“H-hold still!” Hildebrand said, hovering the freshly sharpened knife a hair’s breadth away from Hugo’s neck.

  “I told you I can do it,” he said, the morsel in his throat bobbing up and down. He raised his hand, offering to take the knife from Hildebrand.

  “Hold still!” she said again. She hadn’t totally massacred his hair, but giving him a shave was another matter altogether. In her memories, he was always clean-shaven, no matter the occasion. Even on the occasions he met her looking like a wandering vagrant, he did it with a clean shave, so the thought of shaving his beard had never even crossed her mind. She never had the chance to shave for him, not even once. It was only his hair that he let grow into a mess.

  She had already shaved his mustache and beard with just a few nicks, but now it came down to the overgrown fuzz at the top of his neck and the knife felt dangerous. Hildebrand’s hands trembled as her grip tightened. She didn’t trust herself with it, not even in her wildest dreams. And this was her wildest dream yet.

  She touched the knife to Hugo’s throat and scraped the blade against his skin. It caught a little. Ever so slightly. Then it glided as it scraped away the hairs. Then it caught again. Then it glided. Then…

  “Oh,” she said. “Uh-oh…”

  “Uh-oh?” Hugo repeated.

  Hildebrand held her hand up for Hugo to see. It dripped with blood.

  He gripped Hildebrand’s wrist and snatched the knife out of her hand, just to throw it aside. “Your hand!” he shouted. He turned her hand over and over. “Are you hurt?”

  “This isn’t my blood…” she sheepishly muttered.

  “Oh,” Hugo said, his eyes relaxing. “Good,” he said. His head rolled from side to side. Even with Hildebrand’s steadying hands to slow his descent, he fell back onto his butt with a thump, his shoulders dropping. “Whew…” he breathed.

  “Hugo?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, laying on his back. “I’m just relaxing. I must have been tense.”

  “Hugo!” Hildebrand held his bloody neck carefully. She wasn’t sure if it was a dangerous amount of blood. Some people bled pools without dying, and some died with just a drop of blood. She wasn’t even sure if people could even die in dreams, but she pressed tighter as she grabbed Hugo’s hand and put it to his neck, then his other. “Hold it tight,” she said.

  He nodded with a mumble.

  She dug through Hugo’s pockets, hoping for a thread and a needle, anything. She inhaled sharply, feeling the cold air in her chest. Then she exhaled just as sharply. There was a stinging pain, deeper than just her flesh. Her bloody hands shook, and they shook faster the more she looked down at them.

  Did I nick them? she wondered. Her face contorted as she realized the pain was in her chest. Too great to be stress, but not as sharp as the point of a sword. It was a feeling she remembered, but couldn’t place.

  Get ahold of yourself, she told herself, balling her hands tightly into fists. Once the tension in her hands helped her acclimate to the ache in her heart, she unclenched them to search through Hugo’s Bag of Holding. Nothing but endless cans…

  Yeah, must be a dream, she reasoned. It was the most stressful dream she’d ever had. Sinking had never been as stressful; on the contrary, it was peaceful. It was a dream in which her pacing thoughts sank into the murky darkness below, and bitter memories faded. It was a reprieve. With any luck, these memories too would have faded by the time she woke up.

  She browsed through the labels on the cans. All boiled meat. It’s just a dream… she told herself again. There was hope yet. Then she saw Hugo’s arm flop down.

  “Ahh!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs and ran to his side. She held his neck tight, babbling nonsense all the while.

  “Dear Altamea,” he murmured. “My ears… Are you putting a curse on me?”

  “No!” she yelled.

  “Then just heal me,” he said.

  “I can’t!”

  “Ok,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “R-really?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I was tired of living, anyway.”

  She slapped his chest. “Don’t say that! Geez!”

  “Agh,” he moaned. “I always knew you’d be the one to kill me.”

  She gasped quietly.

  Is that what this is? she wondered. Had she dreamed of meeting him to finish the job? Did she hold Hugo in such contempt that she had to dream of killing him, too?

  “N—” She choked on her answer. She wasn’t sure it would be an honest answer.

  Underneath all the unspoken affection she had for the man, he really did annoy her. And perhaps, annoy was too weak of a word. He laid waste to years of planning and effort and sacrifice. He shattered her perfect world. And he even robbed her of redemption, ensuring she died a sinner.

  When she regressed, Hildebrand thought of it as a chance to be freed from her great sins. But there were always those lingering sentiments in the back of her mind. Those echoes that spoke of the evils she had committed. Those whispers in the wind that told her, even if the world had changed, she had not. That even if she could change the future of the world, she couldn’t change her own past. Those bitter memories.

  They reminded her Hugo had rejected the perfect world for her. Because of him, she had to live as a sinner, too. Did she hate him for that?

  Hugo folded his hands together over his chest and turned his dark eyes to Hildebrand.

  And her memories showed Hildebrand a vision of Hugo’s dead eyes, in great detail. An image that had been burned into her mind.

  She clung to him, gripping him tight as he lay.

  “I’ll be going first,” he whispered. His voice was airy and raspy, like a ghost’s quiet wail. He opened one eye to peek at her. “Again,” he said.

  Hildebrand closed her eyes. And those memories came vividly to life. As sweet as they were bitter.

  “No,” she answered.

  For the first time in ages, she prayed.

  A quiet came over the world around her. Hugo’s breathing, the crackle of the fire, even the beat of her own heart vanished. And a calm overtook her. Hildebrand opened her eyes to the glow of holy light in the palms of her hands. She didn’t even remember her prayer. Those private and intimate words were unknown even to herself, but she was grateful for that prayer to be answered. She was grateful to know not even sinners would be abandoned in their time of need.

  Hugo sat up. “So, you can heal me,” he said, brushing the hair away from his eyebrows. It had grown just slightly from that heal. It was a strange side effect that only ever affected him.

  “Yeah,” Hildebrand said, pulling her hands away from Hugo. The blood on them had dried, and it crumbled as her fingers curled. Some of it crumbled off. “I guess I can… How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Thanks.” He cracked a smile, then a chuckle. He snickered as he tried to push his laugh back into his mouth, like he had done something mischievous.

  Hildebrand pointed in his face, inserting the tip of her finger up his nose. “You!” she said. “You were fine, weren’t you?”

  He sucked air in through his teeth, grinning madly all the while. He wanted to laugh. So bad his stifled “Pft”s sounded uncouth.

  “Are you going to laugh or fart?” she asked.

  He pulled Hildebrand’s finger out of his nostril and inhaled. “Pft! Bwahaha!”

  Hildebrand covered her ears as Hugo roared with laughter. “It wasn’t that funny,” she said, giggling herself.

  Hugo settled back with a long sigh. “It was a deep cut,” he said. “I really was feeling lightheaded. But—” He folded his hands behind his head, still putting his cheeky grin on full display. “—if something like that could kill me, I’d be long dead.

  Hildebrand raised her hand high into the air.

  “Wait,” Hugo said, putting his hands up.

  She set her hand gently down on his chest and massaged her fingers into his shirt. “Oh goodness,” she sighed. She didn’t hide her smile. “That’s true,” she said. Hildebrand patted his chest a few times, kneading it every time she laid her hand on it. “I’ve seen you survive worse,” she said. “But you still gave me a fright.”

  Hugo jolted upright, covering his chest with his hand. His eyes, wide with confusion, seemed to ask, “What are you doing?”

  She sat beside him. “Just checking for a heartbeat,” she said.

  His hand moved up from covering his chest to covering his mouth. “I’m fine,” he said. “As you can see.”

  “Can I? Can I see?” she said, leaning in closer.

  Hugo leaned away with a gulp. Then his finger wiped across the bottom of Hildebrand’s eyes. “Y-you were crying?” he asked. A crooked smile formed on his face at the sight of a teardrop beaded on his finger.

  Hildebrand let out an irritated sigh, closer to a grunt, and wiped her eyes. “No, I tear up when I’m stressed!” she said.

  His crooked smile became a beaming grin, and he let out a soft chuckle. “You were crying for me,” he said.

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  “I wasn’t,” she retorted. She rolled her eyes, but her smirking lips betrayed her.

  She expected him to take as much teasing as he gave, but he was more experienced. He was good at teasing her, good enough to turn her teasing around on her. Hildebrand’s smile grew wider, no longer trying to deny that fact. Maybe if she hadn’t held her tongue so much, and if she spoke with truer intentions, she would be just as skilled as he. Her smile turned into a grin as she let out a laugh. One that captured Hugo’s full attention.

  “Oh! L-let me see my new hair!” Hugo said, turning his widened eyes to his feet. He nearly flew out of his seat to his bag. “I have a mirror!” he told Hildebrand, speaking into the air away from her. It was quite unlike him.

  She cupped her face as she watched him dig through his Bag of Holding. He felt flustered, after all. “Cute,” slipped out of her lips.

  He finally returned with a hand mirror.

  Hildebrand recognized it. It was a relic Hugo found in the World’s End. He was something of a scavenger, among other things. It was unbecoming of the Hero, but it didn’t matter to him.

  Honestly… she thought, seeing him with the spoils of his less-than-heroic behavior.

  She always wanted to join him, but it was much too unbecoming of the Saintess to dig through the remnants of people’s homes. Although, had there been more treasures like that mirror, she might have fallen for the temptation.

  Hugo spoke of having a master alchemist fix it up, so he could gift it. To whom he never said. She remembered feeling a pang of jealousy towards that unknown stranger. The charming trinket was just her kind of thing. He had shown it to her once, cracked and caked with dirt and grime. It looked just big enough to frame a portrait of two people, if held at arm’s length away.

  I guess you never saw them again, Hildebrand thought.

  He sat back down beside Hildebrand. Before he could hold the mirror up, she leaned in closer to Hugo, and she dropped her head on his shoulder with a thud.

  She felt him breathe in and hold it.

  The intimate act never felt so intimate until she nestled her head in. Until he released his held breath and let his shoulders wane gently. It was never strange for two tired souls to shoulder the burdens of each other’s lives whenever they found a moment of respite. Whether it was in a carriage back from entertaining effete nobles all day or finding a safe spot to sit after a long battle.

  By the time they entered the World’s End, Hildebrand had put an end to that sort of behavior. Now she wondered, If I hadn’t… Perhaps a moment like this wouldn’t have been reserved only for a dream.

  “Ow,” Hugo murmured. “Hardheaded, as always.” His voice came back to life, doing away with that uncharacteristic shyness he had been harboring.

  “Who?” Hildebrand innocently asked. “Surely not me?”

  “Haha.” He bumped his head on hers, letting it come to rest gently atop her head. “Who else but you? You could split a boulder with your head. You almost cracked my head open.”

  “When did I ever do that?” she hissed.

  “In Kesselberg,” he said.

  Hildebrand narrowed her eyes. “Oh yeah,” she said. “I think I already apologized,” she said. “And you know I hate to repeat myself. But I’ll say it again.” Her fingers bristled against his leg. “Just for you.”

  “Just for me?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  He moved his arm away, forcing Hildebrand to sit upright. And his eyes searched the campfire for an answer to whatever question was on his mind. She waited until his eyes lowered. He had found an answer.

  He pulled open his coat and brought his arm around Hildebrand, covering her in it, pulling her closer. “I like that,” he said.

  She closed her eyes and quietly nestled herself against Hugo’s shirt, placing a hand over his chest. His shirt smelled ever so slightly of pine and sweat. Yet had the dry musty odor from his well-worn coat. And it was soft but scratchy as she buried her face in his shirt.

  “I’m sorry. For being so hard-headed,” she said.

  The rustling of his patchwork coat. The skip of a heartbeat and the deep breath that followed. The tightness of his arm wrapping around her. And the weight of his hand resting on her hip.

  It felt real. All too real. It couldn’t be a dream. She remembered it.

  Except how cold Hugo felt. Especially how cold Hugo felt. When he lay dead on the floor in Kesselberg.

  Hildebrand opened her eyes to find the mirror bearing down on them, capturing them both in its reflection.

  “Oh,” Hildebrand murmured, surprised to find him well and alive, smiling softly in his reflection. She smiled back at it. She felt vindicated, although no one ever refuted her belief. As she expected, the mirror held the visages of two people in its brass frame.

  “Looks great,” Hugo said. “My hair,” he clarified. But his distinctive eyes lingered elsewhere. Hildebrand followed his gaze back onto herself.

  But she found a stranger staring back.

  “Ah! Aah!” Hildebrand yelled, snatching the mirror away. She stamped her feet and jumped up from her seat. She held the mirror up high but looked down at Hugo, waiting for him to respond. Maybe a concerned “what is it?” or “Hildebrand!” But he stared blankly at her with a knowing look. An equally puzzled and accusatory look that asked, “What is she up to now?”

  Hildebrand stared back. And she tapped her foot. She even blew a strand of hair out of her face, trying to elicit a response. Finally, she shook her hand at him in exasperation, gesturing for him to say something, anything.

  He tapped his cheek with his whole finger, eyes narrowing as he contemplated his next words. “Ah!” he said, breaking his rhetorical silence. “I, too, was surprised by your beauty.”

  It wasn’t the response she was expecting. Not even close. But it was more than satisfactory. Too good, even. Hildebrand pulled the mirror closer and forced an awkward, uninspiring shout amidst her heart pounding shock. “M-my hair!”

  “Is there something in your hair?” he asked, gliding his fingers through the long locks of her hair.

  She bunched up a handful of inky black hair. “It’s pitch black!” She turned to Hugo. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I figured you were going for a new look,” Hugo said. “It looks good. It’s…” He touched his chin and paused for gravitas. “Splendid.”

  Hildebrand gasped loudly. His vocabulary had improved. She hid behind the mirror and watched her reflection’s face burn red. “I-is that so?” she asked, lowering the mirror. She timidly peeked over it, still wanting to hide her embarrassment. And her glee.

  He nodded. “That’s right,” he confirmed. Then Hugo tilted his head as he gazed upon her, bringing his hand to his chin. His hand shifted to every possible position as he tilted his head from side to side, inspecting every detail of Hildebrand’s face. At a glance, he seemed to admire her. But there was a slight wrinkle in his brows. A small fold between his thick eyebrows. Ever the critic, he wanted to voice his opinion.

  And Hildebrand knew exactly what it was.

  She pointed the whole mirror at him like a sword. “I don’t look like her,” she said.

  Hugo opened his arms wide with feigned surprise. “Whaa—,” he said.

  She waited for him to finish. But he kept going.

  “—aaaa…” He finally stopped, running out of breath.

  She glowered at him. There was no hiding her annoyance. “…You think I look like Yuna,” she said.

  “Noo,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I think you look… Similar,” he half-admitted.

  “Haa!” Hildebrand sighed into the sky. She smacked his shoulder. Just a light smack.

  He groaned and rubbed his arm, acting like he had been deeply wounded. The cut on his neck seemed trivial in comparison. “You do,” he whispered defiantly.

  “That’s not true!” she said. “Her hair isn’t nearly as dark!” She held up her new hair. “This is… Advanced darkness!”

  Hugo’s brows creased again. This time with confusion. He was never one to discern colors too passionately, unlike Greg. Hildebrand had always suspected Hugo was colorblind, even though he had proven otherwise.

  “I don’t see it,” he said.

  “Never mind…” she answered.

  “You’re more alike than you think,” Hugo said, continuing on.

  Hildebrand sat back down with a pout. “We’re not,” she said.

  Hugo pointed at her. “Like that,” he said. “The way you get gloomy. And quiet.”

  She crossed her arms with a huff and turned away from him. She was feeling gloomy and quiet, like he said. But she couldn’t help it. He always knew how to annoy her. He was doing such a good job at it that Hildebrand doubted, once again, it was just a dream.

  As the silence dragged on, Hildebrand rubbed her arms in her sleeves, curious about what Hugo could be doing without making a peep. He could be just as quiet as he could be loud. Sometimes it seemed like he could go days without saying a thing.

  But it wasn’t so bad. Because she knew the next time they spoke, he would speak freely, like their conversation had never ended. Even if it was just about trivial things.

  It had been like that for so long. Until her quest for Altamea’s Fire ended. Until she betrayed him.

  Now his silence was eerie. Now, she couldn’t stand it.

  Hildebrand hummed curiously. She tapped her fingers. And she stole a glance at him, only to find him glancing back with curious green eyes. She had his full and undivided attention, but she called his name, anyway. “Hugo?”

  “Mm-hmm?” he murmured back.

  Hildebrand opened her mouth. And closed it. She held her tongue. And she changed her mind.

  “Do you remember the girl who was corrupted at Helmsgrave Academy?” she asked. It wasn’t the question on the tip of her tongue, but it had been on her mind.

  “Mm-hmm,” he murmured again. “Bridgette Eisenbarth.”

  “…” Hildebrand narrowed her eyes. “Are you making that up? Is Eisenbarth really her family name?” she asked.

  “Mm-hmm. The one with the huge eyebrows.”

  It really was her. I must have overheard it somewhere, she told herself.

  “She monsterized during our first year,” he said. “Around winter.”

  “Oh. Monsterized,” Hildebrand echoed. “That has a nice ring to it.”

  Hugo’s brows perked up. “And the monsters? I call them,” he said, gesturing with his hands, “Nightmares.” He fanned his fingers out to emphasize the name.

  “It’s not bad,” Hildebrand said. “But I kinda liked Overman.”

  “No!” Hugo snapped. When he realized he was standing, he settled down. But he sat stiffly, with his outstretched hands on his knees. “You can’t use that name. It’s cursed,” he said.

  Maybe she gave him a funny look, but Hugo narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious! I know you’re thinking about it,” he said.

  Strange, she thought, seeing Hugo so uptight. The way he squeezed his fingers on his knees again and again. The way he shook his legs ever so slightly, on the balls of his feet. Hildebrand leaned on him, bumping her head against his shoulder again.

  “Ow,” he said. Her hard head gave him a jolt, but then he relaxed, giving her a soft place to settle in.

  “Ok, ok,” Hildebrand said. “I won’t use it. I promise,” she said, lifting her pinky finger. But she lowered it, raising her hand as a pledge instead. If nothing else, she was a petty person.

  “How about Mara?” she asked.

  “I like that one,” he said. “Did you just come up with it?”

  “…Yes,” she lied. She would apologize to Dolph later. Although, probably not. She wanted to keep the conversation on track. That was always a struggle with Hugo. And it wasn’t always his fault. It was about half-and-half.

  He rested his head on Hildebrand’s again. “There’s a marvelous brain underneath that hard head,” he said.

  Hildebrand laughed once and twice, and then she giggled. “Why thank you. It is marvelous. Like yours!” she said.

  He smirked. “Of course.”

  “Of course,” Hildebrand teasingly echoed, “with that big head of yours!”

  He sat upright, chuckling wryly. “Ha. Ha.” And he quietly added, “I always heard I had a small head…” He shook his so-called small head. “So,” he said, “tell Hugo the Bigheaded what you want to know about Bridgette.”

  “I—”

  “This big head,” he said, tapping his head twice, “contains vast knowledge of many things.”

  She chuckled.

  “Mostly trivial,” he added.

  She chuckled again. It was true. It was the source of countless trivial conversations, but they were never dull.

  When he opened his mouth again, she smiled, and he finally sealed his lips.

  Did I look annoyed? she wondered. Or maybe he was just being mindful. Something he always tried his best at, even if it wasn’t his strong suit.

  “I’m trying to stop her from monsterizing,” she said.

  When he gave her a confused look, she explained how she had returned to the past, just like he had. He stared intently with taciturn eyes as he listened.

  When she finished, she waved in his face, just to make sure he was still awake.

  “You should befriend her,” he said, pulling her waving hand down. “She’s… A lonesome person.”

  Her story did not surprise him at all. Not even a bit, she thought. He even seemed a little bored, unimpressed by it all. She could hardly believe it. But she couldn’t imagine him baffled, either.

  “I tried that,” Hildebrand said. “But we got off to a bad start.”

  “That’s a surprise,” he said. “You always had everyone under your thumb. You were just so charming.”

  Hildebrand twiddled her thumbs at the sudden compliment. “I wasn’t,” she whispered. “I’m not… That was just the Saintess’s charm,” she said. “I’m not much without it.”

  “No, you were,” he declared. He paused for a moment to clasp his hands together and rub his fingers. Then he gently took Hildebrand’s fingers and ran his thumb over them. “You are,” he said.

  But she pulled her hand away. “I’m not such a great person,” she said. “I’m not a good person,” she clarified.

  Hugo smiled and splayed his hand out in a gesture that asked, “Isn’t that obvious?”

  Hildebrand’s timid frown deepened into a scowl and a steely glare, something she had learned from Dolph. She raised her elbow into Hugo’s ribs, letting him know exactly what she was thinking: you’re a jerk.

  “Ngh,” he grunted. “I only said you were charming,” he said, still wearing a smirk. “Not a good person.”

  “…” Hildebrand crossed her arms. And hung her head. But she stole a glance at Hugo out of the corner of her eyes and watched his smirk fade.

  He was just joking, she told herself. It was evidence of his kindness. Proof that he had not spurned her. Even though she didn’t deserve his acceptance. It gave her some small delusional hope that she might find a chance to redeem herself in his eyes.

  But even if that chance never came. Even if she had lost her chance to find redemption well and truly. Even if she couldn’t look him in the eyes, she could do it here. In her dream.

  When he reached his hand out, Hildebrand turned just slightly to him, so their eyes would meet. And they did. She puffed her cheeks up and pouted playfully. “Hmph!”