Hidden From The World Of Hetalia.

Converted. Spain.

March 16, 1521.

I fiddled with the three-beaded necklace I wore, looking at the beach with the sun above me. It was another peaceful day at the gulf of Leyte, of which, an island I personally owned. The grains of sand filled the gaps of my toes as well as my fingers. Yep, this feeling was absolutely marvelous.

Then, I could spot in the horizon, an approaching ship I had never seen before. I could make out… Red crosses on their flags. They’re approaching fast ashore. Within a matter of minutes, they dropped anchor and set foot on my land. I stood up, a strong breeze occasionally passes by me as I waited for the visitors to compose themselves and realize that they’re unexpected company.

“Why, hello, there, miss…” a brunette asked me as he walks towards me, making me back away. I looked behind him, his men have just finished dismounting from their ships. They’re so many. If I tried to do something to defend myself, they would surely act.

“H-Hello…” I took another step back, deciding whether to escape through the trees behind me.

“No, no, don’t be afraid… We’re not here to hurt you…. I’m Spain… What’s your name?”

I hesitated for a moment, but then I saw a sincere look in his eyes. He was truthful, alright. I calmed down miraculously. “I… I don’t know.”

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Spain and I became friends immediately, knowing he just came across me to ask for some ingredients to bring back to his people. He also mentioned something about becoming a Catholic like him. I never actually got what that means but its something about taking a commitment and always know that you are being ruled by a supreme being and other stuff. Whatevs, sounds cool to me! Then, Spain started acting weird.

March 31, 1521.

“Whatcha doin, Spain?” I asked him as I marveled at a cross, planted on the summit of a hill overlooking the sea.

“Just finished establishing you as my friend.” He replied, wiping his sweat as the morning sun begged for his attention.

“Oh, I see…”

“I’ll name this place ‘Archipelago of Saint Lazarus’, for you are now a legitimate Catholic with me as your witness…” he said as he rubs my head playfully. “You sure you don’t know your name?”

I shook my head, nothing was ringing to me. I couldn’t remember anything but the salt-scented beaches, shades of the trees and the sound of waves clapping with the sands of the shore.

I shrugged it off, knowing that I’ve gotten sick of this subject ever since Spain came here. Then I thought of something to break the ice.

“Hey, Spain… Wanna check out the caves?” I asked him as the beads of my necklace roll on my neck.

“You have caves? Alright! Let’s go!”

I held his hand as we ran through the shore with Spain’s men camping on the sands of the beach, smiling as we both took our leave and into the forest. Spain found it hard to keep up with me. I was used to this all my life, anyway. I smiled as huge branches of leaves occasionally slaps him in the face unexpectedly and how he trips on branches every 10 feet or so. And then, I finally led him to my favorite cave. It went partly underground and if you took a wrong step, you’ll surely end up impaled.

Spain hesitated for a moment but then saw me doing my footwork with ease. He bit his lip and took my hand and did exactly what I did. It somehow worked as we both got down the cave in good shape.