As Ronald's voice snapped me back to the present, I found my gaze pulled once again to the etched symbols on the floor.
'No—they weren't just symbols anymore.'
They pulsed.
The once-faint lines now gleamed with a low, silver radiance, humming like breath from another world. The room itself felt alive, pressing in around us with a suffocating intensity that made my skin crawl.
These weren't just markings.
They were seals.
'No—warnings.'
"What are these symbols? Do you know, Llyne?" Ronald's voice quivered slightly, a fragile thread of curiosity barely holding together the fear behind it.
I knelt, reaching out.
The moment my fingers brushed the edge of a curve, a shiver crawled up my spine—like the symbol had exhaled beneath my touch.
"Hmm... Ancient and cryptic text?" My mind raced with possibilities. "Maybe Isaac knows."
Because whatever this was, it didn't belong in a normal world.
Ronald nodded, but I could see the grip he had on his own courage was slipping. He stared at the glow like it might suddenly reach out and drag him under.
"Let's search the area for more clues," I offered quickly, rising to my feet. "We need more context."
But the second those words left my mouth—
"Don't tell me we're going to split up and search for clues. I don't want to!" Ronald gripped my hands tightly. "I'll die from terror!"
A small chuckle escaped me despite the tension in the air. His fear was oddly grounding.
"No, Ronald. We won't be splitting up. I promise we'll stick together." I gave his hand a squeeze. "Two is better than one."
His grip didn't loosen—but his eyes softened.
We moved again.
I pulled a second torchlight from my inventory and flicked it on with a satisfying click. The new beam pierced the gloom like a blade, casting long shadows that slithered and crawled across the walls.
Each room we entered echoed the same theme—ordinary, until the light revealed them otherwise. Symbols. Always symbols. On walls. On doors. Even burned faintly into the floorboards beneath our steps.
They were everywhere.
And they were watching.
The crows outside never ceased.
Their caws bled into the air, somehow slipping through the wood and stone, embedding themselves into the bones of the house. I could feel them—like they were perched on my shoulders, whispering nonsense into my ears.
"Llyne... I'm really scared." Ronald's voice was barely above a whisper now.
"It will be fine," I said. The words came instinctively—habitual. "Once we meet Rona, we'll race ourselves out of here."
His nervous laugh came too fast. It didn't last long.
Caw. Caw. Caw.
The crows cried out again—louder. Hungrier.
"Yeeek! What's that?!"
I held back a laugh. Barely.
"Emergency food supplies."
"...Emergency... food supply?" He blinked at me.
I sighed, letting the sarcasm roll off my tongue. "Those crows, Ronald. In case we get really hungry during our exploration."
He gaped at me. "Eh?! You're going to eat those innocent crows?!"
Deadpan.
"If they have meat, they're food." I started walking again.
"But you just said crows hold grudges."
"If we eat them all, who's left to hold a grudge?" I smirked. "So let's press on. I'm getting hungry."
Behind me, Ronald whimpered.
We stepped into the next hall—and the world narrowed.
A corridor. Long. Narrow. And impossibly silent.
Our steps echoed like gunshots. The torchlight carved shadows across the corridor like paint on a living canvas, our surroundings shifting with every step forward.
Paintings lined the walls.
And each one—each one watched.
Portraits of nobles and strangers. Of grim men with tired eyes and noblewomen frozen in poised grace. All locked in place, their gazes sharp and unmoving.
Their eyes didn't follow us.
But it felt like they were.
And some… some looked too real.
"This reminds me of the third test." I muttered, voice low. "I hope there's no earthquakes or weird hands coming out of the paintings."
"Don't worry." Ronald stood straighter, voice rising slightly. "I'll protect you, Llyne."
I smiled.
"Thanks, Ronald. I know you will."
We kept walking.
And then—I froze.
"Hmm? That man is…" My eyes locked on one particular painting.
An old man.
Senile. Smiling.
'Him.'
My first Master—the one who taught me how to survive. The man who started me down this path.
"Why is the Master's portrait here?" I whispered, more to myself than Ronald.
But there was no time to process it—because behind me, Ronald screamed.
"AARRGGGHHHH!"
He'd fallen, eyes wide, trembling. I was at his side in seconds.
"Ronald, what happened? Are you hurt?"
He didn't speak.
He just pointed.
And I looked.
A painting.
A family.
Two adults—one man, one woman. Their expressions, carved with quiet strength and solemn regret. Between them stood a younger woman, no older than myself.
Something about her… her presence. Her eyes.
The silence thickened as I looked at Ronald.
There was a sad, faraway look in his eyes—like someone who had just remembered what it felt like to lose something irreplaceable.
The same look I wore when I lost Ma.
My gaze shifted to the dusty family portrait on the wall.
That's when I realized...
"M-my family..." Ronald's voice cracked. "Their portrait is there."
I rose slowly and approached it.
Their clothes were modern. Their faces—familiar. The expressions on the canvas reached into me and gripped something I hadn't expected to feel.
And in the bottom corner of the painting, faint script caught my eye.
Small.
Elegant.
Precise.
"...These are... dates?"
Ronald stepped beside me. His voice broke as he whispered, "Ah… that's the date of each of my family member's deaths."
I stared.
"Date of their death?"
"Time as well." His voice was barely more than breath. "I was still a child then, but… I remember it clearly."
The silence that followed was cold and absolute.
The painting did not change.
The dates remained. The smiles remained. The house remained.
But Ronald's world—his past—had just been laid bare by the very walls of this place.
And now I knew—
This house wasn't showing us illusions.
It was showing us the truth.
A truth buried in shadows.
And we hadn't even reached the end of the corridor yet.