"When he wakes up, he's going to be mad at you, lady."

Tristessa looked ahead and met Auron's inquisitive gaze, his smile pronounced behind his handkerchief. Crossing his arms and leaning against the green velvet seatback, the gunslinger emanated an aura of serenity and calm, not without a subtle amount of fatigue evident in the dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you talking about Vergil?" she joked, and a soft growl made her and Auron lower their gazes. The black-furred aracross slept curled up next to their feet, its large size taking up almost the entire wooden floor. He had several patches with herbal ointment placed on the right side of his back, and a few bandages to keep them in place. "Poor baby boy. I should have been more careful."

"You and he did a good job giving us time to analyze the Dullahan and understand her way of fighting. Without that, I'm sure we would all have died," the gunslinger said, convinced of his own ominous words. "It was a very dangerous battle. Not even my Essential Dilution was of much use. I'll have to practice and focus on improving my skills, not relying so heavily on it."

"What is that, Auron? I've heard it mentioned several times. Is it a skill?"

"[Essential Dilution], lady? Yes, you could say it's a skill. Something innate to all living beings that goes unnoticed unless you train it. You can dilute your innate magical energy within your own body and overcome human limitations. It's ideal for those without an aptitude for thaumaturgy," he explained. "That's why I can follow the path of a bullet with my sight, or Astoria can have the strength of five men. All thanks to Essential Dilution."

"I see... Interesting!" Thinking back, many things now made sense to Tristessa regarding the inhuman feats she witnessed of certain people. "Do you think I could learn to use it?"

"You can give it a try. It's too late to say now, but that skill would have given you an advantage when you and Vergil were distracting the Dullahan. And while we're on the subject, if you want to be a good she-dragoon, you should learn to use a ranged weapon," he recommended, watching the sleeping beast and pleased to note its steady breathing. "Wouldn't you be interested in using a rifle?"

"I'd prefer a revolver."

"It's not possible, unless you're a gunslinger. Revolvers are sacred weapons; using them without being knighted is punishable." With that explanation, Auron patted his two revolvers, which rested next to him on the seat, next to his hat. "And Nahalith will curse your aim for disrespecting her. Gunslingers are her holy warriors, after all."

"That sounds scary! Then perhaps I can ask Sev to teach me thaumaturgy," she said with a frail smile, knowing what answer she would get in advance. "Rejected, again."

"Just make sure you don't call him that, will you? Seriously, don't make him mad. Severus Malak Drakan is a pain in the ass when he's angry."

"Let him be mad. Maybe he'll electrocute me or set my hair on fire, but he won't kill me. Or maybe…" She shifted her gaze to the unconscious man with long, crimson hair, whose head was resting in her lap. "Maybe he'll wake up and tell me he rested very well. And that I'm a breath of fresh air, blowing the dust off his old, rusty heart."

Auron raised his eyebrows, as disturbed as he was skeptical.

"What kind of fantasy is that? Are you crazy or what?"

"…that's a possibility."

The conversation between the two continued uninterrupted in the comfort of the carriage stopped in the middle of the moor. Its interior illuminated by a soft, cold light produced by the lamp enhanced by a power crystal.

It was still very late at night, and upon leaving the Burnt Fort Hexel, the group had only moved away from the area. Not only because no one wanted to stay in this place ravaged by old and new evils for a second longer than necessary, but also out of caution. To avoid falling victim to unwanted attention from the fierce battle and supernatural winds that had nearly caused the ancient military outpost from the Age of Kings to collapse.

Furthermore, they couldn't return to Entrana yet. With the pointy-eared chauffeur incapacitated, and everyone tired and injured, they had little choice but to return at dawn or when Severus had recovered somewhat from everything he had suffered.

It was a moment of enforced rest after the dust had settled. A more than necessary moment of respite.

"You gave everything for someone you hate," Tristessa thought, stroking the elf's forehead with affection and nostalgia, remembering their first meeting, in much the same way like that one. He, unconscious after having used far more thaumaturgy than his soul could tolerate without the use of a spirit potion; she, attracted by his exotic beauty, playful chivalry, and angered by the insult she received due to the Discord emanating from his soul. Love at first sight. "Sev… I love you. Please get well."

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The elf she had fallen in love with, in the non-existent past, still existed. She was sure, behind all that cold and hateful personality he offered her for being a Stranger bringer of bad news. The elf who slept with his eyes open and drooled, unlike the one in the present time.

Suffering from microspasms, Severus slept overcome by fear and pain. His sleeveless shirt left his right arm exposed, covered in bandages and healing alchemical ointment made by Auron; hiding the burn grievous burn injuries that had consumed every inch of skin and some of his flesh. He kept sweating and squirming along the seat, the victim of a nightmare that neither Tristessa nor Auron could do anything about.

She could only hope that he would defeat her on his own, along with the dark lord within him. Because Tristessa suspected, and was more than certain, that the origin of the nightmare was the apparition in his workshop. The shadow of Moebius, the Lord of Forbidden Knowledge.

One of the catalysts that fueled hatred and paranoia in Severus, fearful of losing the people he loved most in the world.

And speaking of love… There were a few questions she wanted to ask the gunslinger in front of her. One was more information about the Virgins of Sorrow. And another, something a little more personal.

"Hey, Auron." She wasn't entirely sure this was the right time and place to pry into another's private life, but she couldn't get the depressed image of the gunslinger in the ash courtyard out of her head. If she could, even if it was just to give him emotional support, let him know he wasn't alone, she would feel less worried for him. "What you said to Astoria about your love…"

But Auron let out a sudden, exaggerated yawn, rising above Tristessa's voice and her uncertainties.

"I'll close my eyes for a moment, if you don't mind," he said, sounding tired. He had no intention of talking about the subject. "Until Astoria finishes her shift."

"Y-yes… Of course."

With that, he leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes, leaving Tristessa a little frustrated.

Hearing him mention the silver-haired knightess caused a ghost of the Auron she had met in previous loops to return. He was sitting inside the carriage in almost the same context. Distant, arms crossed, and as still as a statue. The present Auron was asleep already, and the past one had been speaking to her in a neutral tone, almost diplomatic, seconds before the Wraith attack brought him to the inevitable collision with Death.

With a broken promise to an important woman in his life.

"The love that was lost, huh…" Tristessa thought, feeling a chill blowing coldly between her vertebrae. "That's why he must not want to talk about it."

It hurt her to the core to remember Auron being poisoned to Death. His insides rotting away, all the while staring at the photo of Melinda inside his pocket watch. Then his subsequent forced return to life. And seeing him behind the pillar of fire, an uncontrolled revenant next to Severus, also a returned cadaver…

Those two men who now slept in her presence, unaware of the horror that had caused their previous Deaths and the aftermath. All because of her.

"…"

"Tristessa?"

The girl was startled, miraculously not moving her legs too much so as not to disturb Severus. She had become so lost in her train of thought that she didn't realize the minutes had flown by: Auron has his head tilted to the side and his temple resting against the wall; Severus was still trembling, suffering from the nightmare from which he couldn't escape even with Tristessa's gentle caresses over his hair; and Astoria had cautiously opened the carriage door and peered inside, calling for her.

The light brought out the red in her eyes. Beautiful, her face stained with dirt, ash and blood, she was staring at the restless girl with a touch of icy, solid consternation.

"My turn already?" Sleepily, Auron opened his eyes and turned to the blonde knightess. "Times flies as quick as I spend my soul-jewels, lady."

But before Astoria could say something, Tristessa caught hers and Auron's attention.

"Why don't you go back to rest? Let me go in your place," she suggested, carefully rising from her seat and resting the tormented elf's head on her trench coat, which she folded into a pillow. It wasn't easy for her to step over Vergil, and to top it all off, the gunslinger grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I can't let you do that, lady. You need to sleep; you kept an eye over Malak Drakan all night."

"No, no, seriously. Let me. I don't want to sleep. If I do…"

"What?" he asked, letting go of her, confusion evident in his amber gaze.

Tristessa also felt Astoria's silent expression, wanting to hear an explanation she had to release from the dark depths of her spirit.

"I'm afraid of waking up and finding that nothing happened tonight."

Both gunslinger and knight exchanged silent messages of mutual understanding, agreeing not to press the issue further. Astoria stepped aside to allow Tristessa to get out of the carriage, and as she went inside, she glanced at her and said:

"I left a raptorios cooking. Hurry, it must be ready by now."

"Thanks, Tori."

"…"

There was no reply from her, not even a smile. Perhaps a small blush, but it was very difficult to confirm with the shadow created by the light from inside the carriage as it fell on her.

Only the icy indifference of someone who couldn't remember having been the victim of a curse. A woman with the enigmatic title of Virgin of Sorrow, saved from a damnation that had no place in her memories, slowly closing the door.

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