Consciousness—such a curious thing. I started to dream again. Darkness gave way to vivid imagery and Mum's whispers. I even registered the warm pulses of Tiwaz's feet on my side. I couldn't open my eyes, speak, or signal my presence, but something was changing.

If only I wanted to wake half as much as I wanted to mend Hjarta's scars. Foolish or not, my mind was made up. He represented a shift in my soul and a beckoning purpose more important than any plans from the past. If time was running out between us, I couldn't waste a moment.

The white room's brightness didn't bother me anymore. I rubbed my eyes and stretched out of habit, like my soul waked inside it. The projection of my body had more weight, too. I had a small amount of control.

After the long episode on Einheim, Hjarta didn't try to hide or ignore me. He greeted me with folded arms and a downturned face, still covered completely in black.

"Somehow I thought you would look like this in real life," I said while sweeping up and down, obviously gesturing to his ensemble. "It's more imposing than your true self."

Hjarta shrugged. "Depends where I am. No point in doing it at home."

I nodded, already bored with the pleasantries. "So, now—"

"Amooned doesn't think I should talk to you anymore," he said quickly. He kept his focus on the floor.

"Why's that?" I put my hands on my hips and tapped my foot, even though I half predicted such a cowardly attitude.

"You might be a bad omen." He adjusted his cloak a little, fidgeting the same way I would if caught in a lie.

"Mmhmm." I leaned forward a little. "Nothing to do with me being close to understanding you, of course."

"You don't understand me. I wish you'd go away."

"You've said that a few times now, yet here you are." I raised a brow.

Hjarta didn't argue or come up with new excuses. He had no fight left for our mystery. Perhaps he thought our stalemate would bare me enough to disappear, but I sensed he was hiding something.

Without another word, he stood and offered me his hands. "This is what you want, isn't it?"

I pressed my lips in a line. "Only if it can bring you some good. I promised not to harm you, and I meant it."

He didn't change his position and left his palms open for me. "I'll do one thing for you if you do one thing for me."

"Have to be specific about both."

He finally raised his face. Green eyes of innocence shined within his mask. "Amooned doesn't think you're a bad omen. He doesn't think you're here at all. Prove you're real, and I'll do whatever you ask me to."

I snickered in my discomfort. "Maybe we're both mad."

"If we are, it won't matter, right?" Hjarta offered his hands to me once more by pushing them toward me. For a man who once told me he was too afraid to come closer, this bravery—or foolhardiness—was the gesture of faith I needed at the start of this.

With a new mission in sight, I took Hjarta's hands, and we immediately flew through Yggdrasil's silent pull, much faster than before. I no longer felt like I was falling into nothing. We made a Bifrost of our own and spun through space and time in a bubble of protection.

The prism of travel around us faded to quiet night, and I melded with Hjarta's mind once more, along for the ride to wherever he'd take me. With all I could see and know within him, our symbiosis meant we had to trust one another equally.

He didn't waste time and quickly rubbed his face awake. Like the time before, strong moonlight through the window ahead lit the single room of his home.

{How many days has it been?} I asked.

{Two. I didn't try to sleep yesterday.} He stood and stretched in all directions, cracking his neck one way, then the other. He absently scanned the room as he did, revealing more of his surroundings than before, such as candlewax dripping from sconces in the corners, a shelf above his cot that was heavy laden with bound volumes, and a cabinet that protruded from the wall above his companion's space. Their primitive existence would've made me feel naked at home.

I asked a somewhat obvious question only because I couldn't confirm otherwise. {You don't have electricity, do you?}

Hjarta stopped mid-stretch. {Huh?}

I laughed. {Nothing. I just noticed all the candles. You must not have other means of light.}

{Aye, right. The sky's bright now, but it gets dark in here. Especially when the trees get going.} He swept his right hand toward the corner, and a single flame sparked in the candle above the desk, illuminating it. Unlike the fires of home, it was maroon instead of yellow, and still quite dark. Evidently, Hjarta wasn't concerned the light would wake his companion.

The odd color wasn't nearly as impressive as his technique, though. Even after years of being practiced in the art myself, I was surprised. {Hjarta, how did you do that? The fire?}

He gestured toward the floor, which put the candle out, then he reignited it by lifting his hand again, all while looking in another direction. {Easy.}

I scoffed. {But you don't even pay attention. I can't do that.}

{I'm sure there's lots of things I can do that you can't.} He all but ignored my awe and played with his hair a bit, pulling it out of his face.

{You forget that I know magic, too. I've lit many fires, just...not like that.}

He shrugged, as nonchalant as ever.

{Well, can't you tell me more? Who taught you?} I asked.

{I told you, no one else on Einheim does magic.}

{So, you just...discovered this? How would you even know what it's called if no one showed you?}

He growled, and heat flooded his ears. {Why do you care so much?}

I didn't want to risk upsetting him—after all, what difference would it make if he had a mentor? Before I could think of something mild to calm his nerves, the man in the corner turned in his sleep, earning Hjarta's attention.

His hair glowed like before, competing with the candlelight in brightness and tone. It was more blue than I recalled, pulsing strongly before fading into the root again. Beautiful, in every sense of the word.

{How can you say you're alone in your magic when he does this right in front of you?} I wished I could give Hjarta the smug expression I wore in my mind. {Pretty magical, don't you think?}

{Well, it's...} He stared at the man for a short while, and his heart lifted with each throb of light. A smile crept over his face that softened his demeanor. {I don't see him that way. He can't do what I do, and I don't do this, so I didn't think they were the same.}

I felt validated by his confession and all the more certain that he hid the nature of their bond a bit. It made sense if he wanted to keep their affection private, so I let him. {Whatever he's doing, it's unique, anyway. Maybe you underestimate him.}

{Which means...?}

I sighed. {As in, perhaps you think he can't do things without reason. Like, you believe he's so simple, he can't possibly understand. But I might be wrong—maybe you know his limits. He doesn't do magic like you, doesn't speak, barely writes... if you want to prove that I exist to him, how could he possibly grasp that?}

{I think he's simple?} Hjarta shook his head and pointed to the shelf above his cot. {He's smarter than I'll ever be. Smarter than you, probably.}

I waited for some other revelation, but he presented the collection of books like it should mean something. {Now you're the one who needs to explain.}

He huffed and took one of the books from the shelf, opened it to the center, and spread it on the desk. {He knows all of this. Everything.} Page after page, Hjarta flipped through a collection of ornate maps, bulleted lists, small glyphs and numbers along the top, decorating a body of intricate penmanship on every page. The print itself was artistic and perfect. Hjarta moved too quickly for me to make it out, but I recognized a few words with ease—a familiar enough language.

The longer he went on, the more confused I was. {Amooned wrote this? Not you?}

{Right.}

{What's it about?}

{Dunno.} Hjarta closed the book with a heavy thud and leaned over it. He went suddenly quiet, like I'd just discovered another crude scar. Something he tried to hide without thinking.

I felt like a fool for my own assumptions, wishing I could go back and ask the right questions. I recalled the simple drawings that made up the note left behind for him—an antithesis to the intricate work below. {You...you can't read them, can you?}

{Aye.} His eyes went hot and he sniffed sharply. {I forgot how. He's tried to teach me. Didn't work.}

His circumstance became more clear—Amooned was a caretaker, at least, he gave Hjarta support. There was enough magic to reach me, but not enough to make sense of symbols on a page. The real skill between them wasn't Hjarta's magic—it was literacy. A privilege I took for granted and wished I could supply.

Then again—maybe I could.

{Hjarta...} I muttered, talking aloud to myself without trying.

{What?}

{No, I didn't mean...you weren't sure, remember? It was close, but not quite right. What about his name? How did he tell you his name?}

{Like anything. He wrote it down.} As Hjarta said it, his stomach dropped.

{Where? Show me.}

Hjarta dragged his hand over the cover of the book he'd just closed. He swallowed hard. {What if you tell me I got it wrong?}

{That's your proof that I'm here. If you're correct, I'll tell you. And if you're not, he'll know I told you. If it's not his name, I'll read something else. Please give me a chance.}

His pulse started racing. {Could you tell me what he says in here?}

{If you let me, yes.} My psyche itched in a new way, like I needed to sneeze but had no body to do so. Too close to give up now. {Find his name.}

Hjarta excitedly rummaged through the box of notes at the back of the desk instead of flipping through the book, certain of what he searched for. He unfolded a few scraps, much the same way he did while searching for his nickname; his heart jumped every time he opened a new one and looked toward the bottom.

Finally, he stopped and flattened a note, holding it to the light. {Here. It's this.} He dragged his finger below the clear letters at the end. {See it?}

It started by addressing him again, Mitt Hjarta. Below, a simple line drawing of a house with two figures inside. And at the bottom—a name. One I vaguely recognized and felt silly for not connecting with Hjarta's way of saying it.

{I do. This is your proof, Hjarta. Are you ready to say his real name?}

He let out a staggered exhale that matched the odd shake in his right leg. {Please.}

A new sense of purpose and joy wrapped me in warmth. {I see why you said it that way. You have the first part right. The second half is subtle, less harsh. The U is short. Not like the moon...think of it like wind instead. Ah-mind. Amund.} The name felt better in my mind now that I'd seen it, like I wasn't questioning its accuracy anymore.

{Amund?} Hjarta said, trying it on and biting his lower lip. {Eight years to get it right?}

{That long? Gods...}

Amund stirred in the corner again, and Hjarta swept his hand down to snuff the candle. He sat on his cot once more and stared at the note, which was barely visible with only the moonlight now. He read each symbol and drawing with care like it was the first time.

{Amund,} he whispered once more, then pecked over the name on the parchment gently. He made a gesture with his hand against his face that had no explanation and finished with a comfortable smile for no audience except the two of us.

It felt appropriate to acknowledge the emotion in the room. {How do you think you'll tell him?}

{Dunno. I'll do it tomorrow.} He tucked the note under his pillow. {Thank you for this.}

If he were next to me in real life, I might've held his hand and encouraged him to be brave. With anyone else, I would've been up front about my wish to be included in the grand reveal and take part in the joy between them.

But this was an opportunity to mature, if nothing else. We had a bargain. {You are welcome, Hjarta. As for what's next—}

{I know. I'll do it.} He lay flat and closed his eyes. {Awake, awake, awake.}