The same day. 4:00 PM.
The ponds were silent. Frogs leapt between stones. Leaves drifted slowly through the air.
It was raining.
Rain was not a natural phenomenon in Huraha. It was something that simply did not happen.
Yet today, it did.
Four figures stepped into the castle courtyard. They were not Quils. Black long coats. White capes. Masks hiding their faces.
HIM saw them.
“It’s not your house,” he said sharply. “Get out. Who sent you here?”
He held a letter in his hand.
“Are you the ones who sent this filthy letter?” His jaw tightened. “Leave. Now.”
One of the masked men inhaled slowly behind the mask.
“We do not care about your castle,” he said calmly. “We are here to inform you that you must attend the Guru’s pravachan at 6:30 PM.”
“I don’t know your Guru,” HIM replied, almost smiling. “But I’ll meet him. I want to see the man who thinks he can summon me.”
From the back corridor — the door leading to the minister’s chamber — something echoed.
A sound.
Not loud.
Not clear.
Like someone trying to scream without air.
HIM turned his head.
Silence.
Then—
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Drip.
Drip.
A liquid mixed with the unnatural rain outside.
Red.
The minister’s door creaked open.
It did not open gently.
It was pushed.
By a body.
Halloween fell forward onto the marble floor.
Still.
Blood spreading beneath him.
HIM did not move at first.
His eyes widened slowly.
“…Halloween?”
His voice was not loud.
It was empty.
He stepped forward.
“Who did this?” His breathing grew heavier. “Was it you?”
The masked men did not react.
“We have delivered the message,” one of them said. “That is all.”
And they left.
HIM stood there.
Halloween lay on the floor.
Outside, Huraha prepared for celebration.
Across the land, transport caravans moved toward Gog Hill.
Children whispered.
“What if the master finds out we’re going to the Guru’s pravachan?”
An elder stood beside him.
Silent.
Only breath.
In another district, Neil, Tony, and Steve slept — until the distant sound of a flute drifted through the air.
Soft.
Calling.
Inside the throne hall, HIM knelt beside Halloween.
He held the letter in one hand.
And Halloween’s cold shoulder in the other.
“I can revive an organism without blood,” he whispered to himself. “But this…”
His fingers trembled.
“There’s too much.”
He lowered his head.
Rain tapped against the windows.
31st October.
His breathing became uneven.
Forty-two years ago.
He was seven.
Huraha’s elders had placed the crown on his head.
And because he was too young, they assigned him a minister.
A sixty-four-year-old man.
Joner Ja Volvka.
The old man bowed deeply.
“I will serve you for the rest of my life.”
HIM stared at him with bright eyes.
“That name is too long,” the boy said. “Today is 31st October. I’ll call you Halloween.”
The old man laughed gently.
“As you wish.”
“They say when I turn eighteen, my minister will be removed,” the boy continued. “But not you. You’ll stay forever.”
Halloween smiled.
“If that is your wish.”
Back to the present.
HIM bowed his head before the corpse.
Tears fell silently.
“It’s 31st October,” he whispered. “You were supposed to stay.”
His shoulders shook once.
Just once.
Outside, Huraha was filled with excitement for the pravachan.
No one heard him.
Slowly, his grief hardened.
His eyes reddened.
His jaw tightened.
“Guru,” he muttered. “Who are you?”
He stood.
Walked to the glass case.
Smashed it with his bare elbow.
Took the Gasagun.
He exhaled once.
“Neil. Steve. Tony. Wake up.”
His voice was no longer shouting.
It was controlled.
Which made it worse.
He stepped outside.
The streets of Huraha were filled with Quils moving toward Gog Hill.
“Return to your homes,” HIM ordered.
No one moved.
Instead—
One by one—
Guns were drawn.
And aimed at him.
Silence fell over Huraha.
Even the rain seemed to stop.
