Thirty years ago. That’s where it began, when Virgil sent out letters, inviting the nine to come. He had sent letters all about the world. From ocean to ocean, land to land — the world that had drifted apart had come together for that day.

Dante was the first to arrive on the shores of Southern Hesha, an eastern nation home to pirates and samurai. He had come all the way from the isles of Cobell on a singular rumor — a local legend of sorts. Rumors of a cursed castle had permeated from Southern Hesha to all over the world, a rumor of a castle ruled by a demonic princess.

The thought of visiting that castle — and inviting others to it — was an idea that intrigued Dante, which was why he was so keen on accepting Virgil’s invitation. Of course, he packed with him the essentials.

He was a foreigner to his own lands. With long and messy dark hair tied to a low ponytail and a warm winter coat, one he had purposefully prepared for the harshness of winter. It was the first of December when he came and landed on the shores, exactly as Virgil had requested him to do so via letter.

Dante stood alone in the port, staring off towards the sea. Virgil had written to him that the others would come around the afternoon. Most people would rule that off as a prediction, seeing as the ocean was as unpredictable as the weather, but Dante had a feeling — one that told him Virgil would be spot on.

One by one, a trio of ships made their way into the port. They were simple, smaller ships built solely for speed, and he recognized them as he had taken the same type of boat. From each came out a single passenger.

The people quickly vanished into the sea of local townsfolk, but Dante knew they’d all wind up in the same place, the one location Virgil wanted them to gather and meet. The port was filled to the brim with hanging lanterns made of a dull bronze that were all lit for the afternoon. From the nets of fish to the crates full of foreign goods, the pier seemed impossible to navigate and unendingly busy.

A single star guided the invitees towards a singular point, and under the light of a single silver lantern, Dante waited for the group to arrive. There, his ‘peers’ arrived, sticking out like sore thumbs in the crowd of conical straw hats and jet black hair.

The first of the three was an older gentleman with a black eyepatch that contrasted with his gray hair, a man who both looked roughened up over decades of less than legal work. Despite that, however, he looked calm and gentle — mistakable for a kind, old grandfather, maybe even a head butler of an imperial palace. He was well dressed for the winter, with thick clothing, a woolen scarf around his neck and a knit hat in his hands.

Dante knew better than to trust those who wore the kindest looks, and knowing that, he kept a skeptical eye on the old cyclops.

The next of the three was an unusual woman from far overseas. She had tan skin — at least, that’s what he could parse out from how little of her skin she exposed. The woman was wrapped head to toe in a black cloak like a marauder and her hair covered with a hijab. She seemed a little standoffish, though that didn’t stop him from coming up and extending a hand.

She saw his hand, looked into his very character with a pair of emerald green eyes, then backed away a step or two.

Finally was a woman who could be mistaken as either a commoner or a member of high society. Anyone’s guess was as good as his, and looking at her beat-up coat and boots, she looked like she just stepped out of a factory. That’s when he saw the long stemmed smoking pipe she carried, and judging from the dull, golden glimmer of a fancy looking seal, it was authentic — something collectors would drool over.

The woman wore an expression on the verge of a smiling sneer. She was beauty for sure, but had an underlying tone of danger to her, one that’d capture anyone’s attention with just one glance at her blond locks and into her sharp, calculative gaze.

With a step forward, she stole the hand the other girl refused to shake, then smiled.

“Erika Portinari,” she stated, as firm as her handshake, a trail of smoke escaping her lips. “Pleasure to meet you. If I had to guess, you’re one of the guests invited here by Virgil, correct?”

His questions were answered by her manner of speech alone. Clearly, she was nobility or some pygmalion creation. Why she was wearing such drab clothing was beyond him, though, he didn’t care to have his questions answered.

“Dante Searcher,” he answered, just as firm, “and to answer your question; yes, I was. I didn’t think he’d need four people though, to be honest. It seemed like a two man job to me.”

Seeing the two shake hands, the old man smiled, patted Dante on the shoulder before extending his hand as well.

“Howell Herman, at your service,” he said, all friendly-like. “I’ve been invited all the same. This Virgil — he’s quite the fellow, bringing people from all over the world to one destination. I can’t imagine the cost of all this. He must be quite the rich gentleman.”

Howell seemed like a reliable person, both from his elderly age and mannerism. It isn’t everyday someone would approach you, pat your shoulder, shake your hand and tell you they’re ‘at your service’. Whoever he was, he’d be good help for sure.

“I’m Dante Searcher, and it’s good to meet you too,” Dante replied, and he crossed his arms to shake both their hands at once. He twisted himself for the sake of politeness.

Howell turned to the third guest, the foreign woman, and crossed his arms like a pretzel to offer her a spot in their handshake that was equally complex as it was respectful — like a daisy chain.

“My fair lady, won’t you introduce yourself?” Howell asked with a playful, peppy tone in his voice. He wore the look of a refined gentleman amazingly effortlessly.

The woman however looked at his hand, then turned her head away — a total and complete rejection.

“I am Iffrah, and I’m afraid I don’t do ‘handshakes’. You may keep your western customs to yourselves, thank you.”

“Prickly, like the cactus of the Sulphuran mesas, I presume?” Howell asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “I am quite prickly. I hope it’s not too much for you all to handle.”

She seemed unsociable but at the same time able to take a jab at herself. Whoever this Iffrah was, she seemed like a complicated soul. Howell took her prickliness with stride, all while wearing that same unbreakable smile.

“By the way,” Iffrah asked, skipping forwards. “What exactly were Virgil’s orders?”

Dante lifted an attention grabbing finger, then pulled out his letter. With a breath in, he orated the instructions all fancy-like — like the way he’d imagine Virgil himself writing it down.

“Reach the mainland, and from there, follow that which turns argentum to aurelius,” he read, “or at least, that’s what Virgil wrote to me.”

“Anything else?” Howell asked, and Dante simply shrugged.

“Nothing more, nothing less.”

That was the first of many lies to come.

“Well!” Howell said, clapping his hands together — his letter being placed between his palms. “It’s time we followed ‘that which turns argentum to aurelius’. The question is, what exactly does that mean?”

“Argentum to aurelius, eh? I suppose it’s a riddle — a test of sorts,” Erika said, and Howell grinned at the thought.

“Oh, I do love a good riddle. Seeing as it’s been given to us, specifically, I believe it’s a puzzle only we can solve.”

“Then it looks like we got a puzzle to solve,” Dante said, and he first cut the puzzle in half for dissection.

“First, argent,” Dante said. “What does it mean, argentum?”

He turned to the others. Only Iffrah came up with an answer.

“Argentum, it’s a term in Sulphuran occultism.”

“Occultism?” Howell asked, his smile fading ever so slightly.

“More specifically, it has to do with alchemy,” Iffrah answered. “Argentum is the byproduct of a certain type of transmutation — where lead is transmuted into gold. In the transmutation there’s a remaining byproduct that is silver.”

“Silver?”

“Otherwise known as argentum. That remaining waste argentum is sublimated into gold, otherwise known as aurelius.”

Hearing that, Howell grew visibly skeptical. The smile on his face soured to a bit of a frown.

“Then tell me, how does that silver become gold?”

Iffrah took a finger, then pointed up. The group traced that invisible line, up towards a silver lantern that hung from above.

“The purifying flame turns tainted silver to ‘pure’ gold.”

Erika peered up towards it, then ahead to a second silver lantern, then a third. They were strewn across the pier, down the main street of the harbor city. Winter made daylight short, and with that, Dante watched as the sun began to set a few hours early. While the group marched under the light of the argentum lanterns, he took some time to think it all over.

The enigmatic Virgil made himself clear. He specifically stated that multiple people would be arriving at the port. From there, they were to solve his riddle, then make their way through the port and onto his desired path via the silver lanterns. Thinking it over, Dante couldn’t help but make mental notes of every person there.

Why were they here? Why exactly did Virgil pick them? What did they expect to gain?

A thousand questions swirled, and from behind his false smile, he schemed. Virgil’s prize was a pie, and the bigger the piece he got, the better.

His gaze first fell on Howell, who was busy trekking through the port, passing beneath every silver lantern and inspecting them for a brief moment. Dante knew from the start that Howell’s smile was the same as his — a disarming performance.

Then, his gaze fell on Iffrah. She was from Sulphura, a nation rich with sulphur — the occultic alchemists’ favorite element next to gold — and oil, the fuel of the modern world. If Sulphuran onions were anything to go by, then that meant that woman had many layers to her — layers that, one by one, would reveal a grand, infernal sin hidden underneath.

Finally, Erika Portinari. She was a noblewoman for sure. No sane noblewoman would take a boat trip across the world after receiving a cryptic, mysterious letter. That meant she was here for Virgil’s reward out of a level of desperation.

The three were not people to be trusted, and when the lanterns came to a halt, they found themselves on the outskirts of the city. Before them stood a thick brush that was closer to a jungle than a seaside forest.

The four stood before a grand forest filled to the brim with wilting maples and old oaks. Before their feet was the bend of a twisting river where a singular silver lantern waited. It rested on a throne-like stump, as if it were waiting for them to finally arrive.

“Hoh, will you look at that?” Howell said with a smile — an excited smile. “Looks like we’ve been led by our noses. I wonder if Virgil is waiting for us here?”

“Out here? In the middle of the woods?” Erika said, and she scoffed. “Old man, that’s absurd. Virgil must be waiting on ahead.” and she pointed her pipe forwards and upstream.

Iffrah was the first to go on ahead, moving on as if she were abandoning the rest. She didn’t even make eye contact with the others. Howell smirked, then turned to Dante, leaning in close — so close that they were almost cheek to cheek.

“Sulphuran women, they’re quite finicky — feisty even,” he said. “Perhaps she doesn’t see us as her equals, hmm?”

“Equals?” Dane muttered.

“Perhaps she’s royalty. A daughter of the Shah?” Erika added, leaning in from the other side just as close as Howell was, as if the two were sandwiching him in between them. He could smell the tobacco on her breath.

“Royalty? Oh, that’s absurd. Simply absurd!” Howell said. “If she were the daughter of the Sulphuran Shah, she’d have been married off to nobility years ago. The last place she’d be is overseas.”

For now, all they could do was follow behind, all while they admired the crystal clear water that spilled down the river. The forest was peaceful — almost too peaceful. It was as quiet as could be, and from how pristine it was, it looked like no humans had ever stepped foot into it. That’s when they found something odd.

“What are these? Paper talismans?” Dante muttered.

They had come across a segment of forest where twine ropes were tied from tree to tree. The ropes and branches all were weighed down by paper talismans that had been tied to the ends along with lead weights. It looked almost sinister, but when Howell inspected them, instead of looking cross, he instead began to laugh.

“Hah! Oh, I can’t believe it. Of all things to be unnerved by, it’s this?” Howell asked himself.

“What’s wrong?” Dante asked, and Howell plucked one off of a string to show the others.

“These talismans — I’ve seen them before from my more adventurous friends,” Howell said. “These are sealing charms. They’re meant to ward off evil spirits.”

“Evil spirits? You don’t mean —”

“It’s nothing more than a prank from the locals. Virgil must have told them foreigners were arriving, and they must have gone ahead and placed some ‘attractions’ to unnerve us,” Howell stated. He seemed awfully confident about it all. Howell leaned in to get a closer look at Dante’s face before asking, “What’s wrong? Scared?”

“Scared? Me? Of what?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts and scaaary monsters, now, do you?” Howell asked. He teased Dante, all while he wore a smirk. He was like a grandfather toying with their grandchild. Erika smirked as well.

“Oh my. It appears our Virgil has invited quite the coward,” Erika said. The two poked fun at Dante who could do nothing to defend himself.

However, he wouldn’t need to be defended as someone there stood up for him.

“The supernatural exist,” Dante heard. He turned to see the Iffrah who spoke. Her accent was thick and foreign to the core, yet when Dante heard it, it felt all too familiar.

“They exist. They are the malevolent forces that plague our lives, causing grief and misery,” she said. “You can mock them all you want, but I will assure you, you do not want to be their next victim.”

“Well, that’s awfully kind of you to stand up for our dear Dante,” Howell said, “but please. The suffering you are describing is just a part of life. Normal as could be. Take it from me as an old man.”

“You can deny it as much as you want, but it doesn’t change a thing,” she said, her eyes as narrow as the end of a knife. “Malevolent spirits target those who reject their existence the most — those who are trapped in the inferno of heresy.”

A silence filled the growing void between the two. Howell, being a mature and reasonable old man, threw up his arms and gave in to the forest itself.

“My apologies, To the spirits listening, feel free to take vengeance on me, but please spare the others.”

It was half hearted at best. Iffrah, however, nodded and accepted it for what it was, seeing as it was the best apology she’d get out of a person like him. So long as Dante himself wouldn’t be pulled into Howell’s punishment, he was fine with it. Erika simply stood and took a drag on her pipe.

The four went on ahead, following the river upstream. The further they went, the thicker the canopy became. The brush was overgrown, so much so that it looked less like the trail to whatever Virgil wanted to bring them in for, and more like a part of the wilderness. Though, that wilderness was marked with those familiar talismans, strewn about on every branch. They were more plentiful than the coming spring blossoms.

They were an unnerving sight. They were wards that kept demonic spirits and evil entities away, but the further they followed the river, the more they wondered if those seals weren’t warding away monsters, but keeping one sealed away.

The water was crystal clear, though they noticed there was a distinct lack of marine life, or any life in general. It was still early in winter, meaning animals should be on the verge of going into hibernation — but not before enjoying the snow for a moment.

It was eerie, how quiet the world was at that moment. Nothing but a silent forest and a gushing river. Though, it wasn’t like the four were going to speak up about it. They all knew why they came, and for what reasons.

Dante led the pack, only to have his back tapped on by Erika.

“Dante?” she asked. “About Virgil.”

“Yeah?”

“Have you… met him?”

He put a hand to his chin to think, then turned to her with a confident smile.

“I have no idea what he looks like, though I bet if we knocked loud enough, we could find out in a heartbeat.”

It inspired no confidence. Instead, she wore a frown. That’s when they went around a bend and up to the mouth of the river. There, they saw exactly what Virgil wanted them to find.

In the middle of the forest, in the center-stage of a clearing, stood a fortress built upon a foundation of cobble piled up on one another, patted down with fire-clay mortar. The castle stood about two floors tall. Atop the foundation was the castle itself, which had walls of pure white and arched roofs topped with black slate tiles. It was a piece of history that was preserved by the obscuring brush of the forest — a piece of history that wasn’t wiped away by air raids and bomber planes brought on by the war between North and South Hesha.

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It was reminiscent of mansions of western nobility, though from the way they trailed up the river, they had arrived at the backside of the building. Following the river, they found a rudimentary entrance. The river itself flowed through the center of the fort, past a metal grate entrance that looked all too much like a sewer entrance. There was a barred metal door fit for a prison, and with a tug, Dante found it was unlocked.

“Well, I suppose this is the entrance?” Dante said, and he waved Erika in, saying, “Ladies first.”

“Ladies first,” Erika repeated, and she turned to Iffrah who gulped, then stepped inside.

Inside, it was like a tunnel that was as dark as a cavern, forcing Dante to pull out a silver lantern he stole to light their way. The building was awfully quiet — though the washing of the river was a soothing noise. He took a moment to dip a finger inside to find that the water was as clean as it could possibly be. Erika was quick to judge him, looking down on him with a hint of disgust on her face as if it was sewer water.

The river passed through the entire fortress, sectioning itself off from both ends with two metal gates. Midway, there was an entrance — a slightly moldy doorway, a western style door with a lock, one that grew rotten with the continuous exposure to the river’s water. It was gross to touch, but with the twist of a brass knob, they made their way into the fortress’s upper palace.

The fortress was as gorgeous as it was empty. The outer walls were fortified to the maximum, while the interior was decorated with the taste of an artisan and the wealth of an Emperor. The walls were white as snow and the halls long and winding, all while managing to feel full of life through vases and flowerpots. Whatever this place was, Virgil had chosen well.

“It’s beautiful. Almost too beautiful,” Erika said. “What is a castle like this doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Dante, Erika and Iffrah passed under the brilliantly beautiful architecture and past fanciful furniture. The age of the castle was unguessable and the cost of the building itself was impossible to gauge. To think that a building as beautiful as this would be abandoned in the woods was brain racking, though evidently, it looked like it had been left alone for quite some time.

Beyond the beauty, there hid a growing creakiness in the form of entropy. The painted walls had slight, but noticeable chips and the corners of arches and doorways were cobbed with webs.

All of that was thrown into question when Dante took a glance at a certain short pot. Sitting by a window, kept in a brown pot was a peculiar looking flower.

He could hardly call it a flower. It was closer to an insect, with long, spindly stamens that crept out from its center like spider legs. Dante couldn’t help but stare at the flower until he felt someone stroll by his side.

“Well, what is this?” he heard. It was Erika, who came by and stood next to him, leaning close to inspect the flower.

“I’m not quite sure, but whatever it is, it’s a creepy looking flower. Probably cursed with some thousand-year hex.”

“Oh, it’s got spider legs,” she said with a smile, “and look how red it is — thick as blood.”

“Thick as blood?”

“It’s a gorgeous shade of red, and like a rose with its thorns, it's armed with these spider legs. I wonder, if I leaned in too close, would it sink its fangs into me?”

Dante took a moment to think, then leaned his head in to poke the flower with his nose.

“No, I don’t think it would,” he answered. “At most, it looks like a spider — but nothing more than that.”

Iffrah came over and stood between the two. Looking down on the plant, she took a glance, then immediately turned away.

“That flower — it’s cursed for sure.”

“How do you know that?” Dante asked, and she scoffed.

“You have eyes, don’t you? Why don’t you use them every now and then?”

Iffrah was as prickly as ever. Maybe she was upset that it was a flower and not a cactus. Either way, the two took that moment to admire the flower before turning to go, with Dante taking it upon himself to pluck it out of its pot.

Erika stepped on ahead, moving backwards into a pair of sliding doors, ones she opened without turning to look — doors that led to a wide, cathedral hall-esque chamber fit for a ballroom.

Moonlight poured in from above through a circular window along with a few rectangular windows that circled around them. It was a beautiful room filled with ink paintings that followed the rules of Setsugekka, which was made up of the following three principles.

The autumn moon above.

Winter’s snow.

And of course, the blossoming flowers of spring.

Dante stood, hand on chin. He looked the place up and down, all while Erika stepped forwards and towards the center of the ballroom.

“At first, I questioned why Virgil would invite people all the way out here of all places, but now that I’m here, I’ve gotten a finer grasp on his intentions,” Erika said, and she turned around, reaching a hand out to say, “This place is a ballroom, so come — I want to see you dance.”

Erika, for sure, was an eccentric. She stood, hand outstretched, a playful, sarcastic smirk on her face. It was as if she was wordlessly challenging him to come prove her wrong — to prove that he knew how to dance.

Dante, however, wasn’t interested in her little game.

“I’m sorry. I don’t dance,” he answered, and her smile faded a little, like the midday sun heading towards the afternoon.

He saw that disappointment, then let out a sigh.

“Even if I can’t dance, I’ll do the next best thing,” he said, playing along.

“Oh? And what is that?”

He stepped forward, close, looked her up and down and then smirked.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked with a hint of skepticism in her voice.

“I just noticed that your outfit was missing something.”

He took the flower, then placed it in her hair, allowing it to sit in the crease of her ear. The macabre black of her coat, the gold blond of her hair and the blood red of the flower — all of it together made for a perfect combination.

Erika looked shocked, and she turned to one of the mirror-esque windows to see herself with the flower in her hair. She put a hand to her chin, bobbing her head left and right, as if she were questioning whether this style was acceptable. Finally, she turned back to Dante with a smile.

“You’ve outdone yourself. A fine addition to my outfittal repertoire,” she said. ‘Outfittal’ wasn’t actually a word, but for such an eccentric girl, making up words was one way she expressed her emotions.

Iffrah watched all this and walked over, muttering, “Flirting in public? How vulgar.”

“Flirting?” Dante said to himself, and Erika smirked.

“Are you questioning your own actions?” she asked, and she clicked her tongue to say, “A wishy-washy heart is no good. It’s better you shut up and die than send the wrong signal.” She smirked even wider into a grin. “Speaking of signals, I’m not getting your hopes up, am I? Am I?”

“Not at all,” he replied confidently.

He was about to poke back at her, but before he could even speak, he froze. In the distance, past closed doors and through hallways, he heard footsteps followed by the sliding of doors. Opposite of the way they entered, another crowd stepped foot into the ballroom.

The leader of the crowd was an older gentleman — a towering, silver haired man clad in a noble suit and tie with a pocket watch peeking out of his breast pocket. Draped over his body was a fur covered cape marked with the seal of his family crest, an ornate axe angled diagonally, as if it was a flying hatchet. If you looked at him from a distance, he’d look like a grayish, silver mass.

“Well, it looks like we’re not alone in this bizarre building,” they said, and the three turned towards the new crowd.

The old man tugged on his tie, cleared his throat and demanded answers from the trio.

“You three. Were you invited here by our dear Virgil as well, or are you some interloper?” he asked, his gaze strict and his posture unbending — fit for a king.

Dante nodded and was more than willing to answer his questions. Unfortunately for him, the prideful Erika stepped forward and stole away his attempt to respond.

“We are. Were you five guests invited here by Virgil as well?”

The old man rested his hand over his chest, then bowed, an Ennian traditional form of greetings.

“Baron Gadro,” he answered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young ladies and gentleman. I’m an Ennian nobleman, a friend of the Emperor — and from your accent and look, I reckon you two are Cobellians with a Sulphuran in tow, yes?”

“Friend of the Emperor, eh? Well, well, well…” Erika said to herself with devious intent and an equally devious smile. Dante took initiative and stepped forward, stealing back the spotlight from Erika who looked like she was scheming.

“Spot on, mister,” Dante replied. “I’m guessing you guys came in through the rivergate entrance, right? Beautiful palace for sure, but it seems kind of empty.”

“Empty? I suppose it’s because everyone else was with me,” Baron said, and he waved out an arm to introduce the others.

First, an Ennian stepped forward — a meek looking man. He had chestnut brown hair with a pair of circular glasses. He looked like he was born in a library and was destined to die there.

“I’m Wright Bernstein,” he said with a surprising amount of confidence — confidence that belonged to a top rated salesman. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’m no nobleman — just a humble bank clerk brought in by this Virgil.” and he pulled out a letter, and from the seal on the front, it was clearly from Virgil.

Next, a black woman, most likely from the continent of Zahna — what was commonly known as the ‘center of the world’. It was a continent that, during the colonial eras, was taken apart, piece by piece, by colonizers from all over the globe.

She wore clothing that differentiated herself from the noble Baron and the well dressed commoner, Wright. She wore a summer yellow kimono covered in traditional Zahnian patterns — clothing from a South Heshan colonized Zahna. Her curly hair was tied back in a bun with a pair of chopsticks.

“Shinjiro Aki,” she said, “but please, call me Aki.” and she pulled out that same letter, saying, “I was an exchange student, but after getting a letter like this, I don’t know what to believe.”

Next up was a woman with hair that Dante could only describe as ‘flowing gold’. She was a foreigner for sure — someone who came from up north where the snow never stopped. She was clearly a Cliesen, and from her formal, uniform-esque outfit, she looked like she belonged in the Imperial Cliesen army. The revolver by her side only emphasized that look.

She looked poised and dignified, both in the way she stood tall and straight and from the expression on her face. The only aspect of hers that made her look approachable was the woman who stood behind her, using the lady soldier as cover — a meek girl who relied on her.

“I am Misha Asimov, and this is Calina,” she said with the dignity of a high ranking soldier, and surprisingly, her voice lacked the accent Dante assumed she’d have. With the pat of her white-gloved hand, she brought forth Calina.

The meek girl wore the habit of a nun — clothing that was awfully similar to the Sulphuran hijab — and with a bow, she introduced herself, timidly.

“I am Calina Yekov from Cliesen Socialist Republic,” she said, her accent thicker than Cliesen semolina and berry-nut porridge. “It is a very good to meet you all. I am priestess and nurse. You hurt? I can help.” and for emphasis, she brought out a bundle of gauze bandaging. Meekly, of course. There wasn’t a drop of confidence in her words, or any part of her at all.

Wright, Aki, Misha, Calina — and of course, Baron Gadro. They made up the crew of people who already entered the castle. Dante, with a reciprocal smile, welcomed them in.

“Well, it’s good to meet you all,” he said, and he first approached Calina — the meekest, and cutest, of them all. He took her hands, all gentleman-like, and smiled.

“What brings you to this castle?” he asked — an attempt to drag information out of the girl, so crude like a rake through a mound of sticks and dried twigs.

She hesitated. Her smile was red with embarrassment. With a hiccup in her voice she responded, “Virgil. He sent letter. Very nice person — he give me ticket, too.”

“So, you’re saying that if I sent you a ticket and an address, you’d go anywhere I’d like you to?” he asked, half jokingly. “You didn’t come here because you had the opportunity to, right? What exactly brought you here?”

Before she could answer, Misha came up and put a hand on Calina’s shoulder.

“Settle down, loverboy,” she said. Her smile was warm, but her voice held a drop of poison. “Calina here isn’t very good at Cobellian. Speaking of Cobellian, isn’t it so very convenient we can all, at least, understand this one language?”

“I’m sure Virgil planned this from the beginning,” Wright said, stepping forth and out of his corner to speak and participate. However, that one statement changed the mood of the whole castle.

Baron stood still, his eyes narrowed. He scanned the room, looking left to right at every invitee. He was regal, yet equally a dangerous man.

Misha stood firm, her hands behind her back and her revolver kept close by her hip. She kept her unphased, unbreakable expression on her face.

Erika stood with a small smile, gently smoking on her pipe, all while the red spider lily sat gracefully in her hair.

Dante stood tall, one hand resting by his side, the other grasped tight onto a golden coin in his pocket.

The silence was suffocating. Wright was the only one to step forward and push the group back towards their previous, amicable formation. He did it with a smile, a wry and awkward one, but a smile nonetheless.

“Speaking of Virgil, is this it? Are we all the invitees?” Wright asked, and Dante put a hand to his chin.

Dante froze. Calina noticed and her expression turned to worry.

“You are all here, yes? There are three of you, yes?” she asked, and Dante clenched his teeth down hard.

“Where the Hell did that old man wander off to?”

From that point on, they began an investigation throughout the entire castle. Virgil was nowhere to be seen, and it seemed Howell was next in line. The group went together, eventually splitting up to search for Howell. Dante, Erika, Aki and Wright stuck together, looking around the lower levels while the rest grouped up and searched the top floors of the multi-layered fort.

At first, the crew was in a major hurry to find Howell and ‘rescue’ him, but after an hour of searching, that feeling vanished and in its place was both awe and a lingering sense of dread. In that dread a strange and twisted humor was born. Dante, who stood before a window, watched as a blizzard picked up — obscuring the world under a veil of white.

“Say,” Dante said, grabbing the others’ attention. “Howell — he mentioned something earlier, something about a ‘prank’ from the locals who live around here.”

“Prank?” Aki asked, and Erika nodded.

“Earlier we came across what looked like mystical Heshan talismans. Howell looked at them and simply laughed, saying it was some sort of prank,” Erika explained, and she pulled out a talisman — one she had stolen for herself.

She showed it off to Aki who took it out of her hand to get a closer inspection. Aki read it up and down, then looked to Erika with a tinge of dread in her eyes.

“These aren’t ordinary seals,” Aki said. “These seals — how many were there?”

“More than I could count,” Erika said, and her expression turned to a smirk, asking, “Why do you ask? Are you afraid of a demon being freed?”

“Maybe an Oni, maybe a Kitsune, or maybe even a Yuki-Onna,” Aki muttered to herself. Dante felt a shiver run down his spine, but with a confident yet fake smile, he kept his calm demeanor afloat.

“Well, it looks like this castle might be haunted. Judging by those seals, it looked like a demon was locked up in here.”

Aki’s response was to pause, and when her expression shifted to something more nervous. Wright stepped in and lightened the mood with quite the centric smile.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure we’ve got nothing to worry about,” Wright said, “and besides, if there really is a demon, it only lends more credence to Virgil’s claims.”

“Virgil’s claims?” Aki asked, and Wright nodded cheerfully.

“His claim that he could present us a miracle.”

Dante and Erika both instinctually froze, all while Wright pulled out his letter and presented it to Aki before reading it out loud.

“Dear Wright Merkal,

I am in need of brilliant minds, and I believe you are an appropriate candidate to solve a mystery that has kept my mind bound for years. Bound within this letter is a ticket for a private sailing to the ports of Southern Hesha where further instructions will be waiting for you.”

That was the first part of the letter, which was partially personalized, a template of sorts for every invitee where only the name and wordage was changed. It was standard and every invitee had read it at least a few times. The more important part was the part he was willing to ‘spill’ — the part everyone else kept close to their hearts.

“I know for certain that a requested invitation to solve a mystery isn’t enough to entice most folk. That is why I’ve entrusted a payment of sorts to you. Consider it a ‘down payment’ for your services.

With my Lady’s will engraved into my heart,

Virgil.”

That payment. It was what dragged every person to the castle — going as far as to sail across the world to a foreign nation, whose language they couldn’t even speak. Wright, with a smile, pulled out a familiar item.

It was a golden coin, and marked on the front was an emblem, the padded paw of a bear that had been emblazoned.

“I have to say, folks, this isn’t some regular gold coin,” Wright claimed. “The moment I got it, I ran off to the nearest jeweler to confirm it. When the man set it on his scale, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Every single test — from the most modern of measuring instruments to the oldest, most superstitious methods — proved that the gold was, without a doubt, 100% pure.”

The gold was both a down payment and a weight around their necks — one that’d drag them down to Hell if they weren’t careful. The others, hearing that, froze in place, frozen in shock by the impossible purity of his gold coin.

Erika sucked in a breath, then revealed her coin — an identical match to Wright’s. Aki did the same, flashing it with a bit of a prideful smile. Finally, Dante gave in and revealed the 24 karat dream slash nightmare that had fallen into his lap.

“Looks like Virgil’s got us all on his payroll, eh?” Dante asked, and Wright smiled.

“He sure has. He sure has.”

“Speaking of payroll, just how much do you think all of these coins, combined, are worth?” Dante asked.

Hearing that, Aki froze. Her lips babbled and she muttered, “This single coin is worth at least ten thousand Bura — the currency of Zahna if you were wondering — and seeing as there are nine people here…”

“Oh my. That alone is quite a bit of money,” Wright said, and he put a hand to his chin, asking, “Just who is this Virgil? How much money has he sank just to get us all here? The tickets themselves plus the coins — it’s a distressing amount for sure.”

“Distressing to us normal folk, but what if they were some kind of nobleman?” Dante asked, and he looked to the others in an accusatory manner.

Aki reacted by perking up her eyebrows before turning to Wright who, embarrassed, waved his hands no.

“I’m just a commoner,” he answered. “I’m afraid I don’t have the wealth to pull off something like this — if that was what you were wondering, that is.”

“And you?” Dante asked, turning to Erika. She stood, her coat cloaked over her body and the warm end of her long-stemmed pipe cradled in her hand. She had an inquisitive look that turned to her usual smirk.

“Go ahead. Take a stab at it. Just what kind of imperial woman do you think I am?”

“A princess,” Aki said, stabbing first. Erika’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. Either it was wrong or she had one Hell of a poker face.

“Perhaps you’re some kind of eccentric?” Wright asked, and this time her expression turned sour.

“Are you calling me weird?”

“Absolutely,” Wright answered, and she let out an annoyed huff of smoke, then turned to Dante with an unimpressed look in her eyes.

Dante put a hand to his chin, then nodded to himself, answering, “You’re an heiress inheriting the debts of a fallen noble family.”

She smiled. Wryly. The smile was a sneer — one filled with both pain and disdain. He had struck a nerve for sure, one he’d have to repay with a thousand apologies. Of course, that didn’t matter. It was a remark that would be brushed off and aside. More importantly, the group made their way to the lowest floor and back towards the entrance they came in through. It was past one final doorway where a faint smell emanated.

“What is that smell?” Aki asked as she grasped her nose.

“Good lord, just what is that?” Wright said, coughing on the stench that permeated through the hall.

Erika paused, lowered her pipe, then took a whiff of the air, only for her expression to turn sour.

“What is that? It smells like something’s burnt,” she muttered, and Dante nodded.

“It’s past this doorway. The smell — it’s coming from the river entrance.”

Dante pressed a hand against the door, and with a breath in, he pushed. He expected it to open just fine, but to his surprise, there was quite a bit of resistance. Erika came in and gave him a hand — and with the two of their strengths combined, they found just what was blocking the exit.

White. A strange form was pressed against the door, one that was covered head to toe in a gentle, frosty layer of snow. The form was tough, and when the door caved in, it toppled over. Snow blew into the tunnel from the metal grate entrance, proof of a blizzard, and from the wintry night came the source of that burnt smell.

“What is this?” Aki muttered, and she poked at the snow covered, slightly frozen thing with her boot.

When it fell over, one answer dropped into their lap. In return, a thousand questions appeared.

“Howell?” Dante muttered, and Erika nodded.

“It’s Howell. Frozen to death.”

A frozen corpse laid before the door, and from the way the body was positioned, it looked like Howell was trying his hardest to bash on the door — to get anyone’s attention. He was covered head to toe in snow, and from the looks of it, it looked like he died in the middle of knocking on the door, begging for help.

But that wasn’t it. It couldn’t have been. Dante stepped forward and made the declaration of a detective.

“This isn’t right. He can’t have died from hypothermia.”

“Are you a doctor?” Wright asked, fear twisting his voice to an even more meek and frightened tone.

“I’m no doctor, but I know a thing or two about hypothermia,” Dante said, and he crouched down — pointing at the coat of his, saying, “During the later, more extreme stages of hypothermia, people tend to feel a kind of ‘phantom warmth’.”

“Phantom warmth?” Aki asked, and Erika stepped in.

“They begin to feel warm. Unbearably warm. The body constricts the blood to try and preserve heat during the earlier stages, but when the muscles responsible for that begin to fail, that blood rushes throughout their entire body, heating up their frozen body. It’s such a sudden flash of heat that they feel like they’re, quote unquote, burning up.”

“Howell’s body — it’s covered head to toe,” Wright said.

Howell’s body was, indeed, covered head to toe. He had wrapped his scarf around his face and head like he was a bandaged mummy and the rest of his body was clad in winter clothing, gloves and socks. All of it was frozen and soaked in snow, however, turning it from a warm embrace to a death sentence. They couldn’t see a spot of bare skin. Marked on his back was a red IX.

“Not just that,” Dante said, “but in the late stages of hypothermia, people tend to curl up into the fetal position.”

“Howell, he was propped up against the door,” Erika said. “It’s like he was frozen alive.”

Wright stumbled back, shouting, “What do you mean!? Are you saying this was a murder!?”

“What else could it be but murder?” Dante said, and with it, the other eight were next on the chopping block.