hiraeth (n.) Welsh — homesickness for a home you can never return to. 

   He was dead. He knew that much.

   A sickening replay of the moment raced through his mind over and over, stained in his memories like red wine. Over and over, the shouting, the unforgettable sound of crunching bones- ay Dios, his bones, those were his-

   All that was constant, all he could process was the pain slowly seeping away from his body, through his veins and exhaled out with his breath. Fighting the irresistible urge to believe he had survived the impact, he forced himself to squeeze out the thought he was most scared to face. Was he in heaven or hell? Embarrassingly, he let out a terrified dry sob.

   Each second sent a wave of the unmistakable taste of blood flooding through his mouth, although he was sure he wasn't actually bleeding from anywhere. In fact, he realized as his eyes finally came into focus, he looked pristine. Propped against the itchy trunk of a tree, tiny rocks getting into the folds of his clothes, he was amazed to see his army frock coat without a single stain or speck, no blood or dusty tarnish. Even the Mexican coat of arms on his shoulder, once falling apart from constant exposure to the elements, was suddenly in one piece, colors as bright as the day he got it.

   He wasn't sure how to think about Death dressing its victims pretty.

   With shaking hands, he picked up his shako helmet, softly caressing the feathers with calloused fingertips before placing it back on his head. Wiggling the brim until it fit right, his focus was now finally on his surroundings. If this was hell, it seemed too peaceful. If it was heaven, he would have expected to feel much... lighter. Instead, his body felt stubbornly alive, even as the last few moments of his mangled form flooded his thoughts.

   Although the sun was high in the sky, the wind brought cold air gushing past, making him shiver as he pulled his frock coat closer to his body. It was dim and dreary, about to rain. Heaven or hell? His pain had almost completely ceased, only a dull ringing in his ears remaining. Astonished, he put a hand in front of his face, flexing his fingers carefully. Heaven or hell? The taste of blood grew stronger.

   No angel had come to embrace him, and Lucifer had yet to incinerate him. He was seemingly stuck in a limbo, free of physical pain. But why?

   Stand up! His mind yelled at him. ¿Qué chingados? Stand up! What lumpy, bumpy, heavy mass of a body he was. I am Lieutenant Colonel Luis Lorenzo Lúz Padilla. I can stand up. I know how to stand up. I do it all the time. Are you 5? Look around, investigate, do something useful!

   Gripping his shako with one hand and the tree trunk with another, he grunted, getting first onto his knees, then, slowly but steadily, planting one foot and another onto the ground. Spotting his sabre on the ground, he grabbed it, stabbing the point into the ground to lean on it for leverage. He was ashamed of how tiring the simple act was- once he was standing upright, he heaved and huffed, exhausted from the action.

   "Parque..." he mumbled, voice raw as he looked around, astonished. A park, surrounded by domesticated trees and well-tamed flower bushes, a dirt path winding through it all. In the distance, large, gray, ugly buildings loomed over the horizon. The air smelled like rain, a heavy mist clouding the air. Was he... alive? By some grace of God? Yes... yes, maybe he was put here to recover, and Igancio and Emil and- and everyone! They were going to be right back, just getting some water from the well. Yes, that sounded pleasantly plausible. It must be! He shakily let out a half-hearted laugh.

   Taking a hesitant breath, he took off his shako, running a hasty hand through his hair before repositioning the helmet. Very useful it was, he thought to himself with dry humor, at protecting him from the impact of thousands of pounds of bricks collapsing in on him. Although he was much more calm than could be expected, the sudden thought of the incident brought a new wave of nausea to his stomach. He leaned back on the tree for support, trying to will his racing heart to slow its course.

   "Camilla?" He called out hopefully, voice breaking on the third syllable. Only the wind answered.

        "You seem to be a refutable gentleman."

   Glancing to the side, Luis blinked in confusion as a pale, petite girl draped in a cream sack-back gown walked towards him, confidence in every step. On her head, a wide Bergère hat slowly slid down her forehead, to which she casually pushed it back into place. Vintage, he realized, like how his grandparents talked about the way the women in Europe dressed. Auburn curls stuck to her forehead stubbornly with sweat, even though the weather was chilly.

   Maybe she was just as scared as he was.

   "Are you not?" She continued in a joking tone, whipping a fan out from out of nowhere and fanning her face, in a way that made it seem like she was trying to calm herself down. She spoke in a manner common of the noble class, pointed yet polite, obviously used to be listened to. Her words were strongly accented- French, maybe? Definitely not Spanish, like he was used to. "I do apologize, Monsieur, I am rather unkempt at the moment," she frowned, taking Luis's silence as dislike.

   "Are you dead too?" Luis blurted out finally, crimson flooding his cheeks in his shame for asking such a brash question. Maybe this was an angel sent to ease him into his heavenly transition. The disgust on her face told him otherwise. 

   "Why!" She flustered in surprise, tilting her sharp jawline into the air ever so slightly. "I don't find myself obliged to answer questions put to me in that tone!" The flapping of her fan grew faster. Luis just stared. She was only a teenager, 18 at the most. He internally cringed at the thought of someone 8 years younger than him teaching him about etiquette- he should've known better. She turned around as if she was going to walk away.

   "If, hypothetically," she continued, looking to the side, faint blush spreading on her pale cheeks. "If I were to have passed, I don't suppose it too much to ask for an explanation of what's going on, Monsieur." She took a shaky breath, obviously working herself up to ask something. "I would like to find my family. They should be here, as well."

   "I- I don't know anything, I just got here," Luis stammered in response, resting his hand on the hilt of his sabre, realizing he had gotten his confirmation he was (probably) no longer alive. Were they in heaven or hell? Were they stuck here? Where was everyone else? "The last thing I remember is...." he swallowed. "The... impact. Someone called out my name. I felt the blow. I crumpled. I woke up here." He decided against describing the events in between. Death had not acted merciful- he had had no quick and painless transition to the other side.

   Her voice grew soft.

   "War?"

   "I- um, yes," he lied through his teeth, not wanting to admit what had really happened to him. He'd rather be seen as a martyr than a blatant ignoramus. Habitually tugging on the braided cord hanging off his shako, he watched guiltily as the girl's gaze softened with sympathy.

   "Who are you, stranger?"

   "Lieutenant Colonel Luis Padilla of the Soldados Mexicanos," Luis responded quickly. He wasn't sure of anything but his own name anymore. The words felt comfortable on his tongue, a reminder that he had lived. He was a person. And he was going to get through this.

   What about Camilla? How will she get through this? Camilla, oh God, Camilla!

   The girl curtseyed, rising slowly and clasping her hands together with child-like embarrassment.

   "Perhaps I have been too brash," she started. "It seems we are both in a similar predicament, no?" She let herself smile slightly, although it's authenticity was up to debate. When she introduced herself, she did so like a well-oiled machine who had run its course many times before. "I am Duchess Astrid Yvonne De La Croix, youngest of the Duke, beloved of the Lord. And you and I shall together be explorers of this strange land we hath been thrown into."

   "France?- oh! Alright, then-" Luis guessed as Astrid looped her arm through his and started to determinedly march across the grassy field towards a footpath, using her free hand to hike up her skirts. She gave a curt nod. Although rather silly, Luis found himself having to focus on the simple task of walking. Left foot, right foot. Left, right. He jingled loudly, from the spurs on his boots to the medals strewn across his coat.

   "The very same. You fight for Spain, in their colonies?" Luis scrunched up his nose at her ignorance. 

   "That... ended a while ago, ma'am. About 30 years ago."

   Astrid gave him a funny look.

   "Really," she responded simply, and he nodded, leading the conversation to once again fall into awkward silence, the two now on the footpath and heading closer to the big ugly buildings. Her eyebrows knitted together in thought. "What year is it, Monsieur?"

   "1850," he replied confidently.

    "Oh, Dieu, that cannot be so! Dost thou jest? When I met my brutal end it was only but 1790!" Her eyes widened with fear, highlighting to Luis the fact that she was but a child. How frightened she must be, and yet she acted more as an adult than he! "How does this work? You say you just arrived here, and so did I, yet we call such different times our home! What a strange place Heaven is!"

   Luis didn't think they were in Heaven, but he didn't say anything. If he hadn't met her, he'd still be wallowing in his own self pity at the base of a tree. Losing the only thing he had at the moment probably wasn't the best idea.

   "City of Portland, Oregon, 1851..." Luis snapped out of his thoughts to see Astrid bent over a sign stuck into one of the flowerbeds. Dios, she moved fast. "Is that what year we're in right now?" She looked back, obviously hoping that Luis would know. Oregon? The only Oregon he knew was a newly incorporated territory up north. He almost laughed. Lord, he was getting delirious. "I mean not to bring you any perturbation, Monsieur, with my constant babble, but I am rather disoriented at the moment."

   "No, no, you're all right," Luis mumbled, only half listening. He rubbed his neck as if trying to ease out any kinks, as if the pain was going to come back and thrust him back into reality- certainly this wasn't in any form real. Stuck in a limbo with a sweet but demanding child, confined to the areas of this park. In Oregon, of all places. What a nightmare! What a hell!

   What he wouldn't give to see his Camilla one more time- it was an odd and guilty sensation to not miss her terribly, but, he realized, it was because he still held on to the stubborn belief that he was going to go back home in a few minutes, that this was a temporary lodging. In fact, he was certain of it. He just had to find a way out.

   Dead or alive? Heaven or hell? He hurriedly wiped the frightened tears welling in his eyes.

   Would he ever meet his child?

   What a jay he was, vain and stupid.

   "Are you planning to stand there like a man of straw, or will you be so kind as to escort me through this next leg of the trail?"

   If he could do nothing more that was useful, he could at least help this girl find her family.

   They walked in comfortable silence for quite some time, finding nothing terribly unusual. At one point, Astrid stopped to say hi to a flock of birds on a bench. As they got closer to the manicured edges of the park, however, a terrible noise arose, something akin to the horrible clash of trumpets in battle. Luis drew his sabre, his teenage companion ducking behind him with wide eyes.

   "GET OUT OF THE WAY!" someone was shouting, throwing their hands out in the air. They had climbed out of a sort of carriage, bright red and made of metal. A menagerie of these strange, horseless carriages seemed to be the source of the trumpet sounds, the people inside agitatedly hitting their hands against something. The streets were dull and gray, the surrounding infrastructure much of the same. Their outfits were... interesting, to say the least. He couldn't even process that right now. He could only stare.

   "You don't think..." Luis mumbled, looking at who everyone was yelling at. In the center of all the commotion was an incredibly petite yet strongly-built girl, perhaps Astrid's age, her dark curly hair covered beneath some sort of white shawl. Her simple dark frocks were those of a nurse, it seemed, a red cross clearly displayed across her chest and a white apron fashioned around her waist. From the shocked look on her face, it seemed she was one of them.

   "Is she on crack?" Someone offered unhelpfully, yelling out of the window of their funny carriage. "Is she ok?"

   "All is well!" The girl shouted back in a thick accent, her words almost sounding weighed down. A woman and her toddler tried to come up and gently help her off the road, but she was seemingly stuck with fear. Her eyes darted about nervously, and even from a distance, Luis could tell she was heaving with each breath. "All... yes, all is well!"

   "Honey, you need to keep walking!" An elderly man called out kindly, obviously concerned. "'Don't wanna get squashed now, do ya?" She stepped back, frightened. Astrid tugged on Luis's sleeves, asking him to do something. Oh, sure, now Luis got to be the adult of the two. He sighed, but complied. 

   "Hey! Dead girl!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, not caring about his new companion's reaction. Hopefully the acknowledgment that he and Astrid were in the same trouble that she was would convince her to approach them. Sure enough, she turned around, fear evident in her eyes.

   Seeing the two, a relieved yet sly smile started to spread over her face, and Luis wondered if he would regret calling out to her. The mother tried to speak to her again, but she waved the woman off, rushing towards Astrid and Luis. Astrid squeaked, taking a nervous step back. She dodged a stroller, a dad with twin boys, an elderly couple. Were they all dead, too?

   "Alliluyya!" She exclaimed as soon as she was in earshot. Clasping her hands together, her smile grew bigger with gratefulness. Behind her, the carriages started to once again move, making terrible, terrible sounds as they screeched and rumbled across the street. 

   "Lydia Silvestrova," She continued, holding a hand out. Astrid seemed rather confused, so Luis took the responsibility of shaking her hand. "Many refer to me as just Silvestrova, if that tickles your fancy." Now that they were up close, Luis saw how petite the young woman really was- her height had definitely not reached the 152 cm mark.

   "Astrid. You are taking death well, I see," Astrid responded, over her hesitation and clearly much more at ease to talk with a girl her age. Wait, why didn't she get the big fancy 'you have to respect me because I'm important' introduction? So not fair. "Say, why do you wear such a hood?" Silvestrova laughed, reaching up to tug on the cotton head covering lightly, oddly not affected at the fact of her demise.

   "Why, I am nurse!" She exclaimed proudly, though her smile wavered. "War has been so long- why should I not do my part?" Luis scrunched his nose up in thought, trying to think of what conflict she could be talking about. He knew the Burmese-Siamese War was going on right now- or, what he thought of as right now, 1850- but she didn't look or sound like she was from any of those places. The Taiping Rebellion had just started up, but he didn't think she was Chinese, either.

   "Odd question for you," Luis trailed off cautiously. "What year do you think it is?" Silvestrova snorted a bit.

   "Today is February 2, 1917."

   Besides him, he heard Astrid squeak, mumbling "oh, Lord," under her breath, while he stared. This girl was from the future. The far-off future. How? Silvestrova was clearly not expecting their horrified reactions- she stepped back, holding her hands up in surrender, face twisting nervously.

   "Is that... wrong answer?" She squeezed her hands together, her downturned eyes seeming to droop with tension. 

   "No! No, not at all, we are simply flummoxed by our current predicament," Luis assured quickly, spreading his hands out. Silvestrova looked at him oddly- he realized he still had out his sabre. Embarrassed, he sheathed it once again. "I... you know, died... 1850. Astrid thinks it's 1790." Now it was the younger girl's turn to stare in amazement.

   "Well, that is odd!" Silvestrova shrugged. "I know we are not completely dead, because girl told me so, so-"

   "What?"

   Silvestrova vaguely pointed behind her, sweeping her arms from side to side. She reached up to tuck a lock of curly hair back into her hood, humming as she realized that whoever she was looking for wasn't there any longer.

   "Well, I woke up on the street right next to her. She helped me up, realized something was wrong, told me year is not 1917, can you believe? She was only one who believed me." The girl was obviously very upset that her new friend had abandoned her in the middle of the intersection, but Luis couldn't help but wonder if anyone could help them. Maybe this was a test, something they needed to complete before they could move on. Or just a really, really bad mishap. "She told me to talk to her if our paths cross again. I do not think she completely believed me."

   "Tell us where she went last," Astrid spoke up finally, taking off her hat and clutching it with pale hands, eyes wide with determination. The spark in her expression made Luis nervous- her mission could not be stopped, it seemed. "I will take any lead I can muster!" Silvestrova's face brightened. Astrid surged forward, looping arms with the other girl and started down the street, saying something to her softly that made them both laugh. 

   Luis remained standing there, dumbfounded. This was all going way too fast for his liking. 

   "No, that's ok, I'll just-" Luis sighed, feeling the emptiness in his stomach return. He'd get home, by any means necessary. But to be honest, he was never one to run into a situation unprepared, even through all his years in the army. Cielo, Camilla used to call him endearingly. A soft, sweet person. Cobarde, his brother would taunt. Coward.

   "Davai!" Silvestrova called over her shoulder, tilting her head in a gesture that encouraged him to walk with them.

   He stood silent for a moment, watching the people around him in their strange garb and scary bright lights pass by him without a second glance. He took a deep breath. Heaven or hell?

   The crunching of his own body sounded again in his ears. This couldn't be the end. He had to go. He had to meet his child. He had to kiss his mother on the cheek, dance with Camilla. Heaven or hell? He exhaled. 

   He was the faithful Dante marching through hell, searching for his Virgil. 

   After them, therefore, he was to go.

— 

a/n

WE'RE BACK!! 

I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts, good or bad :-) do you want me to just abandon this and give you the old chapters back? Is the pacing ok? Etc etc? 

As always I hope you're doing super well and thank you so much for all your support <33

Make sure to go check out @lunarella- s books too- together maybe we'll revive Zodiac Wattpad lmao ily Luna <33

I'm making aesthetics too!! I'm not done with them all but here's Astrid and Silvestrova 😎