Hiems's testament

Hiems transiiti!

Winter has passed, he has left for now!

Such words would the city's crowd chant as they rejoiced.

The women, men, and children all threw tulips around the streets as they celebrated the short-lived end of the cold. Truly, a joyous bunch.

However, in a nearby, dark and narrow alley, a man walked calmly as he admired the lanterns made of tainted glass hanging above. A few old ladies quickly retreated back in their houses as he passed, seeing the copious amount of blood he was drenched in.

Soon enough, a simply yet pretty neatly dressed lady in light armor looked at this said man, and with wide eyes and a troubled look she spoke in a firm tone.

She slightly raised her rifle towards him, not quite aiming correctly at first, but quickly fixing that.

"Stay still!"

The sentence had a very faint echo, anyways, the dazed young man stood in an harrowing calmness while so soaked in reds.

Baam!

The young man hit the wall, deep inside a basement in a building adjacent to the city's church. The lady with the rifle looked away as she stood at the entrance of the dark room, the man who was – rather unprofessionally – trying to get informations out the bloodied young man, then stopped holding him up from his coat, letting him slide down against the wall.

The cold room didn't offer decent sunlight nor did it do the courtesy of being welcoming, with the thin windows closed by bars who had seen better days, and the room's door being a gate that would fit rather well in front of a pitifully run-down graveyard.

The man turned to look at the lady and spoke, composed. "Lips shut, this one... Miss. Verkti, inform the gate's guard that someone will stay in the cell for the night."

The lady with the rifle, apparently named Miss. Verkti, nodded immediately and left quite quickly, still not placing her gaze on the beaten up young man.

The young man opened an eye slightly, seeing the man leave through the room's gate, then, he heard the faint voice of the lady from before talking with someone outside, the guard they mentioned earlier, probably.

Their words didn't quite reach him.

Rather unbothered, he closed his eyes as he leaned against the cold wall, and fell in the arms of sleep.

The sound of a mellow and aspirate flaute was heard twice in the darkness.

As he opened his eyes, the young man immediately noticed it was not reality.

Hiems...Hiems?

He thought, slowly standing up and glancing to the gate not so far from the cage he was locked in, which slowly appeared in the illusory world of dreams.

Hiems, what now?

He thought again, talking to winter himself, winter himself? of course.

At that moment a translucent figure wearing a perhaps white cape which also hid the face, formed from nothingness next to the gate, and smiled slightly. "What now, you ask? You wonder how to justify the horrendous amount of blood you've got on yourself, but truly, what blood?"

He spoke melodious, even, however with each word it gave more and more the feeling that it was the sound of wind trying to mimic human tongues.

In the cold room, as the slightliest of light began to enter, the young man "Querquetum", woke in a sweat as cold as his surroundings. The blood on his clothing inexplicably gone with the night.

He laughed at the sight.

Man...isn't this just going to make my situation just seem even more odd?

"What blood, officer?" no way those words will leave my lips!

Then, Querquetum stopped laughing.

Unless the madman messed with them, with their minds? Whatever...

He managed to get himself on his feet, trying not to mind the pain he felt. He walked towards the bars he was behind of, trying to get a better look at what was going on behind the gate, however, it seemed that behind it was only darkness, and thus he couldn't make out any detail clearly.