Rough, sturdy, strong.
Sieg could hardly imagine that he would use those three words to describe a young woman's hand.
Unlike the smooth, delicate back of her hand, Jeanne d'Arc's palm and the web between her thumb and forefinger bore a thin layer of calluses, clearly the result of years of strenuous work-both during her time as a shepherdess before the age of seventeen and during the two years she spent leading the charge on the battlefield.
Jeanne d'Arc.
To Sieg, who had been born with knowledge, this name was no stranger:
France's national heroine, the "Maid of Orléans," a saint of Catholicism.
Any one of those three titles was something he could neither aspire to nor ever attain.
Yet someone who seemed lofty enough to stroll among the clouds could bend down and offer her hand to an Artificial Lifeform like him.
But... she who showed him such care and encouragement, who treated him as an equal, as a complete person-
In the end, she had still been branded a "heretic" and burned alive at the stake in the square in Rouen.
If even she had met such an end, what would his own end be?
And... was the world outside really as wonderful as he imagined?
Just as Sieg began to doubt himself, the young woman's voice sounded in front of him:
"Um... Sieg, could we let go of each other's hands now?"
Only when he heard Jeanne d'Arc say this did Sieg realize that he had forgotten to let go while lost in thought. All this time, his hand had remained loosely clasped around hers.
"Ah, sorry. I got distracted."
Sieg hurriedly released Jeanne d'Arc's hand and apologized.
"It's all right."
Jeanne d'Arc waved a hand to show she did not mind. Then she cleared her throat