The next day arrived laden with thick dark clouds, not raining but blocking the light. The funeral was attended by the elite of British high society, dressed in black, bearing faces of feigned sorrow.
But Edwin... wasn't entirely present. He stood beside the closed coffin, feeling as if the air around him was too heavy to breathe. Everyone who approached him felt a strange coldness, as if death still surrounded him.
During the prayer, something unexpected happened.
A faint sound emerged from inside the coffin... a scream.
A weak scream, but real. The hall froze. Everyone turned to the coffin. The priest stopped, someone shouted, "Did you hear that?!"
Edwin moved quickly toward the coffin, but before he could touch it, the main door of the church burst open violently, and a strong wind rushed in, toppling candles and flowers, extinguishing the lights.
In the darkness, everyone heard whispers... then a soft feminine laugh. A laugh devoid of joy, but a harbinger of death.
Everyone fled in panic, leaving the coffin, Edwin, and the priest alone.
The priest, trembling, said, "This isn't natural... Lord Gregory practiced rituals... I knew that for years. He wasn't a man, but a gate."
Edwin whispered, "A gate? For what? What do you know?"
But the priest didn't answer. He just... collapsed unconscious.
When Edwin tried to help him, he noticed a strange inscription on his arm. Ancient symbols carved into his skin, glowing with a faint red light.