I stand up again, wiping the perspiration from my nose.

A status message pops up to greet the next part of the stage.

Hell Difficulty Thirty-Third Floor:

Cocytus, step three: Ptolomaea.>

<[Clear Condition]

Move on.>

It’s colder now. My nose feels crunchy, and my fingers are getting stiff. As I walk, the people in the ice shift. Now, they have sunken down so far that the ice reaches their eyes. But only the bottom lid. It almost looks as though they all cried the lake together. Even though their eyeballs should be frozen in place, their eyes still watch me as I pass, dark as the ice around them. I move through them like a specter. I think I can recognize some of them from the floor that came before. Pinn, Lent…

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I pause at one of the silhouettes. Benevil looks up at me, his calm, dark eyes watching me without a hint of malice. Since his mouth is frozen shut, I can’t talk to him. The ice has even reached too high up for him to hear me. Silently, I bow my head in appreciation of what he’s done for me. The sides of his eyes curl up.

Even though I don’t understand what expression he’s making, I move on.

The people in the ice aren’t as numerous as the previous two circles. In the first, a number of them were frozen in clusters, close enough to touch. Even in the second, there were plenty of people down there, with plenty of hatred to show.

This one isn’t quite as densely populated, but the sheer depth of the hatred in their eyes makes up for it. I recognize many of them. Soldiers, guards. Innocents.

I walk among them and through them.

After some time, I come upon four silhouettes, buried up their eyes in the ice.

Ursula, Plus, Jazz and Rat glare up at me. Below the ice, they are close together, their hands clasped firmly to form a close ring.

I know they can’t talk. I know they can’t hear me. I know it isn’t even really them. And still, I bow my head.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, I move on.

I march silently through the fog. It’s all I can do.

After some time, I smell a familiar scent, and notice a crowned silhouette, moving regally through the fog.

I almost run to him. There’s so much I want to tell him. So many apologies for so many things. I want to hug him close to me and cry into his royal mantle and tell him how wrong I was for everything I put him through.

But it’s not what he needs. I know that.

He doesn’t need apologies from the person who did all this to him, or half-hearted promises to do better. What he really needs is…

I grit my teeth. Turning away from Simel’s silhouette, I move on.