Delicate Flower - A Hilda Fanzine

“You’re the one who’s out defending the Locket. I’m in school,” Hilda says.
Holst shakes his head. “No. If I’m a general worth my salt, then I shouldn’t
need a relic to defend my homeland.”
“I’m not saying you need it, but—” Hilda stops herself. She eyes Freikugel and
a wash of cold water goes down her spine. She can feel the power radiating
off of it and it’s far too much responsibility for her to handle. “I can’t, Holst.
I shouldn’t wield that thing.”
Holst frowns, his demeanor far more serious than Hilda is used to. “You have
the Crest of Goneril, don’t you? Freikugel will listen to you just as it listens to
me.”
Hilda bites her lip and presses her fists protectively over her chest.
“Holst, I can’t—”
“Just once,” Holst says, his hands gripping tighter onto Freikugel’s hilt.
“Just once I wish you could believe in yourself as much as I believe in you.”
Something hard gets stuck in Hilda’s throat. What can she possibly say to
that? Slowly, she unfurls her arms to receive the axe. Holst smiles, small
and genuine, and places it in her hands. Immediately, she feels her pulse
sync up with Freikugel’s own thrumming energy, its power mixing with
her bloodstream.
“I’m so proud of you, Hilda,” Holst says. “Truly. Don’t deny the power you have.
Our country needs it. More than you know.”
She’s too overwhelmed to speak, but she manages a nod.
She doesn’t feel ready. She doesn’t think she’s nearly as dependable or
competent as her brother imagines. But for the first time, a part of her thinks
she might be able to live up to the expectation.
Not yet, but someday.