The place he was living in is a dark, dark place.

           Time was irrelevant. The days and nights bleeding as one. Months, years, centuries, no one will notice its passing. It was how it is in the first circle of hell.

            There are trees, stark from dying leaves and drying trunks. Their ash gray coloring giving away their state. The soil there cracks with every step, crumbling parts released unto the windy surroundings, making it seem like it was a desert in the Sahara. The sun never rises, its absence a painful reminder that the world has already forsaken the sinners imprisoned there. It was a moon instead, that illuminates the first circle of hell. A blood-red moon shines brightly, eternally accompanying all the repenting souls.

            Above all these, there was one great castle. A castle of immense wealth and luxury. It comprises of hundreds of rooms, all dripping comfort and amenity. The halls and passages scream elegance with its paintings and decorations and grandeur state. The castle’s colors were a major black, grey, and brown; colors that serve as the awakening of realization that this place was indeed, even with its best comfort and luxury, the punishment that all agnostics will face for eternity.

            A castle as an inferior form of Heaven. A palpable symbol of their regret and remorse. An eternity of living in a place that would have been theirs, if only they believed. A punishment fit for the cynical. This place was called the Limbo, the eternal punishment for the agnostic.

            It was now the home of Sanghyuk, an unwilling soul that never truly accepted the Christian faith.

            He was not a believer, never did and never will. It was what afforded him this prison, along with a few words from a lad who he thought was a friend, trusted him and believed his lies. That was the very first of the many mistakes he made after meeting him, Hakyeon.

            Living, Sanghyuk was but a simple man. He has a broad form, limbs and legs long, with skin a creamy white and a soft brown mop of hair. His eyes are the color of the sea, drowning anyone who dared to stare at it for too long. His clothes screamed ordinary, worn and discolored with use.

            He was just two decades and a half years old when he met him. He was living alone, in a small rented flat in the middle of 18th century Paris. His parents abandoned him when he was just an infant, leaving him in the gates of the orphanage he called home for five years before moving out and finding his luck in that barren city.

            All was well, he could say. He works at a small printing house, the salary so little but was miraculously enough for him. The young man worked day in and day out, hoping to rise to the ranks and live a comfortable life. But above all, he wanted to become a novelist, a writer that would be known even after centuries pass. He was not yet there, but he sure is trying.

            Sanghyuk was a persevering writer. That day, he was walking towards his publisher when he suddenly tripped from a large piece of rock lying innocently on the concrete path. The incident caused the stack of papers with him to slip from his hands and land unto the wet ground.

            It was so dumb of him, tripping with his own feet from a rock, “Goodness gracious, how I could be so trippy?” He murmured to himself as he hastened to gather all the scattered papers.

            As he was busy with his task, he did not notice someone picking up other pieces of paper and helping him. It was only when he noticed he collected almost all the papers did he raise his head and saw a young man standing in front of him, wordlessly handing the papers he collected.

            Sanghyuk was stunned. The lad was wearing that of a bourgeoisie man’s attire, an intricately designed coat and delicate accessories. He held his head high in confidence, yet a blooming smile was present in his youthful face. He was looking at him expectantly, extending his hand that was holding the stack of papers.

            “Would you not like to accept this, young Sir?”

            He blinked once, embarrassment dripping from his every move, “Oh. Forgive my behavior, Sir.” He reached for the papers, extremely glad that none of them were too ruined to grant a revision.

            The man smiled. He was eyeing the papers in his hand, “Divine Comedy? And what would that mean, young Sir?” He inquired, the previous smile on his face now replaced by a sudden smirk full of mirth.

            Sanghyuk froze, nervous with the level of judgment in his voice, “The Church, Sir.” His voice was level, thankfully hiding his imminent fear, “How the church and its officials are lying to everyone else.”

            “You’re not a Christian?” The lad asked.

            “I was once. But not anymore. I learned to unlearn the lies taught by those tyrant friars.” Venom was visible in his voice, yet he could not suppress his emotions. He looked away, hands tightening around the papers by instinct, “I want to wake everyone up from their lies.”

            The young man was now eyeing him, his eyes full of unreadable expression, “And what exactly are these lies, if I may ask?” It was like he was testing him, yet his tone was of friendly curiosity and wonder.

            Sanghyuk sighed, “God, his existence. Angels, hell, demons. I don’t believe in any of those. Those are blasphemies. Nothing but products of an imaginative mind. Those friars are feeding the people lies and we simply let them. With this book, I want people to realize that.” He was breathing hard. The things he’s saying are all his doctrine, his beliefs, and he will fight for it.

            “Perhaps. But we’ll never know until we die, yeah?” He was still eyeing him, but the smile he’s directing to him is sending him chills over his body.

            “Indeed.” Was all he muttered, “Oh, forgive my manners again. I am Sanghyuk.” He bowed, showing his respect to the man.

            The lad heartily laughs, “I have not introduced myself, either. I am Hakyeon, young Sir.”

            Someone from afar was running towards them, seemingly in haste. “Oh. My attendant is here. I have to go.” He gracefully bowed, smiling at him for the last time before turning around and walking away.

            Sanghyuk was dumbfounded. That was the first time a nobleman talked to him without belittling him. He was still trying to digest everything when he stole a final glance at the lad that intrigued him so much.

            He was now about to ride a carriage, being assisted by his servant. He was one odd young man. He was trailing his eyes after him, clearly mesmerized when he suddenly stopped, turning his head around to meet his eyes.

            The young male locked eyes with him and that’s when he noticed. Instead of the same friendly look before, it was danger in his eyes. The corners of his lips were lifted, displaying the peril that will come his way.

            It was only for a moment, almost as if he just imagined those things. He was now inside the carriage, going his way. Sanghyuk simply decided to ignore that.

            He wished he never did.

            That encounter granted him a place in the Limbo. Hakyeon was the driving point of no return, for he was the start of a whirlwind of events that later brought him to where he is now.

            Sanghyuk remembers all those so clearly. It was thoughtless of him to easily talk to a stranger screaming danger. But he doesn’t have a choice now, does he? It’s all too late, seeing as he is now bounded to this place called hell, for all eternity.