.

“Just accept it, Hugo,” she said.

“I reject it!” Hugo screamed. “I won’t accept this world!”

Hildebrand’s eyes went wide as Hugo took them over the edge of the fountain, plunging into its infinitely deep and dark waters. But she didn’t feel the water’s cold, she felt warmth instead, the same intoxicating warmth they shared under the red pine tree.

As they sank deeper into the darkness, Hildebrand held him close, even as she cursed him.

“You idiot. Are you crazy?” she asked him.

“Yes!” he answered.

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck. “You’re going to throw everything away?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

Hildebrand’s nails dug into Hugo’s back. “You’re supposed to be the Hero,” she choked out. “How can you just leave everyone behind? Tell me!”

“I’m not the Hero,” he said.

“You are!” she yelled.

“I’m not.” He stroked her hair with that big, rough hand of his. It was colder than she thought, as cold as hers. “I’m nothing that great. Sorry to disappoint,” he said.

Hildebrand touched Hugo’s hand and held it. She could feel it now, his warmth, like a gentle ray of sunlight. She could feel it when she accepted it, when their hands came together. It annoyed her. He annoyed her.

He always knew how to annoy her. The way he put himself down. The way he apologized even when he didn’t mean it. The way he made her look like a fool even when she obtained victory. The way she knew nothing about him, even now, but he seemed to know her. The way he hurt her, even if he didn’t mean to, and the way he let her hurt him. The way he tried to hold tight onto her when she told him to let go. Even the way that she didn’t want him to let go, so she could feel their warmth. He annoyed her. He made her heartbeat faster and her strength waver. He made her think of nonsense, so she couldn’t think straight. He made the mask of the Saintess crack and crumble and exposed the weak and ugly person underneath. He made her do stupid things.

Hildebrand reached out and held his face. She looked long and deep. He didn’t vanish, and he didn’t fade into the ether like a dream. She only held him delicately, as delicately as she could, but she could feel the pulse of his life.

When they had first met ten years ago, he was still a young man. Rinaldo spoke so highly of him, she expected someone well groomed, handsome, princely, someone majestic. Instead, he dressed like a suspicious rogue, cursed like a sailor, judged like a book critic, smiled like a clown, and his damned hair! She hated how unruly his hair was because it looked childish and immature. He could at least get it out of his eyes. It covered the only good thing about him! She had high hopes and high expectations, and he was so disappointing. It was disappointing when people started calling him the Hero, and even more so when she learned they called him the Hero mockingly. It was most disappointing to hear him reject the title altogether.

The man before her was not the Hero she remembered. He didn’t smile like a clown; he didn’t smile at all. He wore the Old Man’s legacy on his collar and some forgotten memento on the other; they were heavy burdens. His face was worn and his skin rough and kissed by the sun. Weary bags rested under his eyes. But his hair was still annoyingly long and unruly, and it was in his eyes again.

Hildebrand brushed Hugo’s hair out of his face so she could look for the soft sea-green of his eyes. The only reason she took away his dragon eye was so she could see those eyes again. The same ones from her memories. The ones that shined so brightly with life and hope. They were like the beach under the seawater when the sun shined brightly overhead. They were like the dancing jewels at the bottom of the fountain.

Hildebrand looked for the eyes that were like the bottom of the teacup that Prince Ryu served. The broken cup that was pieced together with white gold. The broken heart that could be fixed and made whole again.

She didn’t know if the water was as warm as it looked, she didn’t know if the dancing jewels could grant her wishes, she didn’t know if that cup could hold love. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know if it was cold, if they couldn’t grant her wishes, if it was still broken. It was better to look upon them and dream endlessly without ever knowing the truth. She wanted the happy ending, not the sordid story that followed. She never wanted it to be written, even though it was. She never wanted to read it, even though she did. Knowing was the most painful thing in the world.

“You were supposed to choose the happy ending,” she said. “The fairy tale ending. Just like the Brave, Bright-Eyed Hero…” She looked into Hugo’s eyes, daring to know.

“I’m not the Hero. And I’m not brave. I’m not even that bright, and neither are my eyes,” Hugo said. “I only ever wanted to protect the things right in front of me. Even if that meant people called me a hero.” Hugo gazed back at Hildebrand, locking eyes with her. They were wet, and they shined like hazy mirrors. “You were the one I wanted to protect the most.”

Hildebrand searched Hugo’s eyes again. She only found her own reflection.

Knowing, knowing now, was the most painful thing in the world.

“I hate you,” Hildebrand said.