The music transformed into Tchaikovsky's most challenging passages, and Isabelle's choreography became breathtakingly complex. She began incorporating aerial work that would have challenged professional dancers, let alone people fighting for their lives in supernatural cold.
Adren adapted to the new complexity immediately, his body moving with fluid grace. He anticipated Isabelle's movements perfectly, never missing a beat or struggling with the increased demands.
Stone gritted his teeth and threw himself into the new routine. His undead partner lifted him effortlessly during the aerial portions, and Stone responded with focused determination. But the cold was taking its toll—ice was forming on his clothes, and his breathing was becoming labored.
Watching two burly men dance to death, man this evening is unforgettable in more ways than one.
Erel and Grey struggled with the new complexity. The lifts required strength and coordination that was difficult to maintain in freezing conditions.
"I can't do this," Grey gasped as Erel attempted to lift her for a spin. Her body was stiff with cold, and she nearly fell as he set her down.
"Yes, you can," Erel said firmly, steadying her. "But we adapt. Work with the music, not against it."
Instead of attempting the full lifts that Isabelle was demonstrating, Erel began modifying the choreography. He guided Grey through spins that kept her feet on the ground, used the music's rhythm to disguise their simpler movements.
"It is alive," Erel replied, spinning her as the violins soared. "Tchaikovsky wrote this to showcase dancers at their finest. Every note is designed to lift the human body into something more than human."
The irony wasn't lost on him. They were finding grace and partnership in the shadow of death, using one of the most beautiful compositions ever written as a tool for survival.
But the cold was relentless. Despite their improved synchronization, frost continued spreading across their clothing. Grey's lips were turning blue, and Erel could feel numbness creeping up his own limbs.
Stone was pushing himself harder than ever, but his strength was flagging. His movements were becoming less precise, and each small imperfection allowed the frost to advance further.
"Come on," he muttered to himself, forcing his body through another series of lifts. "You've been through worse than this."
Has he though? This isn't exactly standard survival training.
Isabelle swept past them, her movements still flawless despite the supernatural cold that emanated from her being. "Perfect synchronization!" she called out. "Remember, each misstep invites winter deeper into your soul!"
Stone's undead partner suddenly increased the complexity of their routine, demanding a series of lifts that required perfect timing and tremendous strength. Stone threw himself into the movements with desperate determination.
On the third lift, something went wrong.
Stone's grip slipped—whether from the cold numbing his hands or simple exhaustion, Erel couldn't tell. His partner, the frozen soldier, dropped like a stone and shattered into pieces when it hit the icy floor.
The sound echoed through the ballroom like breaking glass, and immediately the cold rushed into Stone's body like a physical assault.
"No!" Stone roared, but without his partner, he couldn't maintain the complex movements the music demanded. The warming effect of synchronized dancing vanished, and ice began forming on his skin at an alarming rate.
Stone tried to continue dancing solo, refusing to give up. But the cold was overwhelming, spreading up his arms and legs like living frost.
"Atlas!" Stone suddenly shouted, his voice echoing through the ballroom.
His imaginarium ability activated, and for a moment he seemed to grow larger, more substantial. The supernatural strength of Atlas flowed through him, and he actually pushed back against the encroaching ice with sheer force of will. The frost retreated slightly, his enhanced strength fighting the supernatural cold.
For nearly two minutes, Stone held the line. His body literally battled the winter that was trying to claim him, muscle and will against the inevitable. He even managed to continue a modified version of the dance, his Atlas-enhanced form moving with power that defied the cold.
"I won't go quietly," Stone gasped, still trying to dance even as his movements became jerky and unnatural. "I've seen too much, fought too hard to give up now."
Grey was crying as she watched, her tears freezing on her cheeks. "We have to help him!"
"We can't," Erel said quietly, never stopping their waltz. "Breaking formation would kill us all. The only thing we can do is make sure he doesn't die for nothing."
Stone's enhanced strength held out longer than should have been possible. He was literally fighting winter itself, his body refusing to accept defeat even when the situation was hopeless.
But eventually, even Atlas's strength wasn't enough.
His movements slowed, then stopped entirely. The ice claimed him in a final rush, freezing him mid-step with one hand reaching toward the ballroom's ceiling. His face was set in an expression of determination, even in death.
"Such dedication," Isabelle commented as she danced past Stone's frozen form with Adren. "He'll make a magnificent addition to my collection."
The music continued its beautiful, relentless flow. Erel forced himself to keep dancing with Grey, though part of him wanted to stop and mourn. Stone had been a good man, and he'd died fighting.
Three survivors left.
Grey was sobbing openly now, her grief threatening to break their synchronization. "He didn't deserve that. None of us deserve this."
You all signed up for this when you entered that plane, I should be the one complaining here.
"Focus," Erel said, spinning her away from Stone's frozen form. "Dance now, grieve later. That's how we honor him."
Grey nodded, wiping her tears and forcing herself to concentrate on the music.
But as the dance continued, Erel found himself watching Adren more closely. Throughout everything—Stone's death, the supernatural cold, the complex choreography—Adren had remained perfectly composed. His performance was flawless, too flawless.
I've felt something was off about him from the beginning. The way he handles these trials, the way he never seems truly affected by anything we encounter.
The music began to reach its climax, and Isabelle's movements became even more ethereal and demanding. She was barely touching the ground now, spinning and floating with supernatural grace.
Adren matched her perfectly, his movements precise and controlled. If anything, he seemed to be getting stronger as the dance progressed.
After everything we've been through, after dancing for this long in supernatural cold, he should be showing some signs of fatigue. But he's not.
Erel and Grey managed to maintain their modified version of the choreography, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The cold was seeping through their defenses, and Grey's emotional state was affecting their synchronization.
"I can't stop thinking about Stone," she whispered. "About West. About all of them."
"I know," Erel replied, guiding her through another series of turns. "But right now, we dance. We survive."
The music reached its final crescendo, building to the climactic finish that had made audiences weep for over a century. Isabelle executed one last perfect spin before coming to rest in the center of the ballroom.
Adren stopped with her, not even breathing hard despite the extended exertion in supernatural cold.
"Magnificent!" Isabelle exclaimed, her pale eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Such perfection, such dedication! You have earned your passage."
She turned to look at Erel and Grey, who had barely managed to stumble through the final movements. "As have you, though just barely. You understand now the relationship between beauty and preservation, between art and survival."
As they prepared to leave the ballroom, Erel couldn't shake his growing suspicions. Everything about Adren's performance had been too perfect.
They walked in silence toward the exit, their breath still coming out in visible puffs. Grey was leaning heavily on Erel, her body still recovering from the supernatural cold and emotional trauma.
When they reached the corridor beyond the ballroom, Grey finally spoke.
"There's something I need to say," she said quietly, glancing to make sure Adren was out of earshot. He was walking ahead of them, maintaining his usual distance.
"What is it?" Erel asked.
"It's about Adren," Grey said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Erel felt a mixture of relief and validation. He wasn't going crazy, someone else had noticed too.
"I've been thinking the same thing," he admitted quietly. "Since the beginning, actually. There's something about him that doesn't add up."
"The way he never seems affected by anything," Grey continued. "Even when West died, even when we had to... eat those people."
"Like he's not really human," Erel said, voicing the thought that had been nagging at him for trials.
They walked in silence for a moment, both processing the implications. If Adren wasn't human, but a construct designed to navigate these trials...
"What do we do?" Grey asked.
"For now? Nothing," Erel said. "We don't know for sure, and we can't afford to be wrong. But we watch him. Carefully."
As they continued down the corridor, Lady Isabelle's voice echoed behind them one last time: "Do give my regards to Camille when you meet her. The Hollow Bride does so enjoy visitors who have experienced loss."
The Hollow Bride. Another trial awaits.
But first, they needed to figure out exactly what Adren was. Because if Erel's suspicions were correct, they'd been dancing with more than supernatural cold—they'd been dancing with deception itself.