I, Durante, found myself wandering through the vast fields that surrounded my property. It was Maundy Thursday, just before the crack of dawn, with the sky still cloaked in a thick veil of darkness. The faintest hint of light was beginning to creep over the horizon, a mere suggestion of the sun that was about to rise. The world around me was hushed, wrapped in the quiet anticipation that only comes in those fleeting moments before the break of day. It was a time that always felt sacred, as if the earth itself held its breath, waiting for the first rays of light to chase away the shadows.
Beside me trotted Fury, my loyal companion. Fury was a black Labrador, sleek and muscular, with a coat that gleamed faintly in the dim light. He wasn't a large dog, but he was sturdy and well-built, the kind of dog that exuded both strength and gentleness. His eyes, bright and full of life, seemed to catch every subtle movement around us, always alert, always attentive. His tail wagged steadily as he walked, swishing through the tall grass that brushed against his sides.
As we moved through the field, the grass, still wet with dew, clung to my boots, making each step feel heavier than the last. The cool, damp air filled my lungs, sharp and refreshing, bringing with it the earthy scent of the land. Fury darted ahead, his nose to the ground, following some scent that had piqued his interest. I watched him with a smile, my hand gripping the worn handle of a stick I had picked up earlier. It was a simple branch, nothing special, but to Fury, it was the greatest treasure.
"Come on, boy," I called out, my voice low so as not to disturb the stillness of the morning. Fury's ears perked up, and he turned to look at me, his tail wagging faster now. I could see the excitement in his eyes as I lifted the stick, ready to throw it. He crouched slightly, his muscles tensing in anticipation, ready to sprint after it the moment it left my hand.
With a flick of my wrist, I sent the stick flying through the air. It sailed above the grass, arcing toward the distant edge of the field where the forest began. Fury was off like a shot, his powerful legs propelling him forward with a speed that always surprised me. The sound of his paws thudding against the ground was the only noise that broke the silence, a rhythmic beat that matched the pounding of my heart.
As he chased after the stick, I followed at a slower pace, watching as the first faint blush of dawn began to spread across the sky. The darkness was slowly retreating, giving way to soft hues of pink and orange that painted the clouds in delicate strokes. It was a sight I never tired of, the way the world seemed to come alive in those early hours, as if waking from a long, deep sleep.
Fury reached the stick and snatched it up in his jaws, turning back to me with a triumphant look. His breath came in quick bursts, visible in the cool air as little puffs of mist. He trotted back toward me, his tail wagging furiously, the stick clutched proudly in his mouth. When he reached me, he dropped the stick at my feet and looked up at me expectantly, his eyes shining with eagerness.
"Good boy, Fury," I said, reaching down to ruffle the fur on his head. He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing in contentment. "You want to go again?"
I didn't really need to ask. Before I could even pick up the stick, Fury had already backed up a few paces, ready to chase it down once more. I laughed softly, the sound carried away on the gentle breeze that was beginning to stir.
We continued like that, playing our simple game as we made our way toward the forest. The trees loomed ahead, their dark silhouettes standing tall against the gradually lightening sky. The forest was a place I knew well, a place that held its own kind of magic, especially in the early morning hours. The path we were on would lead us deep into its heart, where the trees grew close together, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that filtered the sunlight into dappled patterns on the ground.
By the time we reached the edge of the forest, the first golden rays of the sun were just beginning to break through the horizon, casting long, stretching shadows across the field behind us. The light was still soft, almost timid, as if it were testing the waters before fully committing to the day. It made the grass glow in patches, while the darker areas seemed to hold on to the remnants of the night. Fury, my black Labrador, paused at the tree line, his sleek body outlined against the subtle light. He turned his head back to look at me, his eyes full of that familiar mix of curiosity and eagerness, as if asking for permission to venture into the mysterious depths of the forest.
I smiled at him, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the rising sun. "Go on, boy," I said, giving him a nod. Without a moment's hesitation, Fury bounded forward, his strong legs propelling him into the shadows that lay between the trees. I watched him disappear into the underbrush, his black coat blending seamlessly with the dimness of the forest, leaving only the soft rustling of leaves in his wake.
I took a deep breath, savoring the cool, crisp air that filled my lungs. There was something about the stillness of the forest at dawn that always brought me a profound sense of peace. It was as if, in those moments, the world paused just long enough for me to truly appreciate it. The soft rustling of the leaves in the gentle breeze, the distant call of a bird greeting the new day—it all felt like nature's way of reminding me that, for now, everything was exactly as it should be.
With Fury leading the way, I stepped into the forest, leaving behind the open fields and the light that was gradually overtaking them. The world around me grew darker as the thick canopy overhead blocked out most of the sunlight, casting the forest floor in a patchwork of shadows. But I didn't mind the darkness. In fact, I welcomed it. This was our time, Fury's and mine, a sacred space where the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us and the rhythm of the forest.
We walked deeper into the woods, the familiar path winding its way through the trees. But as we ventured further, I couldn't shake a growing sense of anticipation. It was a feeling that something was waiting for us, just out of sight, hidden around the next bend in the trail. The air seemed to hum with a subtle energy, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It wasn't a feeling of fear, but rather one of heightened awareness, as if every sense was tuned to the slightest change in our surroundings.
Lost in these thoughts, I must have strayed off the main path without realizing it. The ground beneath my feet grew uneven, the familiar trail giving way to a more rugged terrain. I glanced around, realizing with a start that I didn't recognize this part of the forest. The trees here were denser, their branches twisted together like an impenetrable wall of green and brown. The underbrush was thicker too, making each step a little more difficult as I pushed my way through.
In the distance, I noticed something unusual—a clearing bathed in a bright, almost unnatural light. It was strange, this sudden burst of illumination in the heart of the forest, as if the sun had chosen that one spot to shine with all its might. The light was so intense that it seemed to spill out from the clearing, casting long, eerie shadows that danced between the trees.
Fury, ever the curious explorer, had already caught sight of the light and was dashing ahead, his tail wagging furiously as he navigated the uneven ground with ease. "Wait up, Fury!" I called out, my voice tinged with both excitement and a bit of unease. But Fury was already too far ahead, his form a dark blur moving toward the glowing clearing.
I quickened my pace, my heart thudding in my chest as I scrambled over roots and ducked under low-hanging branches. The closer I got to the clearing, the more the light seemed to intensify, almost as if it were drawing me in. My mind raced with possibilities—what could be causing such a strange phenomenon this deep in the forest at such an early hour?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I broke through the last line of bushes and stumbled into the clearing. The sudden change from the dim forest to the brightly lit open space was almost blinding, and I had to shield my eyes for a moment, letting them adjust. When I finally lowered my hand and took in the scene before me, I was met with something I had not expected in the slightest.
There, in the middle of the clearing, was a group of people, busy with what appeared to be a film production. Cameras were set up on tripods, their lenses pointed at a small stage-like setup in the center of the clearing. Large lights on stands illuminated the area, casting a harsh, artificial brightness that contrasted sharply with the natural light of dawn just starting to filter through the trees.
I stood at the edge of the clearing, frozen in place as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The people moved with a practiced efficiency, setting up equipment, adjusting lights, and talking in low, hurried tones. There was an air of urgency about them, as if they were racing against time to capture something before the light changed or the moment was lost.
Fury, completely unfazed by the unusual scene unfolding before us, had already trotted confidently into the middle of the clearing. His tail wagged steadily as he sniffed around, completely at ease among the unfamiliar sights and sounds. He moved from person to person, his nose working overtime to take in all the new scents. To him, this was just another adventure, another place to explore. One of the crew members, a young woman with a headset perched on her head and a clipboard clutched in her hand, noticed Fury's friendly approach and let out a small laugh.
"Well, hello there!" she exclaimed, her voice bright with amusement. She knelt down, holding out a hand to Fury, who eagerly trotted over to greet her. She gave him a pat on the head, and he responded by licking her hand, his tail wagging even faster. "Aren't you a sweet boy?" she cooed, clearly charmed by his friendly demeanor.
But before I could step forward and call Fury back to me, another voice cut through the air, sharp and angry, shattering the brief moment of calm. "What the hell is this?" The voice belonged to a young man, probably in his early twenties, with the kind of look you'd expect from a social media influencer. He had that carefully curated appearance—perfectly styled hair, trendy clothes, and an attitude that screamed entitlement. His face twisted in irritation as he spotted Fury nosing around his setup.
The man stormed over, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury. "Whose dog is this?" he demanded, his voice rising with each word. He glared down at Fury, who seemed completely oblivious to the hostility directed at him, still wagging his tail and sniffing around. "Do you have any idea how much this equipment costs? We're in the middle of a shoot here!"
I stepped forward, raising a hand in a gesture of peace. "Sorry about that, he's mine. Didn't mean to intrude, we were just out for a morning walk and stumbled across your… setup." I glanced around, taking in the scene with growing concern.
It wasn't just the man's outburst that had caught my attention. As I looked around more carefully, I noticed several other people bustling about, clearly part of some kind of production. There were cameras on tripods, large lights casting harsh, artificial illumination across the clearing, and a few other crew members adjusting equipment. But what really stood out were the women scattered around the clearing. They were dressed in outfits more suited for a nightclub than the middle of a forest at dawn—tight dresses, high heels, and makeup that seemed to glitter even in the dim morning light.
The man, still fuming, turned his attention to me. "You shouldn't even be here! This is private… well, not exactly private property, but we're filming something important here. This is a professional shoot, and you're messing it up!" He threw his hands up in frustration, looking around at his crew as if expecting them to back him up.
"Look, I'm sorry," I said, trying to stay calm even as the situation began to make me uneasy. "We didn't mean to cause any trouble. We just happened to walk this way. What exactly are you filming here anyway?"
He huffed, clearly still irritated but now eager to boast about his project. "We're shooting a viral video. Something big. Something that's gonna blow up on social media." He pointed to the center of the clearing, where a few crew members were setting up what looked like a pile of wood and kindling. "We're doing this insane bonfire challenge. It's gonna look amazing with the fire roaring and everything, perfect for views."
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I realized what they were planning. "You're setting a fire out here?" I asked, my voice edged with concern. "You know there's a fire ban, right? This area is way too dry for something like that. You could start a wildfire."
The young man rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by my warning. "Relax, man. We've got it under control. It's just a little fire for a few shots. We know what we're doing. Besides, we're professionals. This is going to get millions of views. Everyone's going to be talking about it."
I looked around the clearing again, my unease growing. The women in their flashy outfits were milling around, clearly waiting for the shoot to start, while the crew continued to set up the bonfire. The pile of wood was growing larger by the minute, and one of the crew members was already holding a canister of lighter fluid, ready to douse the kindling.
"Listen," I said, trying to keep my tone firm but not confrontational, "I get that you're trying to make something cool for social media, but this is really dangerous. One spark in the wrong place, and this whole area could go up in flames. You'd be putting everyone here at risk—not to mention the wildlife and the forest itself."
The young man scoffed, clearly not taking me seriously. "We'll be fine. We're professionals. We know what we're doing. Besides, it's not like anyone's going to see this except for our followers."
Fury, sensing the tension in my voice, came back to my side, his earlier playfulness gone as he looked up at me with concerned eyes. I knew I had to do something before this situation got out of hand. "Look," I said, trying one last time, "I'm just asking you to reconsider. There are better ways to get views without putting people or the environment at risk."
But it was painfully clear that my words weren't sinking in. The young man—barely more than a kid, really—just shook his head, dismissing me with an air of arrogance that made my blood boil. "Whatever, man," he muttered, his tone dripping with condescension. "Just keep your dog out of the shot. We're rolling in five."
I stood there, feeling a mix of frustration and helplessness as I watched them prepare to light the bonfire. The forest around us was bone dry, the kind of dryness that made the leaves crackle underfoot and the air feel like it could spark at any moment. Yet here they were, acting like they were in some kind of controlled environment, completely ignoring the very real danger they were courting. It wasn't just the dry brush that had me on edge; it was the whole reckless attitude, the total disregard for the consequences. I could see it all adding up in my mind, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place to form a picture of disaster.
Fury, ever sensitive to my mood, nudged my hand with his cold, wet nose. I looked down at him, his dark eyes full of concern. He could sense the tension in the air, the undercurrent of danger that seemed to hang over the clearing like a thick fog. I gave him a reassuring pat, but my mind was racing. I couldn't just walk away and leave them to it, but what could I do? I wasn't about to start a fight with a bunch of kids who clearly didn't care about anything other than their precious video.
As I hovered on the edge of the clearing, feeling more like a ghost than a person, the crew ignored me completely. They were focused on their task, each person moving with a sense of purpose that was almost chilling in its disregard for the potential consequences. One of the crew members—a young woman with a bottle of lighter fluid in hand—stepped forward and began pouring the liquid onto the pile of wood. The strong smell of chemicals hit my nose, and I winced as I watched the fluid soak into the dry kindling. They weren't just setting a small fire; they were creating a blaze.
The pretty girls, who looked so out of place in their clubbing outfits, moved into frame, their smiles wide and forced, their eyes darting nervously as if they knew, on some level, that this was a bad idea. But the camera was rolling, and they were there to play their part. The young man, the self-proclaimed influencer who had brushed me off so easily, strutted into the scene, his every movement exaggerated for the camera. In his hand, he held a canister—probably some kind of accelerant, though I couldn't be sure. He looked over his shoulder at the crew, flashing them a grin that was more cocky than confident.
"Alright, everyone ready?" he called out, his voice loud and brash, cutting through the morning air like a knife. The crew murmured their assent, adjusting the cameras, checking the angles. The girls moved into position, their smiles brightening as the camera zoomed in on them.
My heart was pounding in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to do something, anything, to stop this madness. But before I could act, the young man turned back to the pile of wood and, with a flourish, tossed the canister onto the unlit bonfire. It clattered against the wood with a metallic clang, its contents sloshing ominously.
Time seemed to slow down as I watched in horror. One of the crew members struck a match, the tiny flame flickering in the still air before it was tossed onto the pile. There was a brief, terrible moment of silence—a heartbeat where everything seemed to hang in the balance.
And then, all hell broke loose.
The fire didn't just ignite; it exploded. Flames shot up into the air, roaring with a ferocity that took my breath away. I felt the heat hit me like a physical force, searing my skin even from where I stood. The girls screamed, stumbling back in their high heels as the flames licked at the edge of their dresses. The crew scattered, shouting in panic as the fire surged forward, out of control before it had even really begun.
I barely had time to react. Fury barked wildly, his voice a sharp, frantic sound that echoed in my ears. My body moved on instinct, trying to back away, to escape the inferno that was suddenly surging toward me. The heat was unbearable, like standing too close to an open oven, only magnified a thousand times. The air itself seemed to shimmer with it, distorting the world around me.
And then, before I could even register what was happening, the flames reached me. A wall of fire swept toward me, consuming everything in its path. I felt the heat on my face, so intense it was like a physical blow, and then—nothing. The world went blank.
--
The next thing I knew, I was slowly coming back from the depths of a dark, suffocating void. It felt like trying to swim through thick, black tar, each movement heavy and sluggish. My senses were hazy, disoriented, as if I was floating somewhere between waking and dreaming. For a moment, I wasn't sure if I was still alive or trapped in some endless nightmare. But then, bit by bit, reality began to seep back in.
The first thing I noticed was the cold, damp earth beneath me. My body ached all over, my muscles stiff and sore, as if I'd been lying there for hours. I could feel the rough texture of the ground pressing against my skin, the faint smell of wet leaves and soil filling my nostrils. Slowly, I opened my eyes, blinking against the darkness that surrounded me. It was like waking up in the middle of a thick, black fog, with no sense of direction or time.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through my ribs. My head throbbed, each pulse of blood a painful reminder that something had gone terribly wrong. I looked around, trying to make sense of where I was, but the darkness was so deep that it felt like a solid wall pressing in on me from all sides. There was no sign of the early morning sun, no hint of light to guide my way. The trees above me formed a dense canopy, their thick branches intertwined so tightly that not even a single ray of light could penetrate through.
As I tried to steady my breathing, I felt a warm, wet nose nudge my hand. Startled, I turned my head and saw Fury standing beside me, his dark eyes filled with worry. He nudged me again, this time a bit more insistently, as if he was trying to coax me back to full consciousness. "Fury," I whispered, my voice hoarse and shaky. I reached out to him, running my hand through his fur. The familiar feel of his coat, soft and warm, grounded me in reality. He was alive. I was alive.
But where the hell were we?
I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the way the world tilted dangerously as I moved. My vision slowly adjusted to the darkness, revealing the contours of our surroundings. We were in some kind of large pit, the walls steep and unforgiving, rising up on all sides like the walls of a fortress. The sides were made of hard-packed earth, with tree roots snaking down from above, twisting and coiling like the fingers of some ancient creature trying to claw its way into the pit. The ground was uneven, littered with rocks and debris that seemed to have fallen in over time.
I tried to stand, my legs trembling under my weight, and took a few shaky steps toward the nearest wall. I reached out, running my hand along the rough surface. It was slick with moisture, and as I looked closer, I could see that the walls were nearly vertical, making any thought of climbing out almost impossible. The more I looked around, the more hopeless it seemed. The pit was deep, and the trees above blocked out any light, making it feel like we were trapped in a tomb.
Fury whined softly beside me, his tail tucked between his legs. He was a brave dog, but even he seemed uneasy in this strange, dark place. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading for reassurance that I wasn't sure I could give. I knelt down beside him, trying to calm him with soft words and gentle strokes. "It's okay, boy," I murmured, though my voice lacked conviction. "We'll find a way out of here. We just need to think."
But no matter how hard I tried to keep my voice steady, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that was creeping up my spine. The darkness seemed to press in on us, thick and oppressive, as if the very air in the pit was trying to smother us. I turned in a slow circle, scanning the edges of the pit for any sign of a way out, but all I could see were the towering walls and the shadowy outlines of trees above, their branches twisting together like a cage.
Then, out of the suffocating darkness, a light appeared at one end of the pit, flickering and soft at first, but growing steadily brighter. It was as if someone was approaching, cutting through the blackness with each slow step. I squinted, straining my eyes to see who or what was coming toward us. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of hope and apprehension filling me as I tried to make out the figure behind the light.
As the figure drew closer, the dim glow of the light revealed an old man, his silhouette slowly taking shape. He was dressed in a robe that looked like it had stepped straight out of a documentary on ancient Rome. The fabric was worn but dignified, draping around his frail frame in a way that spoke of another time, another world. He moved with a slow, deliberate shuffle, his feet barely lifting off the ground with each step. The light was coming from a metal lantern perched on the end of a gnarled stick, which he was leaning on heavily as he made his way toward us.
The closer he got, the more details came into focus. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, etched by time and experience, his eyes wise and piercing despite their age. The lantern's light cast long shadows across his face, making him look both ancient and mysterious, as though he were a figure out of a forgotten legend. His hair, white as snow, flowed down to his shoulders, blending with the robe that seemed to be made of the same fabric as history itself.
As the old man approached, Fury, who had been anxiously by my side, suddenly perked up. His tail began to wag furiously, and before I could stop him, he bounded forward to greet the stranger. My heart leaped into my throat as I watched Fury race toward the old man, but instead of reacting with fear or surprise, the man simply smiled, a warm, knowing smile that seemed to light up his entire face.
"Fury!" I called out, unsure of what to expect, but Fury didn't even glance back at me. He reached the old man and, to my astonishment, started wagging his tail even harder, his entire body wiggling with joy as he licked the man's hand, as if they were the best of friends. The old man chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, like the rustle of old parchment.
I stood there, frozen in place, utterly confused. Fury was practically dancing around the man's feet, his usual wariness of strangers completely forgotten. The man reached down and gave Fury a gentle pat on the head, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at my dog. "I've always had a way with dogs," he said, his voice warm and full of gentle humor. He scratched Fury behind the ears, eliciting a happy whine from him. "Who's a good boy?"
I took a hesitant step forward, still trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing. "He seems to like you," I said slowly, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. "That's certainly a good sign."
The old man looked up at me, his eyes twinkling with a kind of ancient wisdom. "Aye, it is," he replied, still petting Fury. "Dogs sometimes know something about people that the rest of us might miss."
There was something about the way he spoke, a certainty that went beyond the words themselves. I found myself relaxing just a little, even though the situation was far from normal. "I'm Durante," I said, feeling the need to introduce myself, though I wasn't quite sure why.
The man straightened up, leaning more heavily on his gnarled stick as he did. "Virgil," he said simply, as if that was all the introduction he needed. He watched me closely, as if waiting for some sort of recognition to dawn on my face.
The name sounded familiar, but in the strange circumstances, my mind was slow to make the connection. "Virgil…" I repeated, searching my memory. And then it clicked. "Like Virgil, the Roman historian?"
The old man's eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was an underlying seriousness to his expression. "Not like Virgil," he corrected, his voice firm. "I am Virgil, the historian."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stared at him, my mind reeling. "Wait, you're the Virgil?" I asked, my voice wavering with disbelief. "The actual Roman historian? But that's impossible… You can't be—"
"I'm I dead?" I spoke.
Raising one bushy eyebrow, he said, "Not yet, Durante. But you are in great peril."
The way he said it, so calmly, as if he were stating an undeniable fact, sent a shiver down my spine. I took a step back, my mind struggling to process what I was hearing. "What do you mean, I'm in great peril?" I asked, my voice rising slightly in panic. "What's happening to me? Where are we? How is any of this possible?"
Virgil raised a hand, motioning for me to calm down. "You've been brought here for a reason, Durante," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "But first, you must understand that this place, this moment, is not bound by the rules of your world. You are not dead, but you are on the edge, teetering between life and something else."
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. Everything he was saying sounded like something out of a dream—or a nightmare. "So… I'm still alive?" I asked, needing to hear it again, needing to be sure.
Virgil nodded slowly.
He looked at me with eyes that seemed to see right through the layers of my fear, as if he knew exactly what I was feeling. His voice was calm, almost soothing, as he spoke. "Durante, I am here to be your guide," he said, each word measured and deliberate. "But the path we must take to leave this place... it leads through the very depths of the underworld."
I blinked, trying to process the gravity of his words. The underworld? The thought sent a chill down my spine. It was one thing to find myself in a mysterious pit in the middle of a forest, but the underworld? That was the stuff of myths and legends, of nightmares told to frighten children. Yet here was this ancient figure, standing before me with a lantern in hand, calmly telling me that this was the path I had to take to escape.
My heart pounded in my chest, and for a moment, I felt paralyzed by the weight of what he was saying. The very idea of descending into the underworld—a place that, in every story I'd ever heard, was a realm of darkness, danger, and despair—was almost too much to bear. But then, as the silence between us stretched on, I realized that I didn't have a choice. If this was the way out, then so be it.
I took a deep breath, trying to summon the courage I wasn't sure I had. "Well," I said, my voice shaky at first, but growing steadier as I spoke, "if that's the way it has to be, then I guess there's no other choice. Let's do this."
Virgil studied me for a moment, his expression a mixture of respect and something deeper, something I couldn't quite place. He gave me a grave nod, as if acknowledging the courage it took to accept such a fate. "Very well," he said, his tone carrying a weight of understanding. "We will face this journey together, but know that it will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
He stepped closer, reaching out with one hand. "Here," he offered, his voice gentle, "let me dust you off before we begin." He began to brush the dirt and debris from my shoulders and arms, his touch light but steady. "I must warn you," he continued as he worked, "the underworld is not as you might expect. Much has changed over the ages, and what you encounter there will be strange, perhaps even terrifying, to you."
Virgil paused for a moment, his ancient eyes narrowing slightly as if he was considering something deep and profound. I watched him, curious and a bit on edge, wondering what was going through his mind. His gaze seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality, seeing things that were hidden from me. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he spoke in a tone that carried the weight of countless centuries.
"As the ages have changed," he began, his voice resonant with timeless wisdom, "so must I."
Before I could fully grasp what he meant, something incredible happened. Right before my eyes, the old man—this figure from history draped in ancient robes—began to change. It was as if the air around him shimmered, bending and warping as time itself seemed to ripple through him. The robes, which had hung loosely on his frail frame, began to shift and tighten, the fabric transforming as if it were alive.
The transformation was subtle at first, a slight adjustment in the texture of the cloth, a darkening of the fabric. But then, with a soft whoosh, the robes began to morph more dramatically. The rough, ancient material smoothed out, growing thicker and more refined, taking on the sharp lines and clean edges of a modern three-piece suit. The deep, regal purple of his robes darkened to a rich, midnight black, the kind of black that seemed to absorb the very light around it. The suit was impeccably tailored, hugging his thin frame with a precision that spoke of craftsmanship far beyond the ordinary. It was elegant, timeless, yet unmistakably contemporary.
As his robes completed their transformation, I noticed that the gnarled stick he had been leaning on was also changing. The wood seemed to straighten, the rough bark smoothing out until it became a sleek, polished handle. The metal lantern at the end of the stick flickered and vanished, replaced by a small, rectangular device that hovered at the tip. It took me a moment to realize what it was—a smartphone, but unlike any I had ever seen. The phone's screen glowed with a soft, ethereal light, much like the lantern had, but the light was cooler, sharper, like the glow of an LED. The stick itself extended, telescoping outward until it became unmistakably clear what it was—a selfie stick.
I stared in disbelief as Virgil completed his transformation. The old man, who had once looked like he had stepped straight out of an ancient scroll, now stood before me as a vision of modernity. His silver hair, still long and flowing, was now slicked back neatly, and his suit was perfectly pressed, every crease and seam in place. The selfie stick in his hand seemed almost absurdly out of place, and yet, in a strange way, it fit. The phone's light bathed him in an almost otherworldly glow, casting long shadows on the ground around us.
Virgil looked at me with a wry smile, the same wise and knowing expression on his face, but now with a hint of amusement. "This," he said, his voice now carrying a crisp, modern cadence, "is more appropriate for the times we find ourselves in. The underworld, as you know it, has evolved. We can now call it the social-media world, a realm where the darkness of the modern age is laid bare for all to see, but under the illusion of light."
I blinked, trying to reconcile the image before me with the Virgil I had first met. "The social-media world?" I echoed, my voice tinged with disbelief. "You mean… this is what the underworld has become?"
Virgil nodded, his expression growing more serious. "Indeed. The underworld has always been a reflection of the times, a mirror to the human soul. In the past, it was a place of shadow and mystery, of trials that tested the very essence of one's being. But in this age, the shadows have shifted. They are no longer hidden away in dark corners. Instead, they are broadcast to the world, shared and consumed in an endless cycle of validation and judgment."
He gestured with the selfie stick, the phone's light swinging through the air, illuminating the dark pit around us. "This modern light," he continued, "does not dispel the darkness—it amplifies it. In the social-media world, everything is laid bare, but nothing is truly seen. The light blinds as much as it reveals, casting long shadows that distort reality, turning truth into spectacle."
I felt a chill run down my spine as his words sank in. The world he was describing was all too familiar, yet the way he spoke of it made it seem more ominous, more insidious than I had ever considered. "So, you're saying that the underworld is now… social media?" I asked, trying to grasp the full meaning of his transformation.
Virgil nodded slowly. "Yes, Durante. The underworld has always been a place where souls confront their deepest fears and desires, where they are tested and judged. In today's world, those same trials happen on a global stage, where every action, every thought, is put on display for the world to see—and for the world to judge. It is a place where light and darkness are indistinguishable, where truth is buried beneath layers of filters and likes, and where the soul is laid bare in ways that are both new and ancient."