The forest breathes around him—hot and alive. The trees shift. The light twists.

And then come the beasts.

Three of them, each hungrier than the last.

They do not lunge. They herd.

Pushing him deeper into despair, until he cannot tell sky from soil, breath from sob.

He runs.

Or tries to.

The path curls and folds in on itself. There is no way out.

That’s when he sees him.

A figure, still as stone, cloaked in dusk.

Not a savior—but a presence.

Someone who does not flinch when the beasts snarl,

does not chase, does not preach.

He simply watches.

Dante stumbles, heart pounding like a broken drum.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he gasps.

The figure nods. “And yet, here you are.”

There is something ancient in his voice. Something familiar.

Not like family.

Like memory.

Like a dream you forgot but ache for anyway.

He calls himself Virgil.

Says he was sent by her.

Her name tastes like smoke on the man’s tongue—Beatrice.

And suddenly, everything inside Dante stills.

“She cannot walk this path with you,” Virgil says, “but I can.”

He offers no comfort, only direction.

No healing, only descent.

But somehow, that’s enough.

The beasts disappear.

The air shifts.

The earth yawns open, and the journey begins.

A mirror in grayscale, a guide shaped from silence.

Where Beatrice glows, Virgil steadies. His theme moves with cold precision, echoing her melody in inverted form—each note a reversal, a reflection, a shadow cast by her light. He does not weep. He does not burn. He understands.

This is the music of reason wrapped in melancholy.

The cadence of a man who has walked the edge of paradise and been denied entry.

Not because he sinned—but because he was born too soon.

The melody carries weight—measured, restrained, patient. It does not rise in triumph. It descends, guiding gently through each layer of ruin. He is the map. The threshold. The whisper that says, “You can go further.”

He does not claim your soul.

He only asks that you follow.

Now with your guide at your side, it’s time to cross the river and enter the gates.