30 years have passed. Now, a singular person carried a singular testimony — the remains of victims whose murders may never be solved. It was like she had said before, that there just wasn’t enough evidence to piece together the identity of the culprit.
She sat alone in a dark room, one that was pitch black like the inside of a furnace. The only entrance was a giant pair of reinforced metal doors. In the center sat a complicated combination lock carrying a sequence of four letters backed by twenty six possibilities per tab.
There were about 15,000 different possible combinations — random combinations — and of those, only one was the answer.
Smoking on her pipe, she sat all alone, reminiscing on the days when the world seemed ‘right’, an illusion only a child could believe. Now, drab and cynical, she watched as the days passed by. Before her was a lantern made of silver and next to it were three books.
The first was the case of the boy who was considered to ‘no longer exist’.
The second was the testimony of the girl who ‘shouldn’t exist’.
And of course, the third belonged to the man who, under every circumstance, ‘couldn’t exist’.
Each were valuable. Each were painful. Each told a story of love that just could not be.
According to Dante, Howell was dead. His corpse laid before the group who had all been gathered together. It was a bitter sight for sure, and Dante was the one to step up and explain everything that had happened. Iffrah was shocked to see the corpse, Baron included. Calina looked horrified, stumbling back and bumping into Misha who stood firm and unfazed.
Misha was the calmest of them all, and with one breath in, she let out a sigh.
“Poor man,” she said, her wintry, Cliesen accent slipping in through the cracks. “It looks like he froze to death, bashing on the door here. Is that correct?”
“If you look at it from the surface level, sure,” Dante said, and Misha smiled.
“It looks like you are a smart man. I’m glad you saw past the convenient answer presented to you. Bravo.” and she clapped her hands. Dante couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but her smile looked genuine — as sweet as Calina’s.
Misha went over to the body, and with a gloved hand, she dug through the frozen corpse, or at least what she could get out of it. The corpse was so frozen, it would be impossible to peel Howell’s pockets open without taking a hatchet to him, as if his body had been soaked, then frozen. Expertly, she pulled out a few important items Howell was carrying on him.
“Ah, look at this,” she said, and she presented three items.
A golden coin.
A letter from Virgil.
And of course, the leather holster of a revolver.
Baron saw all this and let out a sigh, saying, “The coin and the letter are to be expected, but the holster? Why would he bring a gun? Was he planning on shooting some rabbits while we were out here?”
“I don’t see any ammo on him,” Wright said, looking the evidence over. “There’s one problem, though.”
Aki nodded before revealing, “The revolver’s gone.”
The holster was empty. Misha took the holster and stuffed it into a pocket along with the coin. The letter, however, was for all eyes.
“Deep inside the castle lies the sleeping heart of its master,” the letter wrote, narrated by Misha. “Clear the mist and revive her, and in return Princess Higanbana will free you from the cages of your hearts.
With my lady’s will engraved into my heart,
Virgil.”
“Princess Higanbana?” Dante asked.
“She’s a sort of Yokai, according to the locals,” Aki said. “I’ve heard of her when I was a child, of how a single demon massacred an entire village and built a castle atop its ruins. Though — don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe in their stories.”
“But demons don’t exist, they —'' Dante said, but Iffrah interrupted him.
“Care to explain how Howell died? If it wasn’t the doing of a demon, then who?”
“Perhaps it was a demon, and perhaps it wasn’t,” Misha said, and Calina fumbled back before hiding behind Misha.
“Don’t say, but are they going for me next?” Calina asked. “I am priest and doctor. They want me dead, yes?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Misha said, her cold demeanor unchanging. “You are target number one, my dear priestess. The demons roaming through this castle are just begging to tear your flesh from your bones.”
“That’s enough,” Dante said, shutting her down with one harsh, unwavering statement. “Demons and monsters do not exist. There is nothing supernatural for us to worry about, and that’s final.”
“If demons don’t exist, then does God?” Misha asked, all cocky, and Dante stood his ground with a frown.
“There is no such thing as the supernatural. No demons and no Gods either.”
The Sulphuran woman and both Calina looked shocked to hear that. The woman scoffed and said, “Believe what you want. You’ll go to Jahannam all the same.”
Calina, however, was far kinder. She clasped her hands together and shut her eyes, as if she were praying for both Dante and Howell’s souls.
“It is okay if you do not believe in the lord. I will continue to pray for you. To pray for us all,” she said. She clasped an Octavian crucifix tied to the end of a necklace.
She was a member of the Octavian Sect, and while the Sulphurans and Octavians have historically hated one another, at this moment in time, the two women celebrated a sort of religious unity. Of course, Dante brushed it aside, seeing as there was no reason to rely on faith when facts were present before them.
“Forget about faith or whatever. Focus on the body here,” Dante said, and he crouched down and tugged on Howell’s scarf.
The scarf, however, was stuck. Frozen to his very skin. Peeling it would mean peeling off his frost-gnawed face. The gloves, too, and even the clothes. They were practically glued on, as if his dead corpse were begging them not to strip away his warmth.
From the outside, it looked like there were no wounds, and there was no good way to peek into the inside. As far as they knew, Howell was locked out. Frozen in the blizzard.
“Well, there’s no point loitering,” Baron said, “especially not out here in the cold. Why don’t we all go back inside where it’s warm?”
“We ought to do just that,” Erika said. “There’s no point sticking around this frozen corpse, lest we join him.” and she pointed left and right of the tunnel where the blizzard winds poured in.
Snow piled in through the metal grate entrances. Seeing that their exits were blocked off, the group agreed to return to someplace warm. The warmest room in the entire castle was a little dining room. There sat a large, rectangular table where the two groups sat, opposite of one another.
Dante sat next to Erika. The two of them opposed Misha who sat next to Baron and Calina, who at this point became a sort of younger sister for her to protect. Meanwhile, Wright and Aki sat opposite to one another, though instead of becoming a rift between the two, the table acted as a sort of connector tying them together.
In the center sat Howell’s letter. The words mist and heart permeated through the room like a shroud of frost. Meanwhile, the blizzard battered against the walls, rattling away through the darkening night.
Misha sat with her hands pressed together, and with a stern look, she set the ground rules.
“It is our duty as human beings to fend off whatever threatens us. Be it monsters or humans, we must do what we can to prevent any more casualties,” she said, and she pointed to the window, saying, “This blizzard is impossible to predict, so until the weather clears up, it’s our duty to survive.”
Hearing that, Aki raised a hand to speak. Misha, with the utmost grace, allowed it.
“I used to live around here,” Aki said, “and in the wintertime, we usually have long blizzards that begin near the end of Autumn.”
“How long exactly?” Baron asked, his eyes narrowed, almost nervously.
“The longest I’ve ever waited through was five days, but on record, the longest one lasted two weeks. The snow piled up higher than you could imagine.”
“Two weeks? Two weeks!? You’re joking! You’ve got to be joking!” Baron said, and he threw up his arms, shouting, “I didn’t come here to get trapped in a blizzard of all things! There’s got to be some way to get out of here! To get out of this castle!”
“Maybe if you ask nicely, Princess Higanbana will part the snowstorm for you,” Wright said with a nervous smile. It was a joke, but clearly, Baron had no laughs in him.
The old man scoffed, then pointed his finger, firing accusations at every single person in the room.
“I came here because Virgil invited me here, understood? I didn’t come here to sell myself out for money or for that ‘down payment’ like the rest of you lot!” Baron said. “I’m not here to murder and usurp some fortune! I have everything a man could wish for! Everything a man could lose!”
“Mister Baron, you’re acting irrational,” Erika pleaded. “Please, just calm down. We’re not here to rob one another. We have our own possessions we keep dear.”
“That’s easy for you to say, little miss disgraced noblewoman,” Baron bit back. His eyes were growing wide with accusations, and while he seemed mad, there were kernels of truth in his words.
“Perhaps we may not all have things to lose, but that is no reason to fling accusations, sir,” Erika said, calmly. “While we all come from differing backgrounds, that is no grounds for unfounded beliefs. Whether we come from a back alley or a palace, it doesn’t matter. We are all humans gathered in a castle ruled by our dear, supernatural princess. It is to our best interest that we work together, like Misha said.”
“Perhaps it is the best option, but I however do not think the same,” Baron said, leaning in and closing in on Erika — the move of an opponent. “While you may like to smile and laugh and pretend to like one another until the slaughter comes, I believe in the long forgotten practice of honesty.”
“Honesty? Are you accusing us of lying to one another?”
“Precisely.” and Baron pointed to himself, stating, “I know, because I am proof of that.”
Baron pulled out a familiar coin — his down payment from Virgil — and he tossed it into the air with a flip. When it landed on the table, every single person turned to focus their gazes on that piece of gold. Baron, however, didn’t take it. He instead sat back with one leg crossed over the other.
“Eyes on me,” Baron said, and everyone turned their gazes away from the lone coin and towards Baron.
“What are you playing at?” Dante asked. Subconsciously, he pawed at the coin, resting his hand on the table next to it.
“Tell me,” Baron said, “if I left that coin there on the table and went to the bathroom, when I return, will it be waiting for me?”
“Of course. Even if someone takes it, it’s not like they could escape with it,” Dante said with a frown.
“Then, what if the lights went out?” Baron asked, grasping a silver lantern that hung from the roof. “What if the windows were unlocked and an escape path was laid out for you? What if you were free to act without consequence, hmm? Then, would you do the smart thing and snatch it away?”
“I…” Dante said, his voice trailing away. He turned to everyone else who shied away from the answer. Even Erika. Only one person was willing to stand and make their stance clear.
It was Misha who stepped in and slapped a hand over the coin. She looked colder than the blizzard that forced them into the arms of the Higanbana princess.
“I would do it,” Misha said. “I’d take it, and when I look back I’ll smile. I’ll laugh at how stupid a test like this was. When there are no consequences holding us together, our selfish desires leave us with no choice but to tear us apart.”
“Perhaps I can trust one person here,” Baron said, and he let out a huff before standing up.
“I’ll go lock myself in one of the bedrooms,” Baron said. “Noone bother me. The only person I’ll answer to is Misha. All of you had your chance to earn my trust and only one woman came forward with her honest truth. The rest of you are cowards.”
“Mister Baron, I —” Wright said, but Baron interrupted by waving a gloved hand.
“I’ll see you all tomorrow morning,” he said. “Till then, I bid you all adieu.”
Baron vanished after bowing before his crowd. Misha followed behind, disappearing with the old man for a moment before returning after the distant sound of a clicking lock.
“Baron has locked himself in one of the guest bedrooms here,” Misha announced. “If you wish to speak with him, please, come to me. Think of me as a sort of overseer.”
Misha came over to the table. There, she looked at everyone with a smirk before opening a closed hand. Resting on the table was Baron’s coin.
“I trust that this coin is in safe hands. Now, about Howell and that letter.”
Aki pushed the open letter into the center of the table, and with a note and pen, Misha began the investigation.
“The heart of its master and a shroud of mist,” Misha said. “What exactly does that mean?”
“Mist?” Dante asked, and he pointed outside, saying, “The snow is thick enough to resemble mist. Any thoughts?”
Iffrah’s hand shot up.
“Perhaps this heart is outside, hidden in the blizzard,” she said. “We haven’t seen the outside perimeter of this castle yet. There might be something worth finding.”
“Then feel free to lead the way,” Misha said.
Iffrah froze, then began to laugh nervously, saying, “It’s just a suggestion, and besides. There’s probably nothing out there. No point going out in this weather, now, is there?”
While she panicked, Dante stood up, silencing the room.
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“I'm the one who brought it up, so I’ll be the one to back up my own claims,” Dante said, “and besides, I’m the only one here who doesn’t believe in the supernatural.”
“Then feel free to go,” Misha said. “I’ll stay here and watch over the others. You can go ahead and prove your case.”
“I’ll be back with our princess’ heart,'' Dante said, and with that, Dante pulled a coat over his shoulders, grabbed a lantern, then threw himself to the white wolf of winter, all while the rest stayed behind, following Misha’s commands.
“Look alive, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got a princess to find,” Misha said, and she led the group like a herd of sheep.
The only person who stayed behind was Iffrah who stood and stared out the window.
It was a frozen wasteland out there. It had only been about a few hours since the blizzard began, and already the world was painted a singular solitude white. He had draped a few warm articles of clothing onto himself along with pieces he found inside the castle, and with a gloved hand, he carried his lantern through it all.
He pushed his way out the tunnel entrance, and from there, he circled around the perimeter of the fortress.
Other than forest and brick, there wasn’t much of note. All he found was a world of cold, kept warm only by thick winter clothing. Below him was a field of snow and next to him, he kept a hand on the wall so as to not lose himself.
There was no telling what would happen if he turned away from the fortress and towards the surrounding forest. The only thoughts that popped into his head were of the now eight other invitees.
“Just what is Baron planning?” Dante asked himself, out loud. He looked behind him, making sure Baron wasn’t stalking him.
It was a fair question. To lock oneself in a room is to create both an alibi and a hole of continuity. Sure. He could assume Baron was obediently waiting in his room for the blizzard to let up, but Dante knew better than to expect the best. To trust others so much.
Baron was, most likely, biding his time. Inside the privacy of a room, he was probably scheming. The coin test earlier was just a ruse. A means of unnerving the others and turning everyone against one another with the suggestion of a possible betrayal. Dante could see through it all. He could see exactly what he was planning.
Perhaps he was preparing a fake death or maybe even a disappearance, something to get the group to panic. In that panic, he’d execute his plan, piece by piece, eventually reaching his desired goal.
Of course, that’s where Dante fell short. Just exactly why was Baron here, of all places?
To solve a mystery? Utter nonsense. He didn’t even know the full extent of the mystery beyond the fact that it simply was a mystery.
To collect Virgil’s full payment? Maybe. It was possible he was some kind of ruined nobleman, but he probably had better methods of scrounging up money than risking his life, sailing across the world to a foreign nation, especially since he was old and most susceptible to diseases.
Or maybe, he just wanted to experience one final thrill before old age took him out.
A stroke? A heart attack? Or maybe a peaceful death in his sleep? There were a thousand questions and a thousand theories, but there was no truer answer than one from Baron’s mouth.
Then, he turned to the others.
Aki. A student who used to live in southern Hesha. Half Zahnian, half south Heshan. She knows the mythos surrounding the fortress and the blizzardy weather patterns, and yet, she still came knowing all that.
Wright. A mysterious and meek Ennian. A commoner, or so he claims. He seemed like a good natured person, but he was as friendly as he was opaque. If you met him, you’d learn next to nothing with how secretive he was.
Calina. A sweet and paternal girl who seemed only to care for the safety and wellbeing of others. Seeing as she was a member of the Octavian Sect, if she were to follow the principles of the church as strictly as a preacher, she’d be the closest thing they had to a saint. Of course, Dante kept the surface traits on the surface. He wouldn’t be surprised if, all of a sudden, she swapped personalities before revealing she was some monstrous serial killer. It'd be cliche, but cliches existed for a reason.
Misha. A stoic, unshakable soldier-esque woman. Her eyes pierced into his soul and her words cut through lies. She was a bit of a taskmaster, but her honesty made him glad to have her. Of course, she was a prime contender for a backstabber. Maybe she was some kind of Cliesen intelligence officer who specialized in misleading others and obfuscating facts. Whatever she was, he knew not to tread lightly with her.
Erika. To Dante, she was the person he kept closest to him as both an ally and potential enemy. Seeing her reaction to Baron’s comments, she probably was what he thought she was, and knowing that, she was as hazardous as the smoking pipe she carried.
Finally, he landed on Iffrah. While not as bad as before, she was still stubborn as Hell, and on top of that, she hadn’t yet revealed her name to them. Whoever she was, she didn’t want it to be leaked to the others. Either that, or she was so religiously dogmatic that she considered giving out her name to be a sinful act.
Howell was dead, no doubt about it, and as far as Dante knew, it was by no means natural. The question was, whodunit?
Dante turned, then looked up into a window. There, she stood.
The castle looked bigger from outside. Inside, it was far more manageable. It was split into three floors. The first contained rooms found in most houses, with the only difference being the grandness in scale. A massive kitchen overlooked a massive dining room which connected to a massive living room. From the living room connected an entrance to the front of the castle and into an expansive courtyard surrounded by walls. The second floor contained the bedrooms and the ballroom they were inside of earlier and the third floor was a glorified rooftop that overlooked the entire fortress. No self respecting architect would call it a third floor, though, there was no reason to obfuscate facts.
While snow piled up outside, they could see through the windows that the castle truly was a marvel to look at, if only there wasn’t a snowstorm obscuring everything.
The group were interested in the princess and her mystery, but more importantly, they were scrounging around for the basic necessities. Everyone worked together to raid the kitchen, which was a maze in it of itself.
Thousand year old leeks hung off the walls alongside ancient looking garlic and other dried herbs. They were aged for so long that their original spicy flavor was twisted into a rough, but fine taste.
Beneath a trapdoor was a cellar where root crops were stored, and while it was impossible to tell just how old they were, one single whiff proved they were probably still edible. And of course, everyone was hungry. The only person who could cook, however, was Calina who held up a wooden ladle.
“I will try best,” she said, and with what ingredients she could gather up, she began working away in a kitchen that was far too large for one person. Spare firewood was used to light up a stovetop.
Being quite the little lady, she dragged a stool over for herself. With it, she peeked over the mouth of a pot where she dumped in a mix of peeled and cut potatoes alongside carrots and onions. Snow was melted down into water, and while Calina worked away, Wright came over with a small jar in his hands.
“Ma’am?” he asked, all politely like the Ennian gentleman he was. “I’ve found a few bits and bobs which I believe can make for a scrumptious stew. Would you care to look them over?”
“Bit and bob? I do not know bob, but I try,” she said half jokingly, and although her speech was choppy, she was just as respectful as he was.
She took the little jar and looked it over. Her expression turned a little sour.
“What is the matter?” Wright asked, and she let out a sigh.
“Don’t know. Can’t read.”
“It says here, Cobellian peninsula peppercorns,” Wright read. “It must be a foreign import, this one. Looks like a high quality batch, too. It’ll surely make our meal scrumptious.”
“Peppercorn?” she asked. “They come in corn? I thought pepper is powder.”
“You grind it down to a powder,” the two heard.
Coming from behind was Aki carrying a little mortar and pestle, saying, “You’re gonna need this if you’re planning on powdering that peppercorn, now.”
“Why yes,” Calina said, and she handed it off to Wright who began powdering the corns as it’s colloquially said. Meanwhile, Aki brought over a bowl full of salt and a bottle of alcohol.
“Salt and sake,” she said. “It ought to make your soup even tastier than before. That is what you’re making, right?”
“Soup, stew, it is all same. One thick, one runny. Both tasty, both funny.”
She pinched a bit of salt into the soup, then stuck her hand into Wright’s mortar and pestle to collect just enough pepper. With the ladle, she gave the forming soup slash stew a taste.
It was a Cliesen style soup, made mostly with the starches of potatoes and the flavor of carrots and onions. The spices were an add on along with other, normally included but currently unavailable ingredients.
She took the ladle and brought it up to Wright who took a sip, then Aki who did the same.
“Well, it appears that the ingredients are still good to eat,” Wright commented.
“Good enough for me,” Aki said, and she stole a bowl for herself.
Wright offered Calina a hand and carried the hefty pot of stew out of the kitchen and to the rest who sat around, picking away at whatever they could find. Calina did notice that Wright was surprisingly strong, with toned arms and biceps she could see creasing his sleeves. Aki was quick to eat. Meanwhile, Misha and Erika sat opposite of one another.
Erika sat and smoked like it was a lounge, sitting back with not a single worry written on her face. Misha, however, stood firm. She stared out a window towards the endless snowstorm outside.
“Princess Higanbana,” Misha said, out loud. “Tell me — just what kind of response does that name elicit?”
“The princess of the red spider lilies,” Erika replied, flaunting the flower in her hair. “They’re beautiful, yet awfully creepy looking flowers. Whoever this princess was, they have the strangest taste.”
Misha turned back outside, and after squinting, she waved Erika over. The two of them peeked out into the courtyard where — in the distance — a few graves were kept. Surrounding them were those familiar flowers, soldiers that withstood the snowstorm. The graves were short stone pillars accompanied by a rock lantern that wore a sort of stone hat.
The grave itself had been worn away by time. At this point, it was impossible to tell whose name was carved into the front. Half of the pillar itself had cracked and crumbled away, virtually erasing the existence of the person buried below.
Despite all that, the Higanbana flowers stood guard in the face of the snowstorm.
“Aki,” Misha said, calling her over. “Just what is the etymology of this flower?”
“The Higanbana? Well, they’re a religiously significant symbol for both north and south Hesha.”
“Higan. What does it mean?”
“Higan… Higan…” Aki mumbled. “Higan comes from Ohigan, a holiday celebrated on the equinoxes. Ohigan — it means the ‘other shore’.”
“Other shore?” Erika asked, and Aki nodded.
“As a literal translation, it means the flower from the other shore. In other words, the flower from Hell.”
The group fell silent. Misha stood and stared at the gravestone, all while Erika picked at the flower that was put into her hair. Aki sat with her empty bowl, then peered out to the unending snow storm. Only one person could break that silence, and with a pot and pan in hand, they made a world of noise.
“Everyone! Do not worry about little flower! They are pagan lies!”
Calina came in, and with the sheer noise of the clanging pot and pan, she washed away the underlying dread that came from the flowers that bloomed in Hell.
“Instead of being afraid of little flower, come and enjoy meal,” she said, and she plattered them a bowl of her soupy stew. The group were quick to eat, but before they could dig in, Calina stopped them all.
“Wait! Before we eat, we must give prayer to God for meal!” and with that, Calina clasped her hands together and began whispering a soft prayer. The rest copied, though some of them kept their eyes open, peeking over to Calina who fervently prayed.
“To our father in Heaven, thank you for meal. Now, we may eat.”
Aki took a second bowl and began to eat. At the same time, Erika stopped them all for a brief moment.
“What about Baron and the others?” Erika asked. “Shouldn’t we invite them here to eat?”
“I’ll bring a bowl to Baron,” Misha said, “and as for Dante, he’s already got someone watching over him.”
Snow piled up, and with one hand on the wall, he trekked through the encroaching blizzard. For a castle this old, it wasn’t hard to imagine one of the windows shattering and allowing in winter’s wrath. If anything, there was a chance each and every window blew in, turning the castle into a frozen Hellscape.
Howell and his death filled his head, and imagining it now, there was a good chance that Dante himself could fall to the same fate.
Princess Higanbana. The name echoed through his mind, all while he stomped over the grounds she ruled. Beneath his boots were the crushed spider petals that created a blood red trail.
There was another thing he missed. A small, yet growing crack in the earth.
The spider lilies watched him. They stalked him as he went, releasing their legs and whispering into the air. Those whispers turned to a voice out in the snow, one that called out to him.
“Willard Ford, Percy Smith, Gerome Sachler…”
“Hello?” Dante asked, calling out to the snowy abyss. The voice, however, continued to groan through the night. It was mechanical — almost utterly and completely inhuman.
“Mikhael Bronovich, Tatsuya Suou, Rudolf Zieger…” the voice muttered before moving onto more binary words, spouting out, “A, B, C, D, E, F, G… H, I, J, K…”
He heard a tap tap tap come from the darkness. The robotic voice was utterly unfamiliar. Dante could do nothing but back up — pressing himself against the wall of the fortress, filled with a mixture of fear and dreadful curiosity.
“Who are you?” Dante asked, his lantern grasped tight. He heard a tch tch tch come from the night. It sounded like a person clicking their tongue, and yet, it sort of sounded like the scratching of a playback machine.
“Just who are you, Dante Searcher? If that even is your real name.” and after they said that, Dante heard the familiar sound of a coin flicking against a fingernail.
From the darkness reflected a touch of gold, and from the darkness a coin flew — landing by Dante’s feet.
“You came to collect your full payment, and in return, you are to solve the Princess’ mystery,” they said. “I suppose I ought to give you some more ‘encouragement’. Take it, it’s yours.”
Dante picked up the coin. It was identical, with the bear paw and all. The person before him — they weren’t someone to be trifled with.
“You! You’re Virgil, aren’t you!?” Dante said. “If you are, what are you doing, skulking around out here!? What happened to Howell!?”
Silence. Nothing came from the darkness. Dante grabbed his lantern and swung at the night, but the projecting light of the flames bounced off of nothing. It was like he was alone in the dark.
“Virgil! Where are you!? Come out here!” Dante cried, and he let go of the wall to pursue.
He saw boot prints in the snow. There was no way he was alone out there, and with a lantern in hand, he pursued. The blizzard was just a background distraction. His mind solely focused on Virgil who vanished into the night, leaving a trail behind.
The sweeping snow blew away the boot prints, but Dante didn’t let up. He kept following them to their natural conclusion.
That conclusion was brought by the earth itself. The trail stopped, and then the snow gave way. The earth below him was less than stable, and in an instant, the group began to crumble away. The snow had obscured the true nature of the landscape around the castle, which proved to be a less than stable foundation.
He saw the ends of roots poking out of the earth. The ground beneath him gave way and he saw it. The other end of a ravine. Before he could fall into that ravine, he felt something grab his wrist.
“Dante!”
It was a woman’s voice, and before he slipped away into the snowfall, his wrist was grabbed with both hands — tight.
The coin Virgil gave him slipped away into the ravine, and above him was Iffrah. A singular gust of wind blew away the hijab that obscured her, revealing an expression he could have never imagined.
“Grab my hand!” she cried.
She was a lifeline that, with all her strength, pulled him back onto solid ground covered in snow. She had fallen backwards, getting her black clothing covered in more snow than the blizzard could manage. She, however, didn’t seem to care. Not even a little.
“What in God’s name were you doing!?” she cried.
Her skin was pale as snow, but the rush of adrenaline painted her face a harsh, hypothermic red.
“I — I heard him. I heard Virgil,” Dante said, and her expression turned to utter shock.
“You saw Virgil? So he really exists?” she asked, and she frowned, asking, “There’s no way. Everyone’s inside, having dinner. Have you gone mad from the cold?”
“I heard his voice, and I saw the boot prints he left behind,” Dante said, and she looked to find nothing. The boot prints were blown away by the harsh winds. “He gave me a coin, too,” Dante added, but he remembered that it fell into the ravine.
The woman let out a sigh, saying, “That’s enough. We should get inside and warm you up before you really lose it.” and with an extended hand, she pulled him onto his feet.
Before they could go, Dante pointed out something she missed.
“Your head scarf,” Dante said, and she touched her own face before bursting into shock.
“My scarf — it must’ve blown away with the wind. It’s so cold that my face is numb. I must’ve not noticed. I —” and mid sentence, Dante interrupted by taking the scarf around his neck and wrapping it around hers.
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t see anything. I promise,” Dante said with a smile. All she could do was sigh, but try as she might, she couldn’t hide the relieved look she wore beneath the scarf.
She pulled him inside the tunnel entrance where they dusted off the snow on their bodies. After Dante was fully dried off was when she interrogated him properly — with his winter scarf on of course.
“So, you’re telling me you saw Virgil out there?” she asked.
“Yes! Well — no, not really. I didn’t see him, but I heard him speaking to me,” Dante said, “and also, I saw his boot prints and he tossed me one of the coins. If that wasn’t Virgil, then I don’t know who it was.”
“What did their voice sound like?” she asked, and he put a hand to his chin.
“They were robotic. Machine-like. I heard a few scratches when they spoke.”
“If I had to guess, you might’ve been talking to a tape recorder,” she said. “This Virgil, they’re trying to obscure themselves. Whoever they are, they aren’t leaving any clues to their identity, are they?”
“Speaking of clues,” Dante said, he swung his lantern over towards the door that led into the castle. By the door was nothing but a small puddle of ice.
“Howell’s body,” she muttered. “It’s gone.”
The body was gone. The puddle of ice remained, lasting as a testimony that proved that a frozen, yet barely warm, body had been there. There was absolutely no evidence left behind — nothing but a singular item left in the center of the frozen pool.
Peering through the ice, they saw it. A singular key. Dante took a random stone and smashed open the ice to retrieve it.
“It’s a key,” he muttered, and then he reached towards the entrance door, then pushed it in. With a twist, it opened.
“This key —” Dante muttered.
“This key!? What in God’s name!?” she shouted. “This key is to this door! But Howell — he froze to death here, unable to get inside! Why was there a key underneath his corpse!?”
“Howell’s body, where’d it go?” Dante whispered, and then he turned to her, asking, “You didn’t move the body, did you? You said everyone else went to go to dinner, meaning you and I were the only ones who could’ve gone past his corpse.”
“I can promise you I didn’t,” she said. “I promise you on my name — on my family’s good name that I did no such thing.”
“Your family’s name?”
“I am Iffrah Pezra, eighth daughter of the Suphuran Shah.” and she stood firm, her hand over her heart. “On my family’s honor, I swear I’ve done no harm.”