“Is he dangerous?” Hildebrand asked, pointing to Dolph.

  Roy held one of Dolph’s arms up. “Dangerous?” he asked, waving Dolph’s limp arm around. “This noodle-armed weenie?”

  Hildebrand scoffed. “He’s not a weenie,” she said. Dolph’s arm was indeed like a noodle, the way it wobbled when shaken. She couldn’t disagree with that part, but in what way was he like a small dog?

  Roy chuckled. “He’s not dangerous. Which knucklehead told you that?”

  Hildebrand didn’t answer the question, but it seemed that man already had a clue. He only called two people “knucklehead,” and it was usually Hugo for some reason.

  “He’s not dangerous,” Roy said again. “Maybe to a paper sack, on a good day.”

  Hildebrand nodded. She couldn’t hold confidence in her enemy’s reassuring word, but it was still comforting to hear. There was no reason to him lie about something so painfully obvious. Although, it wouldn’t have been bad to hear that Dolph was dangerous. If he had a dangerous kind of strength, maybe he wouldn’t have been laying in the infirmary bed.

  Roy’s rough hand patted Hildebrand’s head, pressing her hair flat. “Don’t worry, Little Miss Saintess,” he said, ruffling her hair. “He’ll be fine.” She could feel the static building up. Strands of hair were starting to float. Roy gave her head a few more rough pats and only stopped when Hildebrand growled under her breath. She didn’t want to provoke him, but he was provoking her.

  Hildebrand ran her hand over her hair, taming the strands that were floating up. “Have you ever heard of this thing called lotion? Hand cream?” she asked. “Sasha sells it.”

  Roy chuckled and patted her head again, making a mess of her hair with his dry, ashy hand. “I know,” he said. “She gave me some.”

  Hildebrand brushed his hand away. Sasha would never give away her goods for free. It was inconceivable. But if she did, why wouldn’t he use it?

  Hildebrand knew why. He was simply trying to fluster her.

  “Shouldn’t you go back?” Hildebrand asked.

  “What’s the rush?” Roy said, shrugging.

  “Go back,” she grumbled, shooing him. “The class is waiting for you.”

  “As you wish, your holiness,” he said, stepping away. But he stopped in the doorway. “He’s just a normal kid,” Roy said. “Just a little weird.”

  “Yeah, a normal kid,” she quietly echoed. That was the problem. And the thing that weighed heavily on Hildebrand’s slumped shoulders. He was just a normal boy, whom she had endangered. She had gambled his life by borrowing his strength. She borrowed it because she had none herself.

  The protagonists of time-traveling stories cultivated skills and abilities all their lives before going back to the past. They brought those skills and cleverness and grit back to their pasts with them. They brought back strength capable of changing the future for the better. Like Hugo. As much as he refused the title, he could be rightfully called a hero, even The Hero.

  But Hildebrand brought back nothing. All she had ever done was borrow strength from others all her life. Whether it was the Saintess’s powers. The military might of the faithful Paladins and vengeful remnants of the east. The fierce loyalty and abilities of her Divine Shield. The destiny defying strength of the Hero and his companions.

  Hildebrand touched Dolph’s hand as he winced in his sleep. Even the fingers that laid on his wrist were borrowed.

  “Is he going to be alright?” Hildebrand asked the lady doctor, who stood across the room, lingering in the doorway.

  On cue, Dolph jolted upright, gasping.

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  The doctor nodded. “He’ll be fine,” she answered.

  Dolph touched his head, pulling his hand away. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Bridgette knocked you out,” Hildebrand said.

  “How long was I out?” Dolph asked.

  “About 10 minutes,” Hildebrand said. She had counted the tedious seconds.

  Dolph touched his head again, this time feeling it all over. “Oh God,” he murmured. “I have brain damage…”

  “You’ll be fine, Mister Adolph. Your vitals were normal,” the doctor said, before stepping away.

  "But, humans..." he said.

  “The priest said there was no problem with the healing,” Hildebrand said, following up on the doctor’s reassurance.

  “Oh right,” Dolph said. “Magic.”

  “It’s not magic,” Hildebrand reminded. She tried to give him a crooked smile. A warm and comforting one. She wasn’t sure she succeeded. “It’s much better than magic,” she said. It was a miracle. Roy said Bridgette had “accidentally” used Vigor, just for a moment. She hit Dolph with enough force to crack a boulder. Dolph’s worries about falling over the railing seemed even more trivial in hindsight.

  Dolph nodded dismissively and laid back down, folding his arms behind his head. “So, I couldn’t beat her,” he said. His beady blue eyes fixed her on so intently, she couldn’t help but avert her eyes.

  “It’s alright,” she said.

  “She’s not going to beat you up still, is she?” he asked.

  “I doubt it,” Hildebrand said. She shook her head. “She won’t. So don’t worry about that.”

  “You never know,” he said, rubbing his head. He let out of a tired sigh. “Ugh. I should have beaten her. Sorry.”

  He didn’t have to say that word. She did.

  Hildebrand chewed on the side of her tongue. An apology was on the tip of her tongue, on the verge of leaving her lips. But she held onto her tongue. She didn’t want to say something she didn’t fully mean. The words, “I’m sorry,” had become a matter of habit lately, rather than earnest feelings, and she wasn’t sure she had earnest feelings to offer him.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Dolph asked.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “You won’t even look me in the eye,” he said. “You usually stare me down so much it’s creepy.”

  “Do I?” she murmured. Hildebrand knew she did. It was hard not to focus on his beady, blue eyes. Sometimes they seemed to pierce through everything, the world itself.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Dolph,” Hildebrand said. Her eyes lingered on the floor.

  “You’re not thinking about firing me, are you?” he asked. “I warned you I wasn’t very strong.”

  Hildebrand had thought about it.

  When she regressed, changing wasn’t one of her priorities. She hadn’t even thought about it.

  But realizing she hadn’t changed even a little bit left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted to fix things. She wanted to save Hugo and the others from a cruel fate of her own making. That wasn’t the same as becoming a better person, a good person.

  Hildebrand had too many sins to count, but one sprung to mind now. She could remember when she was alone, standing before Hugo and his companions. When she realized her forces—the Crusaders, the remnants of the eastern kingdoms, her Divine Shield, even Leo—were all dead. They devoted their loyalty and trust to her. Good men surrendered themselves to her, and she had them commit atrocities in her name. And she delivered them into death’s icy embrace. They gave themselves wholly to her, and she devoured them whole, leaving nothing, not even their morals, like a serpent.

  Perhaps she really was innocent now. The sins she committed, or would commit in the future, were erased. She had spent hours thinking about it the past few days, carefully considering if she could be guilty of something that hadn’t happened anymore. But the darkness clung to her like skin that couldn’t be shed. Perhaps no one from this world could see that, but she wasn’t from this world.

  Hildebrand smiled.

  She wanted to change. She didn’t want to borrow the strength of others. And she didn’t want to cast their lives into death, like she had done all her previous life. She didn’t want to be an adult borrowing the strength of an ordinary boy. Sending him marching into danger, just because she was a coward. She didn’t want to want to feel those same bitter feelings again when death came for her once more. She didn’t want to let this second chance go to waste.

  But a murderer would always be a murderer. So then, wouldn’t a monster always be a monster? And maybe a coward would always be a coward.

  Hildebrand smiled her perfect, saintly smile. She smiled the Saintess’s Smile. The smile that was unsettlingly graceful. Otherworldly even. People would lift their eyes to bask in its presence, before lowering them, just as Dolph did.

  “Of course not,” she said. “Dolph, you did well. You were very brave. You did more than I could ever ask for.”

  “I’ll get stronger,” he quietly declared, his usual scowl returning to his face. It was a sign of normalcy. It was good to see.

  She held his hand, clasping it between hers. She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll pray for your success,” she said.

  When she opened her eyes and looked upon Dolph, he was smiling broadly. So much his beady eyes almost disappeared into his squinting eyes. Yet it was gentle as a cool sea breeze. And it seemed as fleeting as one too, like it would disappear if she looked away. It was a beautiful sight. It made her question whether she had actually seen him smile before. It made her realize she didn’t actually know a thing about him at all.

  And it made her Saintess Smile falter for just a moment.

  “I’ll get stronger,” he repeated.

  “I won’t disappoint you,” he promised.

  Those words weighed heavily on Hildebrand. They racked her with guilt.

  She smiled.