But a dream still came to Hildebrand nonetheless. It was a memory. When the Holy Kingdom was overrun, and she lost the few people she held dear. A foreign knight had whisked her away from the battlefield. He tore through the corrupted and even the Overmen. He wielded his sword with his left hand, just like Hugo.

He carried her through the hordes and the thicket to safety. He carried her to a high hill where she watched her life burn down to the ground. He said nothing at all, but he touched his helmet with two fingers before offering a hand to hold as Hildebrand cried and sulked. She didn’t take it, but he stayed quietly by her side through the entire night, draping a cape around her to keep her warm. His armor was black and red; it was covered with blood.

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“Hugo?” Hildebrand asked in her dream. She smiled, expecting him to say, “Yes.” He didn’t answer, of course he wouldn’t.

It was only a dream, one of those sinking dreams. Hildebrand slowly sank back into the darkness as the dream faded. She could recognize it for what it was now, oblivion.

Even though she had accepted her end, she still reached up, breaking the past the surface to the other side. She reached out like any drowning person would do. It was just instinct. She never expected to find anything on the other side of the water. But Hildebrand did. She found something on the other side. A strong hand, one that held too tightly. It pulled her up.