It is said that the Chalice of the Frost has never been alone. It has always called for a guardian, and it has never been the same for too long. Some remember it as a knight in armor blackened by eternal winter, others as a kind old man with a long beard who traded with travelers, and the most daring claim it now bears the face of Festus Scrooge.
Festus Scrooge, a man who traded his greed for gold for the ambition to control the destinies of others. No one knows if the guardian protects the goblet… or if it is the cup that has corrupted him.
According to Mr. Garland, fragments of this secret history have filtered down to the human world: New Year's toasts, the raised glasses of Christmas, even the tales of magical objects that grant wishes… all were born from those who once heard, even in whispers, the legend of the cup. Time and again, men tried to find it, and time and again, the labyrinth devoured them.
Now, we join the long list of seekers preparing to enter the castle, to return to the origin, to the beginning of it all. We aspire, indeed, to be the first in centuries to leave the castle alive and survive the temptation of the Chalice of Frost.
The end was approaching. We all presented it, and we were equally nervous. The murmur of the tourists contrasted with our silence. As they talked about photos and souvenirs, we thought about a hidden chalice, about rivals waiting for us, and how some of us might never make it out again.
From the bus window, the castle looked like something out of a children's storybook... except stories never warn us about what happens when heroes don't win. Despite the tension of the mission, I had to admit the scenery was one of the most spectacular I'd ever seen.
Between mountains that looked like sleeping guardians and lakes that hid secrets in their crystalline waters, rose a castle that didn't quite belong to this world. The surrounding forests, dressed in autumnal robes—gold, ruby, and emerald—seemed to still pay homage to an ancient king, even though he no longer lived there. Every tree bent its branches toward the towers, like a sign guiding the lost to refuge.
Or a death trap. The bus climbed slowly up the road, between curves and forests that seemed endless. Through the window, the castle towers seemed like a mirage, ever larger, ever closer. For tourists, it was a picture-postcard destination. For us, a testament.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Clare murmured from the back seat. She had her arms crossed and a barely concealed smile, as if she were enjoying the scenery like any other tourist.
"Yeah, perfect for dying," I replied, staring out the window at the castle's reflection. With each passing minute, the fortress looked more like a torture camp than a tourist spot.
Rex looked at me, rubbing his hands together. "Do you always have to say the worst in every situation?"
"No, normally that would be your job." My answer wasn't well-received. "Besides, look at those towers. I'm sure each one is full of traps."
Ivy didn't take her eyes off the notebook she was still carrying. She'd been reviewing the diary fragment for the umpteenth time, as if searching for a clue hidden between the lines. "It's not just the castle I'm worried about... but who else might be waiting there."
"The Glimmsons," June murmured softly, as if merely mentioning the infamous surname would bring them to life. "If they survived what happened at the station, they certainly won't miss this."
Clare gave a short laugh. "Oh, they survived. Believe me, those two are like mice. And if they're on their way, they won't be the only ones with their eyes on the chalice."
An awkward silence fell. The murmur of tourists discussing photos and souvenirs made it all even more unreal. And to think there were people right in front of us, snapping pictures and chatting quietly, unaware of the danger they were in.
"And what happens when we get there?" Rex asked, as blunt as ever. "Are we going to cooperate with her?" He looked at Clare suspiciously.
She tilted her head, with that irritating calm that seemed natural to her. "Cooperate, no. Okay, maybe. In the end, only one can keep the chalice. And you know that as well as I do."
"Great. A school trip to an abandoned castle, but with an extra seatmate." What else could happen that day? A bus accident? At least we hadn't had a bus accident yet.
The bus bounced around a sharp turn and slid down the road like a professional skateboarder. It shuddered again, as if it had stepped on a giant banana peel and suddenly started skidding across the icy road.
"What's going on?" Rex exclaimed, clutching the back of the seat.
The tour guide, a man with a ridiculous mustache, staggered to his feet. "Calm down, calm down, nothing's wrong. Right, Stan?"
The driver, a young man in a blue hat, turned to us. Judging by his face, he didn't seem very convinced. He swerved the wheel and slammed on the brakes. Panic began to spread among the passengers, and I saw some shifting nervously in their seats, muttering, "What's going on?" or "We want to get off the bus."
"Next view…" said the guide, named Connor Jones, as he tried to calm the passengers. "It's just turbulence, it's completely normal. "However, he didn't seem very convinced. "On the next curve, we can see the…"
As we rounded another bend, the guide was thrown toward the roof, and at the moment of impact, there was a crunching sound, like the sound of a bone breaking. I made a face of pain, but fate wasn't finished with him. The bus skidded again, and Connor Jones was thrown through a window, shattering it in the process and flying into the pine trees, lost in the dense forest.
Passengers began to scream, and some even dared to unbuckle their seatbelts and try to jump out the window. The entire bus was plunged into absolute terror: passengers banging on the windows, others trying to run to the back door, and even a group of teenagers trying to open the doors while skidding.
A woman tried to force the windows open with a broom, while a man wearing a Bayern Munich cap shouted "Every man for himself!" as if he were the captain of a sinking ship. "Ivy, do something clever!" I yelled as the vehicle continued to skid.
"What do you want me to do? Solve a quadratic equation?" he replied, gripping the seat tightly.
"I don't know how to drive!" I exclaimed.
"I don't know how to drive," she replied desperately. "I don't have a license! I didn't have time to get one this summer!"
The world lurched as the bus swerved sharply to the left, veering off the road and into a downward slope. We sped forward, dodging pine trees and wild animals. A wolf darted in front of the bus, and the driver barely managed to avoid it.
Suddenly, everything flipped: my seatbelt came loose, and I was thrown against the roof. Since then, I don't remember much else about what happened. I guess the bus rolled a few more times and finally slid down the last stretch of road. The next thing I remembered was the bus crashing through an iron fence and slamming into a stone wall with a resounding BOOM! The impact resonated like a cannon shot, like one I'd heard when the American History teacher took us on a field trip to an old battlefield in Pennsylvania.
It was quite beautiful, except for the 12-hour flight.
When the dust cleared, what remained of the bus appeared: smoking, twisted wreckage. The others were getting a good look: Ivy's golden hair was at odd angles, but other than that, she was immaculate. Rex had a broken green zipper, but he was conscious. The same happened to June, and Clare, well, she seemed the most unharmed of the five.
The rest of the passengers were getting a good look, although some were clearly unconscious.
Through the smoke, we saw Stan, the driver, get out of his seat with no apparent injuries. "Well, passengers. It looks like we've arrived at the Castle... safe and sound, although I'll have to contact the company about buying a new bus."
Seeing the silence at his words, he found the courage to continue. "I'm not sure, but I think we're in the castle dungeons. Since your guide, Mr. Jones, has disappeared, I'll take it for now. But don't worry, I've already called the Red Cross. They'll be here in two hours."
I lifted my head from the rubble. "Well... I guess we won't have to pay the entrance fee."
Entering through the dungeons might not have been my favorite way to visit a tourist spot; I would have preferred walking through the door a thousand times over. It's not like we had any other choice, anyway.
As we made our way through the corridors and up the winding stone staircase, the darkness began to give way to bright sunlight. From the castle's high windows, we could see the golden sphere of the sun slowly descending from the horizon, where the imposing autumn mountains awaited it.
We walked across different rooms, and saw all sorts of things: trophies in display cases, red banners fluttering in a nonexistent wind, and suits of armor that seemed to encourage us with their gaze. I unfolded the map a couple of times to find the location of the chalice, and each time I felt we were closer. Closer to the end.
We stopped in front of a picture window that showed the valley below. The autumn forest burned gold in the light of the setting sun, but on the horizon, the mountains looked like razor-sharp blades, ready to close in on us.
Clare stopped and looked up. "Feel that."
"What?" June asked, more curious than scared.
"The silence," she replied simply. "It's too quiet, it's too perfect. In a castle this large, a castle this size should be filled with echoing footsteps, laughter, tourists, and yet, we haven't seen or heard anything."
"Maybe we just got lucky," I suggested, though I wasn't entirely convinced by my own assertion. Ivy gave me a cold stare that stopped me in my tracks.
"You know very well that the map also shows the names of those around us, and we haven't seen a single soul…"
"This isn't good…" Rex muttered.
Suddenly, the wall behind us disappeared, revealing a marble staircase that hadn't been there a second before. We climbed up.
Festus Scrooge was waiting for us.
We climbed the last steps and found ourselves in front of a double door, as tall as a giant and adorned with golden filigree. Facing the door, four glass jars rested on a stone pedestal. Inside each, a faint powder glimmered, releasing a distinct aroma: fresh pine, sweet cinnamon, melted chocolate, and an unpleasant smell of burnt coal. Above the door, engraved in gold letters, were the words:
"THE SCENTS OF CHRISTMAS OPENS THE DOORS"
"Really?" I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the corachal jar, "I mean, who would even put this on the list?"
"It's a sensory test, I guess," Ivy explained, analyzing the jars. "It wants us to choose the correct order."
"Great," June said, trying to catch her breath after climbing such stairs. "Now we have to play 'pick your gift, or we don't pass."
"That's easy," Rex said without thinking twice, "Christmas is always chocolate first."
He put his hand in the wrong jar, and instantly thick smoke filled the air. Everyone began to cough as the illusion enveloped us. For a few seconds, we saw piles of coal falling from the ceiling, accumulating up to our knees, as if they were about to be buried alive in a black mine.
The avalanche stopped a few seconds after, but it was too late; our t-shirts, pants, and shoes were already dirty.
"Rex, that's a great idea!" June joked, trying to cover her mouth with her red-green scarf.
The carbon suddenly disappeared, as if it hadn't been there before. The jars glowered again, awaiting another choice.
"No more mistakes," Ivy said, more serious than ever. "Listen: Christmas begins in the woods, with the pine tree, then comes the warmth of cinnamon, and finally, the sweetness of chocolate."
She carefully placed her hand on each jar. As she touched the last one, the air was filled with a warm, cozy, welcoming aroma that enveloped us like a familiar hug.
With a solemn CREAK, the tower door opened before us, revealing a large room inviting them to enter.
"Wow, Ivy, we've got a better nose than a dog," I said, patting her on the shoulder.
"No," She smiled. "Just more patience than the three of you put together."
Ivy entered first.