“Did you ever find out who he was?” Hildebrand asked Hugo.
“No,” he answered. “I never saw him again.”
“Not even in our lifetime?” she asked.
“He never appeared. I worked with Emperor Marcus to try to keep the Virtues in check,” he said. “But I never saw Montisal.”
“You worked with the emperor?” Hildebrand asked. The shock was apparently written on her face; Hugo almost laughed.
“Is it that surprising?” Hugo asked.
“I didn’t know you were so politically inclined.”
“I’m not,” Hugo said. “I just barged my way in the first chance I got.” He waved his hands to dispel the conversation. “We’re almost at the end,” he said.
Hilde had somehow survived the brutal strike, possibly thanks to Yuna’s emergency aid, delivered with pinpoint strikes to various spots on Hilde’s body with her finger, followed up by Anya’s healing magic. It didn’t have the same potency as a divine blessing, but it sufficed to triage Hilde’s wounds, enough for them to pull out the emergency supply of salves and potions they stashed before the battle.
Even with rest and her own healing, however, Hilde never seemed to return to her original strength. She huffed and grew tired easily. She no longer had the strength to strike anyone, let alone Hugo, with her overwhelming punches. Even her powers themselves seemed to wane. Hugo’s broken arm, his shattered elbow, came out slightly crooked no matter how much effort Hilde put it into. Even when she fell to her knees, coughing blood, the arm remained wrong.
Yuna patted Hilde’s back and rubbed it reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll take the lead.”
“Yeah,” Greg said. “We’ll be fine. I’m not sure if you know this, but I’m something of a knight myself. They call me the Blue Wolf!”
“No they don’t!” Hilde said, finding the strength to laugh.
The remains of the silent, unnamed knight who had gone ahead should have been an ill omen. They found him at the top floor of the spiraling tower that sat in the heart of the old human empire’s city. It was no exaggeration to say that the tower itself spanned the area of a city by itself, and it reached into the heavens. Hildebrand could remember it well herself, the dreadful feeling that grew the more she climbed. It was the feeling of sinking deep into water, or mud perhaps. It touched the sky, and it was the bottom of the World’s End. A monument to the depths of the old humanity’s fall from grace.
“A terrible place to die, all by yourself,” Anya remarked, with the slightest warmth in her voice. It was a small sign of her sympathy. She laid something by his side, the bear-like doll she kept with her. The asberlin—the little, weird, bear-like creature that washed compulsively.
At the top of the tower, the party faced the Old King, the twisted immortal monstrosity that sat at the bottom of the World’s End.
Like many things, Hildebrand named it in her lifetime. It had conspicuous tarnished spikes stabbed into its skull in a manner resembling a crown, hence the name “Old King”. Whether the abomination was actually a king once, or maybe even something greater, was of no consequence. Maybe that was why it seemed more human, and a little more regal in Hildebrand’s own memories, when she and Hugo fought it, along with Hildebrand’s Paladins and Hugo’s party. Even then, they only overcame it because Hugo threw himself into the battle like he was intent on dying. Even though it was hard fought, they came away from the battle with few casualties.
But the abomination that Hilde and Hugo faced was frightening beyond reason; it was a creeping nightmare. It was difficult to believe the black mass of bones and diseased flesh that spilled tar was ever a man. Even the name “Overman” seemed unfitting, since it couldn’t possibly have ever been a man.
It was said Emperor Apolly dreamed of an eternal empire, of the heavens manifest on earth. Endlessly bountiful and peaceful, and blessed with eternal life. The shrieking monster before Hilde and Hugo was the nightmare of eternity manifest. It was a black effigy of humanity’s hopes and hubris.
The ill-prepared party stood no chance, especially in poor health. There was nothing even left of Greg and Yuna. Anya only left her staff behind. Hugo himself only managed to drive his sword through the wriggling torso of the Old King at the cost of his entire right side. He finished it by cutting it down the middle with enough force to drive his sword straight into the thick floor of the tower. When it was over, he collapsed.
“That was really painful, even though I was pumped on adrenaline. He got me good,” Hugo said.
“Shut up!” Hildebrand shouted, running to the dying Hugo’s side.
Both Hilderand and Hilde knelt down by his side, watching the light fade from his remaining emerald eye. Hilde’s exhausted hands tried to heal him, but it only extended his suffering. He told her, “Don’t do anything crazy, I know you’re thinking about it.” He tried to hold her, but his one arm went limp with a dying wheeze.
“I’m not!” Hilde said, between tears. She held his limp hand tight, like she would never let go.
“Just let me go,” he said. “I have to go alone…”
The light in Hugo’s eye faded. He died with a smile on his face, leaving his Hilde in tears. But the light in Hilde’s one copper eye was undeniably an unquenchable love, one that didn’t give up. The kiss she laid on his lips in death only confirmed it.
“Hugo!” screamed Hildebrand. “What is this? You died?” He really was a ghost. She had known it already.
The copper-haired Hilde held Hugo’s corpse close to her bosom. When Hildebrand took a closer look, Hilde herself was pale and trembling. Her copper eyes were fading quickly and growing dim. There were dry traces of blood at the corners of her mouth and nose. Her once white sleeves were red now, and dripping.
She had used her powers constantly to heal and empower the party. Even when Greg and Yuna were reduced to smears on the stone walls and floor, she tried to revive them. When Anya was torn apart, Hilde tried to save her. She gave Hugo all the blessings she could grant as Altamea’s emissary even as blood poured freely from her nose.
“Don’t go alone, Hugo,” she said. “You get lost when you go alone. And you’re all mopey when you come back to me.” And she brandished Altamea’s Fire in her awkward fingers.
“I don’t think you’re coming back to me this time,” she whimpered. “So, take me with you this time,” she said, blood spilling from her mouth. She gasped painfully for air. “I hate to be alone too.”
She laid together with Hugo’s corpse, clutching Altamea’s Fire tight. And she clutched Hugo’s hand even tighter, as tight as she could. “I hope we can meet again,” she said.
Through the blood and spit and gasps, she cried, “And if I’ve forgotten, I hope you’ll remind me.” Her voice quieted to a listless murmur. “Remind me how much I loved you. So I can love you even more.” As Hilde closed her eyes, there was one last quiet whisper that only Hildebrand could hear. “And I’ll make you even happier, my Hero.” She died with a smile, despite it all.
“I told you I wasn’t a hero,” Hugo said coldly.
Hildebrand turned to Hugo, ready to strangle him, to yell at him and give him hell for being so callous as to deny Hilde’s last words. She stomped over to him. Her knees felt weak, and they ached again. She stumbled into him, into his stiff arms. When she saw the broken man dripping with tears and snot and drool from his hanging mouth, she couldn’t utter a single word. He seemed like he might crumble to dust if she so much as breathed in his direction.
“I couldn’t protect anything,” he wheezed, turning his face away in shame. “I couldn’t save anyone.” His story didn’t have a happy ending.
This time, Hildebrand offered her hand to Hugo. And she held his hand in the dark. She led him forward.
As they continued through the darkness, they saw a light. It was small and wayward, like a wandering firebug. Or maybe even a fairy. Hildebrand watched as a haggard Hugo stepped out of the darkness beside her and walked after the light. The ghost walked and walked and walked. Sometimes he ran, trying to catch the light in his hands. The light buzzed and murmured, as if calling to the ghost that chased it.
“I can understand it,” Hildebrand said.
“What did she say?” Hugo asked.
“She’s saying, ‘I’m over here…’”
He said nothing, just nodded.
Hugo’s ghost vanished as he reached a light at the end of his road.
“Why didn’t you tell me? About all of this?” Hildebrand asked.
Hugo turned to her and held up a lock of her golden hair. And then her hand. His thumb traced along the faint scars along her fingers. No one had ever noticed them, not even the most perceptive knights or paladins, nor the wisest and most insightful wizards or mages. The Saintess’s powers had given her the fingers when she awakened. They were perfect. That was why they had left a scar. They were grafted onto something imperfect, maybe even rotten. Just like the golden hair and sapphire eyes, they were things that belonged to the Saintess, not to the girl from the slums. But no one could ever tell the difference between the perfect and the broken.
“You weren’t the same person,” he said, letting go of Hildebrand’s hand. “You had your own life. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
Hildebrand’s hesitant fingers uncurled and touched Hugo’s weathered coat. She traced her thumb along the stitches hidden in the coat’s fleece collar. It was a secret scar only she knew. Hugo held her hand, and he traced the stitch with his thumb. He knew too. His other hand gently ran up her back, tracing her scars. He had always known her secrets. He had always known Hilde’s secrets.
“If you had told me,” Hildebrand said, “then—" She couldn’t find the words that came next. If she could find them, she wouldn’t let them linger. If only. But it was just an if. A what-if, a what-could-have-been, a would-have-been, but wasn’t.
Hildebrand could tell from Hugo’s downcast eyes that he was thinking about the same thing. She took his hand and led him forward, so they wouldn’t linger in the darkness.
But even as they continued walking, it all seemed dark. No new memories lit the path forward.
When Hildebrand looked to Hugo, he simply said, “I know the way from here.”
“It’s dark,” Hildebrand said. “I hate the dark.”
He smiled somberly.
The thought that he was trying to hide something crossed Hildebrand’s mind. If that was the case, she wouldn’t pry, at least not too much. She jabbed at his side playfully.
“At least show me when we met,” she said. “Remind me.”
Hugo let out a “hmm.” “Ok… Let’s see,” he said. “Where should I start?”
A burning field sprang to life in the darkness, surrounding Hugo and Hildebrand. A young Hugo re-emerged on the battlefield. As a scrawny boy, he fought more fiercely than he had as the bestial man he once was. He fought with rage and quiet composure in equal measure. He fought as if the wailing ghost of a great warrior possessed him. He fought so he could wander from battlefield to battlefield, racing with bleeding wounds and broken bones. Hugo fought like a hound, in search of something, someone.
He said “I was looking for—”
“For me…” Hildebrand said.
As Hugo and Hilde picked up their pace, they passed through the gates of a town on the border, at the edge of the front against the Black Carpet. A young Hugo, now a sturdy young man, carried bags of salt over his shoulder and tossed them into a waiting carriage and spoke of how they were destined for the battlefield, to slow the spreading Black Carpet. Despite his young age, he barked loudly with authority, and older, more grizzled men listened.
“Oh,” Hildebrand said. “Did you tell everyone about that one salt mine?”
“Salt mines,” he corrected, emphasizing with both hands. “Mines.”
Hildebrand tapped his chest with the back of her hand. “So sassy,” she said.
The young Hugo was carrying crates over his shoulders when he caught the glimpse of a golden-haired girl. He dropped everything and ran. She wore the uniform of the Helmsgrave Academy, and two cloaked knights flanked her. They wore the insignia of the World Over the Sun, the insignia of the Himmel Order.
“That’s you,” Hugo said, pointing at the girl. “That’s the first time we met.”
“Really? That’s me?” Hildebrand asked, looking closer. “I can’t even tell.”
“Hilde was never discovered by the Holy Kingdom. They were already gone in my first life. All that was left was Leo and the Himmel Order and they didn’t exactly like me being with Hilde,” Hugo explained. “And Hilde didn’t like them either, so we went our separate ways.”
“Hey,” Hildebrand said. “Don’t put it all on her.”
“What?” Hugo asked nervously. “I-I’m not!”
“I’m just joking,” Hildebrand said with a smile.
Hugo grunted. “I thought I was going crazy when I saw you with them, but I was certain it was you.”
Hildebrand nodded at Hugo’s deep knowledge. It was like he knew everything.
“Why didn’t you find me sooner?” she asked.
He had even known of the Himmel Order, the secret order of knights that Hildebrand led in her crusade to seize Altamea’s Fire. No one even knew it existed other than the leaders of the main Church in the Holy Kingdom. When the Pope and Cardinals rose to the heavens during the fall of the Holy Kingdom, the authority fell to the Saintess, to Hildebrand. Did he know that too? Did he know the despair she felt when the Holy Kingdom collapsed, when Bishop Theodore didn’t return? When she lost her religion? When her faith left her?
The girl, the young woman, glanced just once at the young man. She didn’t know anything, but she glanced again, and again, until the knights ushered her away. It was almost a familiar memory for Hildebrand, yet it seemed so distant and unrecognizable. It was long ago, and life was so messy.
“I found you by chance,” Hugo said, finally answering her. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Hildebrand looked at him. At his guilty gaze, at his slight frown, at the failure that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t know everything; he didn’t know anything either.
“It’s not your fault,” Hildebrand said. “Things were different. I was just wondering, that’s all.”
Things were very different. Hildebrand found herself walking in the halls of Helmsgrave Academy. A young Hugo watched as a young Hildebrand walked past him in crowded halls. He turned to her with outstretched hands, but his fingers curled, stopping just shy of touching her shoulder. That moment of hesitation cost the young Hugo his chance; they were both washed away by a sea of faces. But the young Hildebrand turned back, trying to fight the tides, and she seemed to lock eyes with Hugo for a fleeting eternity, where they were the only ones in the world. But she turned away first, like she hadn’t seen him at all, leaving Hugo to linger alone in the vast halls.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“I-I didn’t see you,” Hildebrand said, in her defense. That was something Hildebrand remembered. That strange feeling she felt then, that chill, like she had seen a ghost.
“It’s not your fault,” Hugo said, echoing her own words. “I didn’t let you see me.”
Hugo hid himself in the middle of the scores, whether it was exams or duels or competitions. He still somehow caught Rinaldo’s eye in the martial arts classes.
“I didn’t want to stand out too much. I never got along with aristocrats,” he said. “But Rinaldo always had a good eye. And a brilliant mind. I’m not sure if I’ll ever surpass him. I’m not very smart.”
“That’s not true,” Hildebrand said.
He gathered allies, all while keeping an eye on Hildebrand from afar. When his might was needed, he acted in secret with Greg, and later with Anya’s support. They cut down a death cultist student who had corrupted herself and transformed into a monstrosity to wreak havoc. And they stopped a mad professor and her out-of-control homunculus, and even the one pulling the puppet strings. They quelled an attack by some odd demon worshippers who were concerned with neither the World’s End nor Altamea’s Fire, but the archaic demons of ancient history. Hugo even donned familiar black armor to cut down rogue knights from the eastern kingdoms that bordered the World’s End, who were planning to harm foreign nobles’ children, not knowing the students caused enough harm to each other on their own.
“The academy sure was crazy,” Hildebrand said. “I never knew so much happened.” She had heard stories of some of those events, but the newspapers reported the events as if the staff had quietly quelled them.
“Yeah. It was in the Salted Lands. Right where the war was being fought,” Hugo said. “It was bound to be crazy. Crazier than any battlefield I’ve been on.”
Hildebrand opened her mouth but held her tongue. It was a chaotic mess of politics and subterfuge. Many students even died in duels and competitions. While it wasn’t a death sentence, being sent to the academy was like banishment for many unwanted aristocrat children, particularly those of feuding nobles. “It was pretty crazy,” she confirmed.
“Even dying wasn’t as crazy,” Hugo said with a smile.
Hildebrand laughed a little then paused. “The Salted Lands is a good name,” she said. “I wish I came up with that. Whose idea was it?”
“Hilde’s,” Hugo said. “Personally, I thought it was a little bland.” He smirked.
“Hah, maybe the Rosemary Salted Lands would have been more your taste?” Hildebrand asked.
They both giggled like children while they watched their younger selves officially enter adulthood.
On the day they graduated, Hugo’s gaze lingered on Hildebrand, on her Saintess Smile, on that smiling mask.
“I thought you were happy,” he commented. “I didn’t want to take that away from you.”
“I wasn’t,” Hildebrand said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know back then.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “How could you know?” How could anyone? The smiling mask was all too convincing. It was even more convincing from afar than it was in front of a mirror. Hildebrand was the one who crafted it, meticulously, from the Saintess’s perfect face. She crafted it so no one could ever know truly know her. It served its purpose perfectly, all too perfectly.
“I didn’t let you know,” she said, echoing Hugo’s words.
After the graduation Hugo quietly returned to the battlefield, making a living for himself, gathering allies, and preparing for the inevitable. When the evils of the World’s End spilled out, he thrust himself into endless battle. It was only a matter of time before he met Greg once more, and Anya, and even Rinaldo. He made a name for himself. At first it was Hugo the Fool, then the Upstart. Rinaldo had already started calling him a hero when Hildebrand finally met Hugo.
Hildebrand watched Hugo standing before the burning sea on the coast of Mirandis. He had fought for days and days, even two days straight, to give fleeing men, women, and children, and the ships they boarded, a chance to escape safely. She could see now that he had recognized her. And now she knew the reason his sea-green eyes were so filled with life back then. Why his face glowed like he had seen Altamea herself. Why his gaze was so determined and focused. It was focused on her.
And she realized that he wasn’t quite the invincible Hero she had imagined back then. She could hear his tired whispers and gasps more clearly. The tired cries, “Hilde, Hilde, you came for me.” The secret confession meant only for Hilde’s ears, “I was scared, so scared.”
Hildebrand’s lips quivered as her younger self ran to catch the fainting Hugo in her open arms. She remembered it well. It was just a spontaneous act, an errant emotion. She was compelled to catch him in her arms, to hold him in her arms, to embrace him. Back then, she thought it might have been fate. That was why she ultimately denied it, to not let the gods toy with her.
“That’s when I met you,” Hildebrand said. “That was the first time.”
Hildebrand watched closely as the younger Hugo stole glances at a younger her from his hospital bed while pretending to sleep. As he fussed with his hair, trying to get it just right. He fussed with his hair even though he was reopening newly healed wounds, only to have that precious hair massacred by the very woman he was trying to impress.
“You were awake that whole time?” Hildebrand asked.
“Hahaha,” Hugo laughed. “Yeah. I was so nervous I couldn’t rest at all. I wanted to look good in front of you.”
She watched as her younger self placed a pin on his bedside table, the Sword in the Sun. She asked, “Is this yours? I found it on the beach.”
The younger Hugo didn’t answer; he was so entranced by it, by the twist of fate. But the older Hugo that stood by Hildebrand’s side answered. “It wasn’t,” he said. “It was just…”
“Fate?” Hildebrand said.
“Dumb luck.”
Hildebrand watched familiar scenes fly by. All the moments they happened to meet again, and speak, and joke, and smile. All the times Hildebrand shouldered Hugo’s weight after hard fought victories, and the way he smiled when she did, and the way she smiled back. All the times Hugo held Hildebrand’s hands, leading a dance in opulent halls under gilded chandeliers for the watchful eyes of aristocrats. All the moments they sat together in silence before battles, and after. All the times Hugo tried to capture her attention, to have her look in his direction again, to grasp her in his hands. Only to have her turn her back to him, to avert her eyes, to push him away. She watched all the times that she left his foolish gestures shunned, all the times she left his longing gazes unmet, all the times she left his hands empty. All the times she left her own words unspoken because she was afraid of what was growing between them.
When Yuna finally arrived, brandishing a dagger in the dead of night, Hugo was a broken shell of his former self, not even worth killing, but worthy of sympathy. Over time, Yuna gave him a captive audience for his gestures, eyes for his to meet, a warm back to rest his hands. She gave him sweet, comforting words to mend his heart.
Hildebrand waved the phantoms away in anger and yelled in frustration, “Agh!”
Yuna was a braver soul, and a kinder woman. She deserved to hold Hugo’s heart, even if Hildebrand didn’t want to admit it.
The only thing Hildebrand could do was avert her eyes and turn her back. She stomped away from Hugo, who called her name, who tried to gain her attention.
“Hildebrand! Slow down, Hildebrand!”
She ignored it.
“Hilde!”
She stopped, but she didn’t turn to him. She didn’t want to face him.
“What?” she asked, smoldering in her tone. “What?”
Hugo had nothing to say.
“Did you want me to watch you be lovey-dovey with Yuna?”
“No,” Hugo answered meekly.
“You can enjoy memory lane if you want,” Hildebrand said, her voice softening. “I—” She turned back to steal a glance at him and saw Hugo staring back at her. The younger Hugo. He was watching her. He was always watching her, stealing glances like she had just done.
Even as he held Yuna in his arms, Hugo’s gaze drifted to Hildebrand, in secret. Even when they ventured into the World’s End, he watched over her like a sentinel, with gentle eyes and a soft smile that he hid from everyone. Even when they slayed the Old King at the bottom of the World’s End, even as he hugged a joyous Yuna tightly, his eyes lingered on the lone Saintess.
Hildebrand turned her back to Hugo’s phantom once again. She turned her back just like she had when she noticed his gaze back then.
The next time they saw each other, Hugo was holding the dead Rinaldo in his arms, cursing Hildebrand. Hildebrand realized, seeing Hugo’s face, that even through his burning rage and stormy shouts, his eyes held a lingering love in them. The fiery anger he showed masked pain and sadness, and confusion, like a hurt child. When she saw her own laughing face, she realized she was much the same. What she thought was glee and exhilaration was madness and despair, poorly masked by the bitter laughter of a madwoman.
Even when she rained down fire and divine punishment on him in the vaults of Kesselberg, it was the same. Her tears weren’t tears of happiness or frustration, but the crazed tears of a pathetic soul who had lost her mind, tearing herself apart and everything in front of her. The speech she thought was impassioned was just maniacal ranting. And Hugo still looked up on her with pain and confusion, and a regretful fondness. She had simply been too blind to realize it. Or maybe she hadn’t.
Thoughts echoed in her mind from that day, Don’t look at me like that.
Hildebrand held her face. She didn’t want to look at herself. She didn’t want to look at the monster. It was worse than anyone corrupted by the Black Carpet, or any evil from the World’s End. It cloaked itself in light and spoke sweet words with a beautiful face. It manipulated unfortunate souls to do its evil bidding. It killed millions of innocent people. It killed the few people who showed it love and sympathy; it devoured them. It did as monsters did in stories.
I’m a monster, she thought.
Hildebrand came to the end of the path, where a light waited. What awaited on the other side was a sad and painful world, a broken one, one Hildebrand had shattered with her own hands. It was the nothing she always feared would be waiting for her after she made her wish in front of the fountain. The grim story after the happy ending, written by a cowardly author who had lost his innocence. The end of her dreaming.
It was as sad as she had made it. Maybe it could have been as happy as she could have hoped for, too, if she had the courage to wish for it. Nothing changed even if she didn’t make her wish. She could feel the scarred coin in her gripped hand. Years of holding it tight left an unseen mark on her. They were years of making the same mistake over and over again.
Hugo’s rough hand touched her shoulder, breaking her free from her thoughts.
“Hildebrand,” he said.
It wasn’t the name she wanted to hear coming out of his mouth.
Hildebrand sniffled, and she clenched her fists. “Why did you show me all of this?” she asked. “Did you think I would fall in love with you?”
“No,” Hugo said.
Hildebrand tried to keep her calm, but she clenched Hugo’s coat with frail hands. “Then did you think I’d regret everything I did? Did you think I would say I was wrong, that I would beg for your forgiveness?” Hildebrand tried to laugh bitterly, derisively. “Well, I won’t,” she snapped. She could feel burning flowing down her face. Hugo’s face looked blurry, but the guilt and pain he wore were as crisp as the biting cold of the night.
“So,” Hildebrand said. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t make that face.” Her fingers brushed the wetness away from under his eyes. “Don’t cry,” she said. Her hands fell away from Hugo. “Don’t feel guilty.”
But Hugo held her tight.
“And don’t worry about me,” Hildebrand said. “I’m not the one you were looking for.”
Hugo held her tighter, like he wouldn’t let go.
“I’m not your Hilde.” she whispered. She thought about the could-have-beens and the would-have-beens again.
“I’m sorry,” said Hugo. He trembled too. He trembled so much, Hildebrand had to hold him like he held her, even with all her guilt and her shame. She had to hold him with her bloodstained hands. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She held him tighter.
“I’m sorry too,” said Hildebrand. “For hurting you. For everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t the one you were looking for.”
“That’s not something you have to be sorry for,” Hugo said.
Just like the words on Hildebrand’s tongue, they lingered in the dark. In the space outside of creation, where only they existed.
They left when Hildebrand spoke. When she said, “Let’s go.” When she was ready to face consequences for what she had done.
In the end, they returned to the same moment they had left. There was no happy accident or twist that returned them to before Hildebrand launched her crusade. Hildebrand floated down from the sky, her wings fading like her dream. Hugo caught her in his arms and set her down gently, like something precious still.
“You should have reminded me,” Hildebrand murmured. “You should have reached out to me.”
“I was scared,” Hugo said.
“That I might reject you?” She considered telling him the words that lingered on her tongue when she had first seen him eye-to-eye, on that beach in Mirandis. “If I didn’t listen, you should have held me tight. And never let go. Maybe I could have been the one you were looking for.”
“I was scared that—” Hugo said.
Cries of “Hugo!” interrupted him. His companions surrounded him. Their appearance meant only one thing: her army was defeated. She alone was left.
“—That I might leave you all alone in the end…”
Hildebrand’s eyes drifted from her side to side to find no one at all, while Hugo’s companions prepared their weapons with confused and fearful faces; they were ready to defend Hugo at all costs. She couldn’t help but chuckle at his joke. She laughed and laughed and laughed. And she cackled. She laughed even as she fell to her knees and to her hands, even as she touched her head to the cold stone.
She gripped Altamea’s Fire tight even with trembling hands. She eyed the broken sword, whose blade had shattered like fragile porcelain. She had told herself, even if she had nothing at all, she would still have her dream, but it too was shattered, and the world with it. She looked up at the black night sky and saw it falling, devouring the surrounding earth.
“What’s going on?” she asked to Hugo.
His eyes searched around, as if he was only noticing now. And his eyes stopped on Altamea’s Fire.
“What did I screw up this time?” Hildebrand asked with a jaded smile. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.
Hugo knelt beside her. “It’s my fault,” he said. “It really is,” he reassured. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t think about what would happen if I rejected the other world.” When his rough, trembling hand met hers, they were steady together. They were warm and strong. They were safe in each other’s hands. They were secure, like a rock in the storm of the century. “But we can fix it.”
“Hugo!” Yuna called to him.
“I’m sorry, Yuna,” he said. “I’ve only ever been a burden to you. And I’m sorry for leaving you with one more burden—please forgive Hilde.”
Hugo held Altamea’s Fire together with Hildebrand.
“I’m not a hero,” Hugo said. “I never cared about justice or doing the right thing. I just wanted to have nice a life. I’m probably more of a villain, if you ask me… This was all my fault, from the very beginning. So don’t mourn for me,” he told his companions. He turned to Hilde. “Don’t feel responsible for anything. Run if you have to. Live your life full of regrets. Or don’t,” he said with a smile. “Live a long life. When I see Ren, I’ll try to convince him. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“What are you doing?” Hildebrand asked. “Hey! Hugo! Don’t do anything stupid! I know you’re thinking about it! Hey!”
He smiled to mask the fear on his quivering lips. “I have to go alone.”
Hildebrand always hated how he threw himself into battle like he didn’t intend to live. It was like he intended to die… It was like he was intent on dying. As a warm light enveloped Hildebrand, she cursed herself for laughing at him. She could understand his words now. She tried to call him, but only mumbled herself to sleep in the light’s comfortable embrace.
By the time she stirred, Hugo was laying limp on the ground. His sea-green eyes were dark. Hildebrand crawled over to him and held his cold corpse.
"Hugo," Hildebrand whispered, shaking him. He didn't move. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and touched his cold cheek. She squeezed his hand, but it didn't squeeze back. She found herself in the same position as her predecessor.
Hilde watched the others stir and rise. Yuna was the first to stride forward. For a moment she held her dagger up like a snake poised to strike. But with tear-filled eyes, she tossed it to the ground.
“Let go of him! Let go!” she screamed. She wrested Hilde’s hands away from Hugo’s corpse but didn’t force Hildebrand away. In that other life, she too was a friend, like family, to Hilde. They all were. Even in this one, they could have been comrades had things gone differently.
Greg, Hugo’s closest friend, stepped forward and pointed his bloodstained blade at Hildebrand’s neck.
His unusually icy gaze burned with frustration, his brows slowly coming together in anger and his quivering mouth pulling down in a grimace.
“If it wasn’t for Hugo, I’d take your head right now,” he growled.
She could see the loyalty in his eyes.
Greg pulled his sword back and stiffened his lip and his face, fighting back the tears. Even if he didn’t, the other kingdoms would have her head. Hildebrand recalled Hugo’s last words, but even if she could run, where would she even run to?
Hildebrand looked at her hands. Although she couldn’t see the blood, she could feel the dripping blood and burning ashes that stained them. She had destroyed everything precious to her with her own hands.
While Hugo’s companions were securing his body, Yuna alone came to Hilde and took her by the wrist.
“If you stay here, you’ll die,” she said. She too had loyalty in her eyes, but not overflowing like Greg’s. She made up for the missing amount with love, for Hugo, and a mature sympathy, like an adult talking to a child.
“I know that,” Hildebrand said, snatching her wrist away. “I’m not dumb. I’m older than you.”
Hildebrand shoved Yuna towards the others and grabbed Altamea’s Fire. It was whole now, barely. Golden seams held together its fractured pieces. Hildebrand gulped. It had divinity, an overwhelming amount, but still not enough to bring back even one soul. Even though her body felt bereft of divinity, Hildebrand was still the Saintess, however broken. Her existence itself was divine. A Saintess in exchange for a mere mortal. It was a big price to pay for something small. The gods wouldn’t say no. It was like stealing from a child. That was fine.
“You don’t have to take my head,” Hildebrand said to Greg. “I’ll give it to you.”
Greg, Yuna, and Anya were all together with Hugo, just like in his first life. But Hildebrand stood by herself. There was space next to Hugo, whom Greg was holding up. It was an empty space, like there was someone missing. Someone who should have been nestled safely under his arm, someone on whom his arm should have been draped. Not even Yuna stood there.
Hugo’s dead and dark eyes seemed to stare at her, through her, to something beyond. It was ironic, if he had just killed her himself, she could have avoided all the embarrassment she put herself through. She remembered holding onto his hands to stop him from striking her down. He seemed like an unmoving mountain because he had been unmoving. He had never intended to harm her. He wasn’t capable of it. Maybe if she had just died in the slums all those years ago, he would have forgotten all about her by now. Or maybe he wasn’t capable of that either.
Hildebrand thought about Hilde, whom Hugo had been looking for. Whom Hugo never forgot. Hilde, who wanted to remember and be remembered. Who knew those gentle waves were cold. Who drank from the broken cup. Who didn’t let her words linger on the tip of her tongue and swallow them as spoiled regret. Hilde, who knew she held nothing at all in her broken hands. Who was able to hold Hugo tightly.
“Hah!” Hildebrand laughed at herself. “Hahaha!” She realized something.
Hilde had cast her coin into her fountain long ago, long before she even met Hugo. She could be happy because she had open hands with which to hold happiness, because she could pay the price of one copper every time, even when she had nothing at all. Maybe I could have been happy too, Hildebrand thought. I could have been as happy as I wished. Even if the world was cruel, and even if the end was bitter.
Hugo’s companions looked on in shock, waiting with baited breaths. Hildebrand summoned all the unspoken words she carried, and the regrets that came along with them. They gave her the strength to raise the sword up, pointed at herself.
She needed one last bit of strength, one last bit of spite. She recalled Hugo’s wish and laughed. You wished for me to be happy, she thought.
“Wishes don’t come true if you tell,” she said to Hugo.
“Stop it! Hildebrand!” screamed Greg.
Hildebrand plunged the blade deep into her heart, and twisted it. It didn’t hurt. She thought it felt cold at first, but that wasn’t it. She felt numb.
She fell to her knees and locked eyes with Hugo’s dead eyes. He seemed sad. Hildebrand looked at that empty space next to him. A thought crossed her mind. One last regret. The curse she left for Hugo.
I wished you would remember me, I wished you wouldn’t forget about me, she thought. I should have told you.
The blood gurgling up from her throat stopped her from telling him. She tried, but her eyes closed on their own.
It went dark. Darker than the starless night sky that she so feared when she lived like a sewer rat. Darker than the lightless temple, where she prayed for 7 days and 7 nights for the strength to untwist the twisted world. Darker than the depths of the World’s End. It was darker than the void outside of creation she journeyed through with Hugo.
It was just as dark as when she closed her eyes so she couldn’t see all the good things before her. As dark as a dreamless slumber.