Chapter Nine

Gravity of Two Souls

The relativity of time in the missions was something that always gave Lizbeth something to think about, when they were resting for a few days. When she was in action everything always went fast but—in the moments of peace they could have—it seemed like a lifetime had passed. From 1937, until she was freed—it had been two years, but from then on it seemed to her as if she had been in action all the time. So many sensations that it gave her the impression that her time as a prisoner in the dark had been much more than a decade ago.

In the meantime she had met many people. Friends, comrades-in-arms, as well as enemies. It was strange how many emotions could occur in such a bloody conflict that could bring out the worst of what people could do to each other—but also sometimes the best.

After a successful mission, depending on the mood, there was always some time to rejoice and rest.

Lizbeth had never stopped to think about love in a serious way. The war gave no room for such things. And yet, as time went by, something inside her began to change. It was no longer only that feeling of respect she had felt of clinging to Shin as when she had first arrived on the island. During missions, she found herself looking for him with her eyes. She had grown accustomed to his presence, to the way he moved, to the way his words—though few—were always enough.

Shin was not someone easy to read, but the more time they spent together, the more she discovered about him. He wasn't just the man who had rescued her, he was someone who chose to stay by her side, who protected her without needing to say so. And that meant something.

Everyone in the initiative know about the strange glances between them.

Even though they never talked about it, even though the war left them no room for anything else, Lizbeth began to wonder if what she felt for him wasn't something more than simple admiration. Perhaps that pang she had felt in her chest that first time was due to something else, because that never left. She couldn't explain it, but she still felt as if she had known him for a long time—even though she had never seen him in any fragments of her memories.

However, there was something about Shin that disturbed everyone. During some missions, strange anomalies appeared, right in the places where he was. No one wanted to say it out loud, but the question hung in the air: were they coincidences or did they have something to do with him? At times, he seemed to seek solitude, as if he avoided being too close to others.

But Lizbeth refused to see it that way.

She had fought beside him, had seen how he protected everyone without doubts, how he fought horrors that would have broken anyone else. And she had watched him long enough to notice something else: Shin never exhibited any wounds thanks to his regeneration. No cuts, no scars, nothing. But that didn't mean he didn't have them. She had seen his naked body on more than one occasion and he was covered in them. Those scars must have been from an earlier time, long before he was fey... or perhaps came to Earth? He didn't remember them but he didn't mind talking about it, he didn't remember it, so he couldn't say they were painful memories or anything like that.

It made him uneasy, true, but he could not do anything about it—he had told her one night when they had camped alone in the middle of a forest.

But the new ones that were made on the battlefield were always erased.

But that they were erased did not mean that he did not have them elsewhere. His expressionless face could fool many, but Lizbeth had learned to look beyond it. She began to wonder what kind of weight he carried on his shoulders, what it meant to live with a body that didn't show damage, but somehow could suffer from it. And more importantly... why, despite everything, she wanted to be the person next to him.

***

By December 1942 the mission took them to a secret laboratory in Luxembourg. It was rumored that experiments on children were being conducted there.

Lizbeth did not participate directly.

Shin insisted that she stay behind, along with other agents in the rear waiting for their return. In case something went wrong not everyone would be caught. She didn't like the decision and didn't want to be out of action—but she accepted it.

The wait was interminable at the temporary base. The radio crackled with snatches of conversation: Gunfire. Explosions. Orders were chopped up. Total chaos that miraculously ended without casualties, at least for the Initiative. Only two wounded who were also taken back. When the team returned, they had eight children with them. Some too weak to walk on their own. Others, with eyes too old for their young faces.

Among them was a boy, with white hair and a blank stare. He spoke to no one and looked totally gone, as if he were in a vegetative state.

His name was Gehirn.

Not an appropriate name for a child she though, but it had been the name of the project in which he had been one of the test subjects. In the papers that were recovered there were only two surnames but no first name. Schmidt Steiner. He was now the only survivor. The other rescued children had never become a part of it. They had been brought in a few days before, after the others had died, and would have become part of the project, when the squad led by Fischer arrived on site.

The project consisted of expanding the knowledge capabilities by applying certain techniques that combined pharmacopoeia, the neuroplasticity of a child's brain and alchemy. In the description it said that the child had dark hair. But now he had completely white hair like an old man.

In the meantime, they took advantage of a subterranean anomaly to cross through a ley tunnel straight to Veluwe with the rescued. It was rare that it worked. Lizbeth has been told almost all the ley tunnels had almost ceased to function since the fey exile of the 19th century. Still it was a relief that they could travel hundreds of kilometers to the base to rest before going to the next target.

They could have a little rest in a isolated hut in the place that they got for themselves and to wash up and get the dirt off their bodies.

Shin had arrived complaining. As he wiped his body with the particles of his armor he recounted the details and some strangeness of the mission. "Some stupid woman shot me in the ass and alerted the Germans."

"Was she from the Black Order?" asked Lizbeth, as she pulled off her stone-filled boots and threw them on the ground. Those damn pebbles had been bothering her since the day before.

"No, ally, I think, but we didn't know anything."

Lizbeth raised an eyebrow. "Are there any other groups doing missions besides us now?"

Shin snorted. "Who knows, but it almost ruined everything."

"You know about the rumors," said John No Eyebrows, walking past them almost naked and with a face full of shaving cream, "rumors say that the Kingdom army is making its own moves with some feys. There are certain sectors of the army that seem to have gotten wind of the secret."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound good..." said Lizbeth, as she shook a sock that also had some gravel in it. Surely the boots had a hole in them, somewhere.

"Be careful how far you shave, you don't have eyebrows anymore," Shin said, as he shook out the tatters of the pants he had worn on the mission.

"Fuck you. Say something else and next time I'm going to make a razor out of your ears, see if those things on your armor are good for shaving."

"Was she a fey?" Lizbeth asked.

John nodded. "Yeah, she wasn't working for us, but she wasn't working for the Krauts either. She shook off a few, before Shin started chasing her."

"You went after her?"

Shin nodded. "Yeah. I had no choice. I thought she was a guard sniper. I had to take her down in case she was targeting the others. The shot she gave me alerted the Nazis. It was when I shot the Jerry that I realized something was wrong. But, since she was on the other side of where we were, when I got to her I made myself known and the barrage of bullets took her, while we took the base."

Nitocris didn't need to bathe due to her condition, but she needed to remove her clothes and equipment if she didn't want to burn it. At that moment she was naked outside, purifying her body with the fire she summoned. Then, as it died down, she entered the cabin. "You need to do something about that trench coat of yours."

"What's wrong with it?"

"The reason that woman shot you is because she probably mistook it for the uniform of the skulls."

"Have you ever seen an officer get down in the mud like me? My coat is tactical. I can carry anything inorganic in it."

"Whatever."

Leon entered the hut at that moment. "Food is served." Then he looked at everyone. "But first get dressed, you exhibitionist bastards."

"You're one to talk. Where are your clothes?"

Leon looked at himself, he was completely naked but he only frowned his shoulders. "I just came from the crapper, I had a tummy ache."

Nitocris looked at him with a frown. "Are you one of those who have to take off your clothes to take a shit?"

Lizbeth's boot flying through the door startled Leon, who turned away wondering where he'd put his pants.

They had better hurry or they would have to be content with watery broth. Veluwe was full that day and there were many mouths to feed. In few more days it would be Christmas.

***

The day after the air outside smelled of wet earth and firewood.

The sky was gray, like a sheet forgotten in the wind. Lizbeth, now more relaxed—and with new boots— walked through the small shed they had improvised as a temporary infirmary for the newly arrived. Body heat, borrowed blankets, and the soft murmurs of the other girls helped keep the place warm, though the children's eyes still looked like fogged-up glass from the inside.

She knelt beside a curly-haired girl with a bandage on her cheek and offered her a cup of broth. The little one nodded without a word and drank slowly, as if savoring was a way to remember she was still alive.

Lizbeth couldn't help feeling a mixture of emotions when she saw that, sadness and at the same time hatred for those who could carry out such a thing. Everyone was following orders, but dragging children into that must have been unforgivable.

They had encountered too many horrors in recent years, searching for the ultimate evil, something that could be physically identified, but it was just people obeying orders, that was all. Barbarities must have been committed on both sides, and as Mari had said, it all depended on which side you were on, after all, there were also feys on the other side. Months ago, they had even destroyed one of the facilities with the prophetesses who identified the arrival of the feys, but the destruction left doubts about the system that had been used. Even with that the machinery of war had no stopped at all.

Lizbeth stroked the girl's head gently and saw her tremble. She pursed her lips decided to leave her alone and give her space and turned to look away.

In the darkest corner, he was sitting.

Gehirn.

The white-haired boy. The one who didn't cry, didn't sleep, didn't speak to anyone. Unlike the others, he seemed to observe everything—not like a frightened child, but like an old sentinel from the old guard trapped in a body far too young.

Lizbeth approached calmly. She sat a few steps away from him, without touching. Without intruding.

"Are you hungry?" she asked softly, in German.

The boy looked up. His gaze felt far too old. He didn't answer.

"I won't force you to eat," Lizbeth continued. "But you can tell me if you need something. You'll grow weak if you don't."

Silence.

Lizbeth tried again. This time in English. Then, almost reflexively, in Spanish.

To her surprise, the boy turned his head and said, in perfect Italian:

"Parlo tutti. Ma non ne vale la pena."

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I speak them all. But it's not worth it.

Lizbeth blinked. For a second, she thought she'd misheard.

"You speak... more languages?"

"Four," he replied now in English, without looking directly at her. "And one dead one. Latin."

There was something unnatural in the precision of his speech. As if every word had been chosen with a scalpel. Lizbeth swallowed. She observed him more closely. Beneath that pale skin and those ageless eyes, there was something… broken, but not empty.

"What's your name?" she asked, trying to sound warm.

The boy took a moment to answer. He looked down at his own hands, as if searching for scars that were no longer there.

"My former self died," he finally said. "That body… was one of many doors. Now I'm Gehirn. Gehirn Schmidt Steiner. Many sacrifices in a single body."

Lizbeth felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. It was the way he said it: without hate, without sorrow. With a kind of acceptance that was unnatural for someone his age. It was the voice of someone who had seen too much.

For a moment, she didn't know what to say. She just remembered. She remembered herself, years ago, in that place where she was held for two long years. The tests, the experiments. The day she stopped having a name for them, and the day she reclaimed it for herself.

"I was a prisoner too," she said softly, as if sharing it with a shadow. "Two years. They called me 'project,' 'weapon,' 'specimen.' But when I was freed… I remembered I was Lizbeth."

Gehirn finally looked at her. Directly.

"Lizbeth," he repeated, as if weighing each syllable. "It's a good name."

And then, as if something had unlocked within him, he tilted his head—barely a gesture. Almost human.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me your name. Feys don't usually give their names to someone they've just met, right?"

"Lizbeth isn't my secret name…"

Gehirn looked away, and Lizbeth noticed the tips of his ears turning red.

Aha… I see. This boy knows about the feys, but I bet he hasn't seen many. Maybe this is the first time he's met any?

Lizbeth smiled. Despite his seriousness, she confirmed that Gehirn didn't like being caught in a mistake.

Just that. But it wasn't little. It was the first bridge.

Lizbeth nodded with a soft smile. He wasn't lost. Not completely. Perhaps he never was, just buried under too many layers that didn't belong to him.

Somewhere deep in her chest, a small hope flickered for that boy who would never be the same, but that didn't mean he was broken beyond repair.

The days passed with the sluggishness of a wound barely closing. Snow began to fall on the second night, blanketing the roofs in a soft layer that silenced everything: footsteps, weeping, even the loudest thoughts.

Gehirn didn't speak much, but he was no longer a mute specter. Lizbeth noticed that when she entered, he no longer looked away as before. He watched—not with suspicion, but with a kind of tolerant resignation, like a wild animal accepting another's presence without lowering its guard. He let her leave food for him. Sometimes he even took it while she was still nearby.

But it was with Shin that the most noticeable change occurred.

Lizbeth noticed it the morning Shin, sleeves rolled up and hands still smudged with grease, offered the boy a razor and joked in his dry, honest tone about how nobody wanted to look like a Nazi ghost, after all.

Gehirn didn't laugh, but he kicked him in his name. And that night, when he returned, his face was slightly sulky.

Shin later told Lizbeth that all this time, Gehirn and the other kids had thought his name came from his shins. When Gehirn found out he was wrong, he got mad again.

Sometimes, Lizbeth saw them sitting together in silence—Shin cleaning his weapons; Gehirn flipping through one of the books someone had rescued from the abandoned library. They didn't talk, but there was a mute understanding between them.

As if, without words, they understood each other in somekind of weird language.

Almost it seemed like Gehirn saw in Shin an unlikely older brother. One he hadn't asked for, but whom the universe—capricious as always—had dropped in his path for a few days.

That peaceful image was often shattered by Leon or Laren, who would sneak up, let out a stealthy ninja fart, and walk away with serious faces.

The immediate insults from Shin and Gehirn, followed by the children's laughter, broke the calm but brought a smile to Lizbeth's face for their silliness.

And then came the morning of the departure.

A truck waited in the mist to take the children to the secret airfield. One by one, the kids said their goodbyes and boarded with their blankets. Gehirn was the last to get on.

When he passed by Lizbeth and Shin, he stopped. Just for a second.

His expression was the same as always: neutral, unshakable.

But his eyes—those eyes of stone and broken clocks—softened.

"Take care," he said, in English.

Lizbeth nodded and hugged him.

"You're heavy, get off!" said Gehirn, struggling to free himself, his face flushed red.

As a final goodbye, she ruffled his hair. "Take care too, Brainy…"

Shin simply nodded, and the two bumped fists like every farewell greeting.

Gehirn climbed into the truck without looking back.

Lizbeth watched until the fog swallowed the truck completely.

They were taken immediately to Runen with the other children for medical care. They were also awaited on the island, where a small reception was being prepared to welcome them, with Christmas just around the corner. Later, they would be sent to the United Kingdom, to a place where, supposedly, they could rest.

For a long time, she didn't know why that farewell hurt more than the others.

Maybe because what was born between them was something strange and pure amidst all the horror of war.

A spark that never became a flame.

Or maybe because she saw in that boy… a bit of herself, too.

***

A couple days passed.

That night, Lizbeth could not sleep. The room she was in was shared with Nitocris and three other human girls, a witch, and two soldiers who had been in the second division for three years.

Nitocris snored loudly, scratching her belly button.

Lizbeth sighed and walked out of the room.

She walked down the hall to Shin's room and knocked on the door.

Lately Shin always tried to have a room of his own to sleep in, even if he didn't have a bed he was content to sleep on the floor. He used to have nightmares and the particles from his armor could be a danger if there were other people around. The nightmares might be true, but she knew the armor was a lie. They had been on enough missions together to know that it was simply an excuse to keep others from getting too close because of his curse. He had a theory that maybe he could stick it on someone else if he was too close to other people.

He opened up, looking at her with a mixture of confusion. He had only his pants on and the room was quite cold. She also had on a pair of pants that were a bit big for her size and a shirt.

"You can't sleep."

"No."

An awkward moment followed as Lizbeth looked around absently, with her hands behind her back.

"Ehh... do you want to come in?"

"No, I'm looking at the walls... nothing else."

Shin didn't say anything else. He just stepped aside, letting Lizbeth enter. The room was cold, dimly lit by the faint light of an outside lamp filtering through the small window. There wasn't much in the room, just some blankets, Shin's trench coat spread out on the floor as a bed and a couple of weapons leaning against the wall. Lizbeth sat on the makeshift bed, hugging her knees.

Shin sighed and sat down next to her, leaving a space between them. Not much, but enough.

"Is Nitocris making noise?" he asked, his tone almost neutral.

Lizbeth shook her head and smiled. "No... Well, yeah. But, it's not that."

Shin waited. He never pushed. It wasn't his style.

"Sometimes... I think about what we're doing."

He turned his face barely toward her. "Do you regret it?"

Lizbeth barked. "No. Never. Just, it's still hard."

Shin nodded slowly. "It's the war. I told you that a long time ago, remember?"

"I know."

"The moment you say it's hard means it's still you."

Silence fell between them, but it wasn't awkward. It was thick, like the fog before dawn. Shin looked down at his hands. Lizbeth noticed how he flexed them, as if he expected to see blood on them.

"Hey…"

He looked up.

"Do you ever... feel something, when we're together?"

Shin looked at her, but didn't answer right away. Lizbeth didn't move. It was a dangerous question, and they both knew it. They had been at that game for months now, with neither seeming to get up the nerve to take the final step.

Finally, he spoke. "I still don't know if feeling is the right word."

"What's it like, then?"

Shin averted his gaze, as if searching the cracks in the wall for the answer. "It's always there. That weight. I've just learned to live with it. But around you… it doesn't feel so damn heavy."

Lizbeth felt her chest tighten. "How does it change?"

Shin looked at her again. "It becomes more bearable. It's lighter. Like, I don't have to carry all of it alone."

"…"

"After all, you are the only one who can recognize me better than I know myself."

The air in the room seemed to grow thicker. Lizbeth swallowed hard feeling a burning sensation rising to her ears. She knew he never said things without thinking them through. And he had just said something that was, in his own cranky way, more profound than any statement.

Lizbeth leaned barely toward him. "I don't know what I feel either." Shin didn't move, he just looked at her, as if trying to read every expression on her face. "But... I do know that when I'm with you I'm not afraid. You're always there when I need you. But I wish it was the same with you."

"What do you mean?"

"If you need me you know I'll be here."

Silence.

That didn't come out the way I should have said it, she thought smiling nervous.

"But I know you are here," he said.

Then, very slowly, Shin lifted one hand and placed it over hers. She changed the position of her hand and their fingers were intertwined. And then he lost himself in her eyes. It was as if he had met a gaze he had never seen before. Lizbeth's eyes had changed to a violet hue that slightly shimmered.

"What are you-"

"I don't want to lose you." Lizbeth's voice was barely a whisper.

Shin narrowed his eyes. "You're not going to lose me, I'm here."

Lizbeth leaned closer, until her forehead touched his. "Promise."

"But...you know how things are around me."

"You can't even promise for one night?"

Shin didn't promise things in combat. It wasn't his way. But that night, war was far away, and death, for once, didn't feel so close.

"I promise."

When Lizbeth kissed him, it was with the same certainty with which she wielded a weapon in battle. It wasn't clumsiness, it wasn't hesitation. He didn't stop her. He welcomed her, silently. When he held her against him, he did it as if it was something he had already decided long ago, only he had never found the words to say it. In that kiss was the weight of all the time they'd spent afraid to take the step that would draw them closer.

The room was still cold, but between them the heat was growing rapidly. She slid her hands over his torso, noting the texture of his scarred skin, the tension contained in every muscle. There was something fascinating about him, in the way his body seemed unyielding but his breathing was so human—so real and yet so strange.

Shin let her explore, as her fingers traced his back and that mark on his lower back. When his lips moved more urgently against hers he did the same.

They both lay slowly on the trench coat while they continued kissing and caressing each other. Lizbeth arched under him, letting him touch her, letting his face go down to her stomach, uncovering her the way she was uncovering him too. There was a moment when he paused, as if giving her a chance to change her mind, but she only tangled her fingers in his hair, gently tugging him to go lower, and he did.

Clothes slipped away, the only silent witnesses to the story unfolding. There were no words, and they didn't need them. Skin against skin was all the communication they wanted at that moment, ragged breaths and the muffled sound of their bodies meeting in the gloom. Lizbeth felt every movement, like something that belonged to her—like something she had been waiting for longer than she had dared to admit. They were both strong in the battlefield, but that night there was no battle, no struggle. Only two hearts, two souls, giving themselves with silent devotion, articulating the movements and sounds of two tired bodies that had already been through enough.

And still...

She felt her body burn. She knew it. She knew that mouth exploring her, she knew those hands roaming her. And she knew that anatomy. She felt it. But it was absurd. She had no memory of him.

It didn't make sense. Shin had arrived in 1908—there was no way they could have met before. But logic was one thing, and what she felt… was something else entirely.

Lizbeth felt her fingertips dig gently into Shin's back, nails tracing the path of tension down his spine. Her body arched toward him, not just seeking warmth, but craving the full weight of him— as if the space remaining between them had become unbearable. His breath hitched against her neck, and she shivered, not from the cold, but from the exquisite ache building inside her. Every brush of skin was like a canvas, painted by an artist in warm colors in a language only they could understand.

Despite the cold outside the room she felt as if every pore of her body was opening and she was sweating as if under a hot summer day in August.

He didn't resist. He let himself go.

When they came, it was with the same intensity with which they did everything. Lizbeth stifled a moan against his neck, and Shin exhaled a sigh as he grabbed her bottom. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their intertwined breathing, of their hearts trying to calm down. He held her against him, her skin still warm, his arm around her with a firmness that didn't seem to want to let go.

Lizbeth closed her eyes, feeling her breathing match his. There was no need to talk. Not that night.

That night, Lizbeth stopped wondering what she felt.

Because she knew.

She had known it for too long, and so had he.

***

Lizbeth woke up suddenly the next morning.

She felt a shiver run down her spine and looked around.

The scene around her seemed a little fuzzy, strange. She sat up and pulled the blanket off her still naked body. It was already daylight, but the light was strange—almost unreal. Her eyes felt like a kaleidoscope of colors. And then she heard it.

The howl of a wolf in the distance, followed by the trill of a bird.

It was strange. She didn't know if there were wolves in the forest, but she hadn't heard anything about dangerous animals.

Then, slowly, her vision came back to sharpness, but she looked around quizzically. Lizbeth held her breath. And then she looked beside her. Shin was next to her, also naked. They had both fallen asleep on the trench coat.

A door slammed.

"Get up! We have a mission in three hours." It was Leon. He stood a little open-mouthed looking at the scene. Then he nodded, pursing his lips. "It's about time, you damn turtles."

Shin sat up quickly.

"...Dude!"

Lizbeth grabbed the blanket and covered herself a bit, smiling flushed.

Leon gave them a crooked smile. "Get your gear ready. Christmas comes early for us." He paused, then added with a knowing glance as he closed the door, "For some earlier than others, it seems."

They both looked at each other and she smiled. He was trying but he couldn't. He didn't need to.

They both kissed, trying to confirm they weren't dreaming.

But it was time to move on.

The war was far from over.

But now they knew that the nights would be a little different for both of them. At least by the time they had the chance.

They still had two years left to get out of that conflict.

But eventually the end of the war also came.

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