It is written that couples are made by the Grandfather’s hands, he who lives on the moon and weaves families with his red strings. It is said that until their fates have been met and destinies completed, their strings will forever knot and twist; bend but never break. It is heard that to be tied is to have your souls connected, to live with each other throughout the ages.

They were a match made in Heaven, or rather, a match made by Heaven. What is made by Heaven can just as easily be destroyed by it. He knew it and so did she, or so he had thought. There were some things that he did not understand and she had promised that she would explain it to him in the next lifetime. How many had it been already? This world he had been reborn in did not seem right, the colors of this century hurt his eyes and the stench burned his nostrils; a land bathed in red and soaked in the gaseous fumes of gunpowder. This was not the peace and unity under one Kingdom that had been promised. When had this war broken out? He was now one of the highest ranking military officers in the Kingdom of Himmel and under his father’s nomination, headed the Personal Guards: the King’s assassination unit.

For how many years he had to have spent as a dung-beetle to have received this honor, he did not know. What did know was that his wife had been pregnant with his second child at the time of his passing. He did know that her stomach was pointy and not rounded, that he was supposed to have a son this time around – or so the midwives kept telling him. What had I been then? A farmer? He could not remember. He did however, remember when the lightening bolt came crashing down and washed his world with white. He would also never forget his twenty-third birthday in this world, when he first laid eyes on his wife again and this time, instead of the lightening bolt that took away his life, resounding through his mind was the explosion of his rifle that gave him back his old one. He had shot at his wife. Orders from the King to kill his own wife – no, orders to kill the one responsible for the King’s now botched assassination.

Since then, his mind had continued to race with a flood of bittersweet memories of his family; a family from a different lifetime. Unfortunately, he felt the chances of their reunion grow dimmer with every attempt she made to take out his life and with every skirmish between their opposing sects. Yet again, it was he who did not understand and this time, there was no one to tell him that they would explain later. He attempted to get as close as possible, to hold her gaze for as long as possible without getting himself killed in the process but the result was always the same. Her eyes remained hollow, nothing like the loving eyes that he once was so familiar with and her bloodcurdling scream before each thrust of her spear at his heart was most definitely not the same voice that sang lullabies to put their first daughter to sleep. Why don’t you remember me?

He was sure that she was the one, but how many lifetimes ago was it that she was his wife? Was she the daughter of the King’s brother before or after she became his wife on the rural fields? Had this occurred in a different lifetime to when he had been a river god and she the rice-picker’s daughter? In which lifetime had they been childhood friends that were wrongly betrothed to people they did not love? She was definitely the one, he would never forget this face that kept slipping away. Did you not promise me that you would be mine in this lifetime? They must have first met in the lifetime they had drunken the poison together and made this silly pact. You said you would let everything go and come with me the next time we met. It must have been their most recent lifetime together, excluding this one, where she had been his wife. Apparently marriage and children did not signify permanent unity to the heavens because he had let his guard down too soon. After how many lifetimes until he became nothing but Romeo’s template and her Juliet’s mold? The countless folktales he heard throughout the villages his country had raided sounded all too familiar.

On the ninth month since his memories had awakened, he decided that he would bear this turmoil no more – if she did not remember him, then he would simply try again in the next lifetime. It was on the 274th day that he ordered all his soldiers to remain within the kingdom, to guard a King that didn’t need guarding, so he could end a life that dearly needed saving. It was on that day he willingly stood on the executioner’s block despite anxious whispers and gawking stares from the civilians below, waiting for his challenge to have reached her. Today was the only time he did not dodge the arrow that landed at his feet.

“You missed?” he uttered, turning to face the person he now felt standing behind him, only to feel the sharp, cold blade of a sword pressed to his neck.

Fiery amber eyes glared at him, but he felt nothing but his heart break at her tone as she harshly growled, “What is the meaning of this?”

First there was silence until finally, he kicked up the spear on the ground with his foot, knocking her sword’s hold on his life for just long enough to slip away to safety. He grinned a mischievously, insanely read-to-die smile, “Tell me, was it a boy or a girl? It was a boy right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the woman who he knew used to be his wife barked, charging.

The clang of their metal weapons filled the air, but this time, he felt that their fight was different. Each punch she threw, every kick she landed differed from the last much to his enthusiasm: They were getting softer. Or had he simply been getting stronger with each blow from his excitement? Perhaps the latter.

Srrrrrpt. Suddenly, he felt his lungs gasp for their last breath of air and his eyes roll towards the heavens. He raised his left-hand to touch the blood now pouring out from his neck and grinned, knowing well that his right-hand gripped tightly to the spear that was now piercing through her body. As their dying eyes met for the last time, his heart skipped its last beat as he caught the twinkle that he had known so many lifetimes ago in his executioner’s amber eyes. Their bodies knelt towards each other and at long last he felt his wife’s firm hand grip his shoulder, and give it that knowing squeeze he received those decades ago. “Twins.” he heard her whisper in his ear before resting her head on his shoulder.

His eyes glanced toward the crowd in the direction his shoulder had been squeezed, fighting King of Death himself to keep them open and smirked. Heh, twins.

In the crowds, he watched as two dirt-stained girls dressed in rags pressed themselves against the wiry frame of a girl not much taller than themselves. When his body could hold out no longer, the crowds dispersed, carrying the slum children along with them.

***

“Y’know, ya should really stop holdin’ onta memories that technically ain’t yers,” came a familiar, horribly accented voice from the shadows of the Great Hall. The man named Amal emerged, arms crossed and posture terribly slouched, from behind the royal-colored curtains.

“They committed no crime.” It was all that the dark-robed figure sitting at the top of the throne could muster, lifting his hands from his lap to reveal to the peasant the now severed red string that had once been neatly knotted into a bow. His guard had been let down long ago, as Amal now hovered over his sunken body to inspect the item.

“Pfft, they really shouldn’t make ya inherit the memories of yer past selves,” Amal chuckled, “It really makes fer some fucked up Kings.”

Silence.

“He loved her, y’see?,” Amal stated after taking a deep breath and elbowed the man on the shoulder before walking back towards the shadows from which he appeared. “I ain’t even gonna waste time in lecturin’ ya while ya like that ‘n all,” he stated with a snort and called over his shoulder, “But try ‘n let us know a lil earlier when the big man comes to town, aight?”

“Yeah.”