The sky was beginning to turn orange as Strax entered the winding forest trail. His boots crunched over damp leaves and rotting branches, and the smell of earth mixed with ash still seemed to haunt him from the city.
Despite the slow pace, his mind burned. Each step brought back Agnes's face, the weight of the name "Rakan," and the delicious promise of chaos it represented. He smiled to himself, like a wolf who had just scented fresh blood.
And then, between the twisted trunks, the mansion appeared.
It was an old building, of dark stone and sturdy wood, swallowed by moss and time. Tall columns supported a broken porch, and dusty glass windows reflected the twilight. But something was different now. The place, which had once seemed like a forgotten corpse, was breathing again. Makeshift torches illuminated the entrance, damp cloths dried in the wind, and the distant sound of female voices echoed like the laughter of ghosts bringing life to the tomb.
Strax raised an eyebrow.
