They found their footing in the black void. The light above was but a pin, barely visible. The perfect world was so far, it seemed impossible to reach.

“I’m your enemy,” Hildebrand said. “You should hate me.” She recalled Rinaldo’s dying smile, filled with forgiveness, and love. She saw a similarly dumb smile taking over Hugo’s face as she said that.

“Even after everything you’ve done, I can’t bring myself to hate you, Hildebrand.”

“Stop,” she said. “I’m not Hilde! I hate that name!” He had called her that from the day they had met, like it was an inside joke only he knew. Like she was his friend, or more. “You’re not my friend! You’re nothing to me!” But he wasn’t hers.

She grabbed his collar. Her words had wiped the dumb smile off his face. “You’ve really lost your damned mind!” she shouted. “This is insane! The only thing waiting in the old world is death! Rinaldo! Maximilliana! Sasha! Millions of innocent people are dead, Hugo! Are you just going to abandon them!” she asked.

He said nothing, but gave her a sullen look. Even as she shook him and pushed him, he accepted all of her abuse, as if it were his penance. “Your friends, they’re probably dead! Do you know how strong Leo and the Divine Shield are? They’re just as strong as you! Is that what you want to return to? They’ll kill you when we go back!” She pounded on his chest. “So don’t go back! Don’t go back. At least not for my sake. Hate me. Curse me… Even if it’s a different reason, I’ll accept it. I’ll accept anything but that.”

“You left it up to me,” he said sternly. The soft glower he wore on his face made Hildebrand let go.

Hugo turned towards the darkness, intent on venturing into it, and he offered an open hand. Hildebrand pulled the book she kept close to her heart from her robe. She could see the faded outline of the author’s name, Myshkin, and it made her rage overflow. She could only stand so much disappointment at once. With a scream she struck Hugo over the head with the book’s spine. Blood trickled down his head, into his eye, and dripped into the void.

She gasped at the blood she had wrought. She threw the Brave, Bright-Eyed Hero away, to drift into the darkness. “I—I…” Hildebrand whimpered, stepping back. She almost tripped, and she would have had Hugo’s hands not caught her. His hands wrapped gently around her waist. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

***

It was a long walk through the dark. Hildebrand’s knees creaked and ached. Her feet felt heavy, and the black wood rosary around her neck weighed on her like prison chains.

It was because she kept looking back at the light that grew ever more distant. That perfect world, where Rinaldo and Gisella were alive and fruitful. Where even the strange Maximilliana was alive. The world where Greg’s family never fell apart and he suffocated under the weight of a carefree life. Where Alexandros was alive and well so he could be a pest to beautiful women. The world where Yuna’s kingdom remained in power, and she could be a loud, spoiled brat. Where Prince Ryu could stretch his legs and wax poetic about nonsense. The world where Sasha found success in beauty products, amusingly enough, and where Anya got to live her life the way she wanted to even if it was a waste of potential. The one where Bishop Theodore was still alive, even though Hildebrand couldn’t bring herself to see his face, and Leo didn’t lose his father or his religion. The one where the members of the Divine Shield surely lived normal, happy lives. The one where the millions dead lived peaceful, quiet lives, not drowning in their own screams and blood. The world that was at peace, and the World’s End didn’t come. Where a sinner like Hildebrand didn’t exist.

“Don’t look back,” Hugo said. He offered a hand to hold once again, but Hildebrand didn’t take it. He’d already offered it many times. She just couldn’t take it. Hugo didn’t deserve to hold something like her in his hand.

“The cost of that perfect world was just one copper,” Hildebrand said. Just one copper-haired girl steeped in unforgivable sins.

Hildebrand’s steps slowed, like her feet were stuck in mud. She fell to her knees in the black tar that bubbled beneath her.

Although she had left it up to Hugo, telling herself she would accept his decision no matter what, she couldn’t let go of that dream. It was the happy ending. It was the beautiful end of a hero’s story, where everything was well and good, and evil was defeated. It was a wish come true.

Casting the copper coin would have been worth it. It was just one copper, nothing precious, nothing worth much. It was just one copper.

“Just one copper-haired girl,” Hildebrand said.

Hugo turned to her. “She’s worth more than the world to me,” he said. Once again, he offered his hand. He did more than that. He tried to grasp her, he tried to hold her. Hugo just had to let go of one copper coin and let everyone’s wishes be granted, but he wouldn’t do it. Everyone’s happiness wasn’t good enough for him, he just had to be greedy. The world wasn’t enough, he wanted to hold the sky too, he wanted to hold the Sun in the palm of his hands. He wanted everything.

“More than the world?” Hildebrand asked. She laughed. “You’re insane. It’s worth nothing. It’s worthless.”

Hildebrand sank, like sinking into a tarpit made of her own sinking dread. She didn’t try to fight it, she would be lost just like the scarred copper coin that rolled away, a fitting end. She saw Hugo’s shocked eyes as he scrambled onto his knees, and then his hands.

He really is something else, she thought.

She couldn’t hear whatever it was he was frantically screaming with his big mouth but as she lost consciousness, she could feel a strong hand grasp her.

When Hildebrand came to, she was in Hugo’s arms, being carried like a princess.

“Are you okay, Hildebrand?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she squeaked. She pushed herself away from him and onto her own two feet. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “So you don’t have to carry me.”

“This is a place outside of our world,” he said. “It’s dangerous.” He draped an arm across her back. “I should have been more careful.”

She touched the hand that held her shoulder. It was heavy, and yet it was reassuring. “You’re talking like you’ve been here before,” Hildebrand said.

“I have,” he said. “I know the way back. We’ll see it soon.”

As they continued the long trek under Hugo’s guidance, Hildebrand began to hear noises. Voices. She began to see colors in the darkness, then images. She began to see and hear people around her.

She followed a young boy run through the streets of a large city, weaving his way through the dark alleys and sunny roads with a loaf of bread in his arms.

Hildebrand tried to reach out and touch him, but like a ghost, her hand just passed through the boy.

“Who is that?” she asked, watching the slumrat crawl into a lopsided wooden crate, hiding only seconds before armed men passed him by.

He was thin but had round cheeks filled with bread. And he was tall for his age, despite the fact he was bone thin, having clearly starved. He had bright auburn hair, and his eyes were sea green.

She already knew the answer, but Hugo confirmed it anyway. “It’s me,” he said. “When I was a kid.”

“You grew up the slums?” asked Hildebrand to Hugo.

He nodded.

Hildebrand watched as many days and many nights passed, but the boy never returned to the arms of waiting family. Even among the slum dwellers, many were families, refugees of war and conflict. Even if they had no homes, they had each other. It was clear Hugo had neither.

“You were an orphan?” Hildebrand asked.

Hugo nodded quietly, meekly. “It’s not so strange,” he said, trying to mask his discomfort. “Yuna and Anya, even Greg,” he said. “They’re orphans too.”

But they knew their bloodlines. They even had family names to know. They knew to whom they belonged, even if they were alone.

“Did you know your parents?” Hildebrand asked, daring to pry.

“No,” Hugo answered. He tried not to show it, but Hildebrand could see the traces of shame.

“Not all parents are good anyway,” she said, hoping to reassure him. But he more focused on walking than listening to her not-so-sweet words. She tried again. “Like Greg’s parents,” she said. “You’d be better off without people like that in your life. Especially his mother.”

“Greg still loves his mother,” Hugo said. “His father too.”

“Oh,” Hildebrand muttered. “I guess it’s just different.” Hildebrand swallowed hard and breathed deeply. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. The next words came quickly, easier than she thought. “I didn’t know my parents either. I’m an orphan too, you know,” she said. But they left her mouth taking all her strength with them. “I’m just like you.”

Hugo held his hand out once again. This time, Hildebrand accepted it. It gave her strength again. It was a comforting invitation from a kindred spirit. Like he was inviting her to know his secrets, in exchange for sharing one of hers. He guided her along through the darkness, and his own life.

Hildebrand had a million questions but couldn’t ask a single one. She didn’t want to miss a thing. Years flew by in what seemed like minutes. He grew so quickly, in more ways than one. The young boy, who was just the occasional thief, turned to violence the moment he got the chance. Hugo always had a robust frame, but Hildebrand never suspected he used it for crime, nor with such a burning temper. He had neither the stoic silence nor the biting remarks she’d known Hugo for. Instead, he shouted in an uncontrolled fury as he charged into every fight life threw his way. The way people crumpled when he hit them with his fists, or worse, an iron bar, made her cringe.

“I guess you weren’t such a good guy after all,” Hildebrand said.

“I told you so,” he said.

Hildebrand’s heart relaxed when he met a Sister of the Church, who took him in at an orphanage. But her heart sank again when soldiers dragged Hugo out of the orphanage just a year or two later. It wasn’t long until the boy who had just entered puberty was standing at the front lines, facing demented monsters that were once soldiers and knights. The people who were corrupted by the Black Carpet were grotesque monstrosities of many faces, reflecting their inner despair and fearful memories. They were inhuman in appearance and in might. The boy did whatever he needed to do to survive, like a wild beast.

She watched him fight and fight and fight. He became more and more and more desperate, and brutal, and beastly. But something was wrong. He turned into a young man right on the battlefield.

“What is this?” Hildebrand asked. “Shouldn’t you be at Helmsgrave Academy?”

“Just keep watching,” Hugo said.

Hildebrand did as she was told. She watched him fight and fight and fight. And he lost and lost, then won, then lost, then won, then lost again and he kept on losing.

She saw familiar faces, important faces, come and go too quickly. They were just passersby, like ships in the night. Some returned to the young man’s life, some never did. Some faces hung open in terrible, horrible death. In the end though, they all left him one way or another. But Hugo never left the battlefield. His fighting seemed endless. Its cruelty and chaos shaped him, forged him. Every battle he survived made him sterner, sharper. He became stronger under the crushing weight of defeat.

“No matter how strong I got, it was never enough,” Hugo said. “Humanity was losing.”

Hildebrand watched as Hugo swung a sword the size of a stone pillar. It split the clouds in the sky, just as it did the ground below. Hugo swung his sword into the head of a monstrosity that resembled a centaur, a legendary creature that was half man, half steed. Hugo sliced, or rather smashed, the giant beast in half with his weapon. Swinging the sword alone was a feat few others could replicate. Hildebrand thought of Leo, the leader of her Divine Shield, who was instrumental in taking down Rinaldo. Even though she had mortally wounded him by stabbing him in the back, Rinaldo was the strongest man in the world, save for perhaps Hugo, perhaps. Fighting even a gravely injured Rinaldo to a standstill was a superhuman feat, and Leo had managed to do that.

Hildebrand wasn’t sure that Leo would win against the ghastly Hugo she saw. And the more she saw, the more certain Hildebrand became of Leo’s loss. Clad in black armor, Hugo was like the black hound she had always imagined him to be. Even more than that, he was like a hound out of hell. Every bit as frightening as the monsters of the World’s End, and even more vicious.

“The monsters that came out of the World’s End were strong,” he said. “But they weren’t the real problem. I’m sure you know that. It was the Black Carpet.” He chuckled wryly. “We just called it the Black Death,” he added. “Black Carpet…” He smiled to himself. He looked like he wanted to say more. Hildebrand knew the look, the look he had when he wanted to make fun of something. She smiled a little too.

“I didn’t name it that on purpose,” she said. “Someone just overheard me, and the rest was history.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Hah!” he laughed. “You definitely named it that on purpose. You have the weirdest tastes.”

Hildebrand’s smile widened some more. “I think Black Death sounds better,” she said. “But isn’t it a little grim?”

Hugo’s laughing grin softened into a smile, and then that faded too.

“It was grim,” he said. “We should have named it the Black Carpet too,” Hugo said.

“That’s silly,” Hildebrand said.

“Don’t underestimate the power of names,” Hugo said. “They carry power.”

Hildebrand couldn’t deny that words, especially names, held power. Hugo’s words held true in magic and alchemy, in runes and the Good Words, even for people. But the degree of truth varied. An arbitrary name like the “Black Carpet” couldn’t have had much effect on the power of the creeping rot. After all, names needed legacy and acknowledgement to hold power.

Hildebrand watched the black fungus-like embodiment of decay and corruption spread unchecked. It certainly did seem more like a Black Death than a Black Carpet.

Mages tried to stop it, but their firepower was only a temporary solution. Even if they gained ground, the Black Death would crawl along the ground, even if it was a snail’s pace, and retake all the territory it lost.

“They couldn’t just keep the Black Death in check all the time,” Hugo said. “We needed them on the battlefield. You know right? The monsters crawling out of the World’s End weren’t actually monsters.”

Hildebrand nodded slowly. It was little acknowledged, but a fact nonetheless. The monstrosities of the World’s End, conscious or not, wielded sword and spell with terrifying skill, like master swordsmen and mages. Some even spoke of honor and duty in passing. A simple conscripted foot soldier was nothing but an insect to them, but even insects could overwhelm monsters with enough numbers.

“We called them Overmen,” Hugo said.

Hildebrand had never heard that name before.

“I tried to crush that name,” Hugo said. “Before it could spread.”

The two watched as the past Hugo engaged in a duel with a twisted draconic monster whose sword and shield had fused with its body. What had once been a silver dragon’s helm came to life, with black veins and flesh cascading over it. One eye was an enchanted red ruby, glowing brightly with magic, while the other was blinking. It looked just like a dragon’s. Just like Hugo’s dragon eye. The monster was a man once, a silver knight clad in ornate, gleaming armor polished to a mirror finish and wreathed by a bright aura of light, not unlike a Paladin cloaked in holy light.

He tossed his leathery wing back; it looked like had once been a silky shoulder cape but now it was overgrown with diseased flesh and skin. Once upon a time, it might have covered the woman he loved in shining white silk, but it was stained black with blood and rot. The silver knight’s draconic maw opened. And he spoke, in a gruff and low growl.

“Ah, to think that I would see the Sun in the sky again,” the silver knight said. He looked to the sky, as if addressing some unseen soul. “Forgive me, I couldn’t stand by your side.” Then he turned to Hugo. “You have my gratitude for waking me from that eternal dream, young knight,” he said. “You’re a superb warrior, for your age.”

“I’m nothing much,” Hugo said. He held his bleeding arm that gushed blood every time his chest rose and fell. Then with that same arm, he brandished his sword high.

“Humble, yet twice as foolish,” the silver knight said, “but that’s what it means to be young.” The silver knight lowered his sword and shield. “Run now, before sleep comes for me again, and I lose myself.”

The young Hugo’s eyes strained in confusion; his inner turmoil was bubbling to the surface.

“There’s no shame in a young fool accepting an old man’s charity,” the silver knight said. Then he raised his sword over his shoulder. “But if my words cannot reach you, I won’t deny you a fool’s death.”

Both Hugos gulped.

“Who is that?” Hildebrand asked, pointing at the silver knight.

“Just keep watching,” Hugo answered, gesturing to the scene unfolding before them.

“Thank you,” the past Hugo said to the silver knight. “My name is Hugo.”

“Just Hugo? What of your family’s name?”

“Just Hugo,” he answered. It answered both questions.

“I’m Brandt Herrman. I too, am nothing much,” answered the silver knight, Brandt Herrman. “See you again, Hugo.”

With a nod from both warriors, the young Hugo fled, running despite a limp.

“Did you see him again?” Hildebrand asked.

“Yeah,” Hugo said. “More than I wanted to.”

Soon after that encounter, the people in Hugo’s memories started to utter the name, “Overman,” to describe the monsters of the World’s End. Even Hugo came to use it.

“You said you tried to stop people from using that name,” Hildebrand said.

“…”

“Mystery’s overrated,” Hildebrand said. “What’s going on?”

Hugo grimaced and he grunted. “This is my past life,” he said.

“Huh? What is this?” Hildebrand asked.

“My past life,” Hugo said.

“Oh,” whispered Hildebrand.

“I lived twice—”

“I got it,” Hildebrand said. “I believe you.”

They continued their journey through the void, watching Hugo’s past life unfold. He commented about the lack of salt to slow the encroachment of the Black Death, because of salt deposits that remained undiscovered until it was too late.

He told Hildebrand where they were, since he had uncovered them early in his second life, in their shared world. Hildebrand knew nothing about salt, other than the fact that it tasted good, and that it slowed the spread of the Black Carpet, and the Black Death too. And she cared not to know more, despite smiling at Hugo’s impassioned lessons about mining it. The only thing she took away from his lecture was that the largest salt deposit was in a cave deep in the dark and dangerous forest north of Buckel Hill, not terribly far from Helmsgrave Academy. Buckel Hill was a familiar name from her days at the academy, one she found funny.

Just when the lectures seemed to be done and over, Hugo lectured her about how blessed swords added zero benefit against the Overmen who rose out of the World’s End, but they worked wonders against the corrupted men. Against the Overmen, ice magic and enchantments were more effective, by slowing their healing. Even Hildebrand knew that much.

“That’s why I recruited Anya,” Hugo said.

“What about Sasha?” Hildebrand asked.

He sighed in frustration. “I tried to separate them. Sasha follows wherever Anya goes,” Hugo said. “She’s like… A mother hen, more than a cousin.”

“Then why’d you try to separate them? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Anya needed freedom to grow,” Hugo said grimly.

“And here I was, thinking you were a bad friend,” Hildebrand said.

“I am,” he said. “It wasn’t a good thing… I didn’t do it for their sakes.”

“Oh,” Hildebrand muttered.

“You shouldn’t have so much faith in me. I’m not a good person,” he said bitterly. Hugo’s hand brushed against Hildebrand’s. “Maybe if I could have been as eloquent as you, things wouldn’t have been that way.”

“As me?” Hildebrand asked. “I’m not eloquent at all. You’re just as boorish as a boar.”

Hugo smiled. “That’s true,” he said. “Words always failed me when I needed them most.”

“I was just joking,” Hildebrand said. “So—"

“I’m not upset,” he said. “I was never good with people, not like you. You were like the Sun.” Hugo’s eyes softened. “I was just the Moon, basking in your light.”

“Me?” Hildebrand squeaked with the last of the air in her lungs. Hugo’s words didn’t fail him at all, whether he knew it or not.

Hildebrand lowered her gaze, and she held her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t breathe, her heart was beating out of her chest.

When she finally managed to calm down, she asked, “Where was I?”

Hugo didn’t answer, he just held his arm behind Hildebrand’s waist and quickened his pace, as if guiding her to the answer she wanted. He led her with a pale face and a gulping Adam’s apple, and she followed with a red blush and teeth clenched in anticipation.

Up ahead, Hildebrand saw a familiar black-haired beauty fighting beside Hugo.

“Oh,” Hildebrand said, her disappointment oozing between her gritted teeth. “Yuna.”

But Yuna left Hugo’s side, barely acknowledging him. Behind her, almost clinging to Hugo’s side was a quivering copper-haired girl, a young woman, just two years Hugo’s senior. She clutched a staff with hands equipped with crude prosthetics to replace missing fingers, lost to rot and disease. She wore an eyepatch to cover an eye that went blind in the slums in her childhood. The other eye was a dull reddish-brown, like a copper coin, wet with fearful tears.

“That’s…” Hildebrand’s voice trailed off.

Pained voices called out, “Saintess! Saintess help us!”

The woman clenched her teeth, like Hildebrand. She looked to the sky for courage while Hugo fended off corrupted men who ran at her. She raised her staff, which branched like endless lightning at its head, which held a glowing light. For a moment, the young woman’s copper hair glowed white, bright white, then so too did her eyes.

“Altamea, deliver us!” she shouted to the heavens.

Hildebrand had to shield her eyes from the light. When it eased, the field was purified of evil. Flowers blossomed around the woman like the ground was laying a floral landing for the arrival of a goddess. The Black Death that had been encroaching the area was gone, only green grass and swaying trees stood where the rot had laid. The injured and corrupted alike fell to their knees in her presence, whole again, human again. She had even purified the corrupted, a possibility that never crossed Hildebrand’s mind. The woman’s white hair softened into bright gold and her glowing eyes eased into blue as her powers waned. Then they returned to the copper colors with which she was born.

“That’s Hilde,” Hugo said. He reached out but stopped just shy of touching her.

“That’s me…” Hildebrand said.

Hildebrand now understood why Hugo called her Hilde. She understood why his eyes lingered on her. She understood why he was so secretive, even more than herself. She understood so much, but not everything.

“That’s me, another me,” Hildebrand said. “A past me…”

Hugo nodded in confirmation.

“I thought she wasn’t using her true powers,” Hugo said. “You were so much stronger than Hilde, when you were leading your crusade against Hess.” He spoke as if the copper-haired woman in his memories was a different person from Hildebrand. “It was almost like you could bring back the dead.”

“Are you nuts?” Hildebrand huffed. “The Saintess’s powers are powered by faith. And hope. Not just my own. Others’ too.” Hildebrand reached out to the teary-eyed woman she saw, but her hand passed through her. When the woman’s tears dried, she held her staff up and summoned fire storms and lightning from the heavens to strike down the Overmen that still stood. “To be able to do all that in such a hopeless world… She was incredibly strong. Stronger than I ever was,” Hildebrand concluded. “I didn’t even know my hair could turn white,” she added, “or that I could purify the corrupted.”

“I never should have doubted her,” Hugo said. “She turned the tide of the war.”

Hildebrand watched as the copper-haired young woman, Hilde, introduced herself to Hugo.

“Sorry, for being so clingy,” she said to the past Hugo. “I was scared. Just a little,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Hugo nodded slowly; he was awestruck at the sight of her. And they simply stared at each other, like they couldn’t get enough of a good thing.

Hilde mouthed silent words. Hildebrand knew exactly what they were, she had mouthed the same thing once. “The Foolish, Starry-Eyed Hero,” Hildebrand whispered.

“You were—” Hugo trailed off. “Hilde… She was a lot like you.”

He pointed at Hilde, who later came at the past Hugo with scissors, demanding to cut his hair.

“Except,” Hugo said, glancing over to Hildebrand with a sly smile. “She actually knew how to cut hair. Unlike a certain someone…” Hildebrand smiled too.

Hilde sat the past Hugo down in a chair and wrapped a rag around his neck, then she expertly went to work with a pair of scissors and a short knife.

She took forever, fussing over every little detail, but the result was much better than Hildebrand’s attempt at a haircut. Not too short, not too long. And stylish in a way. Hugo’s red bangs rested just above his eyes, bringing out the green in them, perfect to be gazed upon. From the way Hilde looked into Hugo’s eyes, Hildebrand could tell it was the start of a friendship, and something even more.

“I should’ve taken my time,” Hildebrand said. “If I did, it would have been just as good.”

“I didn’t mind it much,” Hugo said, combing through his overgrown hair with his fingers. Hildebrand could still remember the mess she had made. It was a massacre, and he definitely did mind it. She minded it too; it was so terrible.

“But there was a lot of pressure for the Hero to look good,” Hugo said. “…And it didn’t look amazing either.”

Hildebrand grinned and nodded. “You don’t have to be nice about it, it was awful. I really messed it up. It looked like a small animal died on your head! Hahaha!”

“Hey,” Hugo playfully whined. “Don’t laugh, you were the one who put it there.”

Unlike the Hugo who stood next to Hildebrand, his past-life doppelganger went around his camp, combing his hand through his hair and throwing it around like he wanted the rest of the world to notice. It was worth noticing, in Hildebrand’s opinion. The way Hilde watched him with a coy smile, she must have shared the same opinion.

In the long battles and weary days of rest that followed, Hilde never averted her eyes from Hugo’s and she didn’t push away his extended hand. She gazed first, and he gazed back in kind. She extended her hand first, meeting Hugo’s hand before he could even extend his, though he tried. She didn’t let words linger on her tongue or leave them unspoken. She was quick to call him “friend” and she called his name with affection.

“Hugo!” Hilde called on the beach of Mirandis.

Fate had brought them back together after a short separation. It was a familiar scene, like fate was turning its wheels over and over again.

“Hildebrand,” the young Hugo called back. Hildebrand thought for a moment that he was calling her. It was so nostalgic that she felt he could only be calling her. She felt a tinge of embarrassment for thinking so when Hilde giggled.

Hilde smiled as she walked up to him with outstretched arms. When he held his hands up too, she placed her hands around his coat collars, and she fixed them tight. “Call me Hilde,” Hilde demanded.

“Hilde… Is that what your friends call you?” he asked.

“Just you,” she said. “So, call me Hilde from now on.”

He laughed and nodded. “Ok,” he said. “Just me then. I like that. It has a nice ring to it. Hilde,” he said. “Hilde,” he repeated.

“Hahaha, stop it,” Hilde said.

“Hilde,” he whispered, “I wanted to see you again.”

Hilde giggled with blushing red cheeks and repeated herself, “Come on, stop it!” She bashfully shoved Hugo with surprising strength. He nearly flew into the incoming waves.

“Hugo!” she called again, running out into the water. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He gave her a deadpan look while sitting in the water, but his flat lips crept into a smile as an idea crept into his mind. He splashed her.

“It’s cold!” she shouted. “Altamea save me!” she yelped, running across the beach in fits of giggles.

And Hugo chased after her. Hildebrand watched them play like children until the day ended. And she watched them fight like seasoned warriors the next day. She watched as the copper-haired Hilde supported Hugo, in all his black armor, on her shoulder.

They limped away from the battlefield together, just them. They evaded death on countless battlefields, limping away to fight one more day. Every victory was narrow, and hard fought. And every time they returned to safety, Hilde held Hugo gingerly, like he was her most precious thing. She laid his head in her lap and brushed her fingers through his rough auburn hair. And she laid a hand over his chest. Like he was the only thing she held in her tattered hands.

Hilde and Hugo argued and joked and laughed, about the same things Hildebrand had argued and joked and laughed about with Hugo, but they also played coy with each other, held each other, and told their secrets. They held their hearts out to each other, with joy and trust, and they received the other’s heart without fear or trepidation.

It was intoxicating to watch. So intoxicating that even the small and mundane things made Hildebrand’s heart skip a beat.

Like when Hilde stitched the wounds on Hugo’s coat. Hilde patched and repaired Hugo’s coat so many times it had become a new coat. She dressed him in her colors, and he wore them. One day, after fixing up Hugo’s coat, Hilde pinned a crossed circle ornament onto the collar.

“What does it mean?” the past Hugo asked.

“The Sword in the Sun,” Hilde said. “It signifies the first emperor’s dedication to Altamea. But it has another meaning.”

“The Emperor and the First Saintess,” Hildebrand and Hilde said. In a distant past, ancient scholars believed the First Saintess was Altamea herself, who descended to the mortal coil as flesh and blood because she fell in love. Scholars closer to the modern era believed that Altamea fell in love with the Emperor, her ultimate servant, although the records didn’t say. The apple of her eye was “obvious,” said those ancient scholars, so it went without being written. There was only one obvious answer then.

The Sword in the Sun, or rather, the Sword of the Sun, as it was originally called, signified the bond between the First Saintess and the one she loved, the one who lifted his sword only for her sake. But the entire idea of the Saintess being Altamea fell out of favor in the modern Church doctrine because of the shaky credibility of vague records. The Saintess merely became a mortal woman, who later rose to the heavens as an angel to sit at Altamea’s side. It was a ludicrous idea to begin with. Utterly outlandish.

But Hugo seemed to think of it as a lovely idea. He thanked Hilde with arms that wrapped around her waist. She seemed frail in his arms, so he held her carefully. And he pulled her closer carefully. Their faces came close together, almost to the point of touching.

Hildebrand covered her eyes but peeked between her fingers. She wished she had more hands to cover her ears too, so she wouldn’t have to listen to the bittersweet words that followed.

“I love you.”

They even echoed, as if mocking her.

Hildebrand looked to Hugo, her Hugo. His eyes rested so deeply they were nearly closed, only glints of wet green eyes peeked out from underneath his long, delicate eyelashes. The corners of his mouth pulled ever so slightly into a smile, like he didn’t want to share his happiness with anyone else. But when he saw Hildebrand staring, he stared back. He smiled freely at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

When the phantoms faded, lost once again to time, he said, “Let’s go.” And Hildebrand nodded. Their journey through time continued.