They had narrowly escaped death and were now stranded in a barren wasteland. With Alfi unconscious, the night promised to be dangerous.
Den, still carrying Alfi on his back, pushed forward. Again and again. No matter the pain, he had to keep going. He had to find shelter for the night.He walked until his body was drenched in sweat, every breath a stab in his chest. His lungs burned—screaming for him to stop. But he couldn't. He was on the verge of passing out, yet a single thought echoed louder than anything else:"I must keep going."
He had to find a place to rest. So he continued. Step after trembling step, his body begged him to stop. But still—he didn't.
That's when he saw it: light.In that moment, he thought—maybe they were safe. Maybe there was help nearby. Maybe... he could finally understand who had done this to them.
Was this still part of the test?Why was this happening to him?So many questions surged through his mind. He was almost there. Gasping, broken, lips dry."Just a little more."The light grew closer. One more step—just one more—and then...
***
"Is it... morning?"The voice was weak, still heavy with sleep. Alfi had just woken up, unsure where he was.He looked around. Nothing felt familiar. He was in a bed."What am I doing here?"He didn't recognize the place.Was this a trap?He wasn't sure.
He examined the room more closely. It was a bedroom—simple in design—but filled with paintings, sketches, and artistic creations.He stepped out of bed, curious, drawn in by the strange atmosphere.Each piece radiated emotion. The room felt like a living memory.
Then one drawing caught his eye—completely different from the others.Most of the artwork gave off warmth, joy, comfort. But this one...It was the exact opposite.
It was painted entirely in black—just one single color.It didn't even look like a painting. More like a symbol.It depicted a stick-figure, like a child might draw—but this one had two heads.Its body looked like it was splitting into two, torn in different directions—but still somehow one and the same."What could it mean?"Alfi stood frozen in front of it, questions swirling in his head. He wanted to understand the reason behind such a piece.
That's when he heard it—a heavy noise.Startled, he turned toward the door.
Just as he reached for the handle, it opened—And standing there was an old man, holding a tray.The two stared at each other, both surprised.
The man looked to be in his sixties.He smiled gently and, locking eyes with Alfi, said in a soft voice:"Since you're awake, young man, how about joining us for breakfast? Your friend is waiting downstairs."
Alfi nodded quietly. The old man turned and walked ahead, Alfi following close behind.
The old man moved slowly, still holding the tray, humming a quiet tune.As Alfi looked around, he realized—they were in a manor.Was the old man a butler? Did he live alone? So many questions again flooded his mind.
The house was big. Grand even.But it felt... empty.Maybe he really did live alone.
Curious, Alfi slowly approached and took a breath, trying to speak clearly—"Excuse m—"
But before he could finish—
"Nooo—not that!!"A scream. Loud. Familiar.A voice crying for help.It was his brother.
Den was calling out to him.