France, 1944. As the Allies land on the shores of Normandy, an unlikely friendship strikes up between Levi Ackerman, a widowed French Jew, and Eren Jäger, a deeply-in-the-closet lieutenant in the German Wehrmacht. The two deal with love, loss, digni...
Minutes later, tired and feeling more dehydrated than he had before, Levi trudged ever onward. The forest opened up to a small commune, a few houses, a church, a couple of shops, all looking old, like the past three centuries had not touched them. He saw the spire of a church and headed toward it, trudging up an exhausting hill. Beyond, he saw a glimpse of a castle. So, this village was rather important. That might be to his advantage, or a big danger, depending.
For now, he could seek sanctuary in the church. Although he was Jewish, he knew churches took in anyone in need of help.
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The entrance was morbid. Rather than a garden to greet guests, a person passed through an elaborate cemetery, stately graves with onyx crosses, marble headstones, and carved epithets. He walked up to towering wooden doors and yellowed gothic stone arches that soared above with immense panes of colorful glass. He had to give it to Catholics: they sure knew how to make a person feel tiny.
He pushed open the heavy oak doors and looked around. It was a typical Catholic church, open, airy, light pouring through the stained glass windows like heavenly rainbows. Upon closer look, it was obvious that the place had some of their treasures looted. Alcoves that once held statues were empty; crosses probably made from gold had been broken off and taken. Nazis often looted anything of value from the churches in areas they conquered.
An elderly priest with silver hair and pale eyes wearing a black cassock came up. "Wëllkomm, mäi Jong. Bienvenue, mon fils."
Levi sighed in relief to hear the priest speaking in both some language he did not know, but also in French. He had not realized it while on the road, but he was not in France anymore, and the language barrier could be a problem.
"Bonjour, Père. I am lost, quite literally. What town is this?"
"You are in Fischbach."
"Fischbach?" The name sounded German, and that worried him. "What country am I in?"
The priest looked deeply sympathetic. "You're in Luxembourg. You really must be very lost, my son. Please, come in. I am Father Uri."
Levi thought back. What was that name he went by while on the run? "Rivaille. Rivaille Martin."
"God welcomes you, Brother Rivaille. Is there any way I can help you?"
"I seek shelter, possibly sanctuary."
"I see," Father Uri said solemnly. "Trouble?"
"Nazis," he whispered. "First, not to be rude, but I drank some stream water earlier, and it's not hitting my stomach right. Does this place have a toilet?"
"Of course it does. Feel free to wash up from your travels. Please, follow me."
Levi began to step forward, but he stumbled in dizziness. The priest grabbed him before he collapsed.
