Phantom curled around Ivaan's body, one hand at his neck, the other resting heavy on his shoulder.
"Don't you forget me ,master" it whispered soft as breath, heavy as grief.
Ivaan's eyes turned blank, lifeless. No expression remained, only a red hue like blood clouding his gaze. Thoughts churned in his mind like rusted gears.
"I hate this. Why do I keep ending up in places like this?"
He parted his lips."What's all this drama for? It's not like I wanted to come here."
His steps didn't falter.
The phantom left behind a faint smile beneath the ghost's cloak but it wasn't truly visible. Ivaan walked forward, slow but steady, the sound of his boots echoing through the ruined halls. Shadows unraveled behind him like ink in water.
"I can't forget," he muttered to himself. "Even if I wanted to."
Shadows curled at the edges of memory like peeling parchment. And then they appeared.
Two children.
A boy and a girl, dancing barefoot over cracked stones in nightgowns the boy in blue, the girl in pink, spinning like falling stars. Their laughter echoed like the fading song of spring. Their faces blurred as if smurged by time, but their voices rang clear.
"Catch me!" the girl shouted, her ribbon trailing behind her like a comet's tail.
"I always do!" the boy called back, chasing her with a wooden sword clutched tightly.
Ivaan's eyes dulled. Their laughter didn't warm him but it twisted something deep inside. He gripped his obsidian sword tighter. The blade gave off a faint, eerie glow.
"Tsk. Just pathetic whispers."he don't like his memories.
He stepped into the room. The walls were cracked, the air thick with dust. Moonlight poured through a hole in the roof, casting a cold silver glow across the floor and over a broken vase embroidered with roses.
"She liked that," Ivaan whispered, his eyes softening for a second.
In the center of the room, the two children sat silently, backs turned, playing with wooden toys a faceless doll and a broken soldier. They didn't speak. Just moved, slowly, like ghosts in a loop.
He frowned.
Then, without warning, he raised his sword and slashed down at the curtain draping an old bed.
The fabric tore easily and collapsed in a heap.
Behind it no one. Only deep claw marks etched into the wall, like someone had tried to escape long ago and left behind its trace.
The laughter stopped.
At the far end of the room, a door pulsed faintly with power. Strange magic circles glowed across its surface, alive and breathing. Long claw marks tore through the wood aged, deep, angry.
He approached.
His fingers traced the scars.
"Sharp," he murmured. "But old. Engraved deep… not recent many years have passed."
His eyes slid to the keyhole twisted and ancient.
The sword in his hand melted like black glass, reshaping into a cold, obsidian key.
He inserted it into the lock.
The glowing circles began to spin, humming softly as they moved, alive with ancient magic. A hiss of black smoke curled around his feet.
Then with a low groan the gothic door creaked open.
And there it stood.
A cloaked figure waited in the dark.
"You came back, Master. I thought you would never return."
Ivaan growled, "Why all this drama?"
The cloaked ghost replied calmly, "It's my duty, Master to hold on to stories, to memories… so they are not forgotten by you ,me or anyone."
Ivaan stepped forward, his black cloak flowing behind him like smoke.
He said nothing.
His gaze stayed sharp and unreadable.it was a library for whispers who lived here long time ago.
The library unfolded in every direction shelves stacked high above, some suspended midair by chains that swayed as if breathing.
Time did not move here.
At the top, he moved with care.
His gloved hand skimmed along book spines some bound in leather, some bone, others in stranger, older things. He stopped before a shelf etched in silver and pulled free a faintly glowing volume.
As he did, another book beside it slipped.
It began to fall.
But before it hit the ground, Ivaan caught it effortlessly.
The moment it touched his hand, it opened on its own.
Ink bloomed across its pages like smoke.
A glow rose from the center, forming the image of a woman with long, flowing blue hair. Beside her stood a small girl, clutching her hand. The child's face was hidden by shadow but her expression was clear.
Ivaan shut the book instantly.
The image turned to ash and vanished between the pages.
Then he felt it.
Something was watching.
He turned.
One tome on the shelf stood apart. Its surface pulsed like old skin. In its center, a single eye open, alive. It blinked. Slowly.
And stared directly at him.
Ivaan didn't flinch.
Without hesitation, he reached for it.
---
Elsewhere…
Diana twisted in her sleep, tangled in sweat soaked blankets. Her breath came in shallow gasps.
"Huff… huff…"
Her body shivered, though the room was warm.
In her nightmare, she stood in a dark, empty room barefoot, no older than six. Silence hung thick. Cold crept along the floor like mist.
She turned in slow circles, wide-eyed, trembling.
Then
She screamed.
"Help! Help! M-Mumma! Deddy!"
Her voice echoed, but no one answered.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Then a hand reached out from the darkness.
It touched her shoulder. Warm. Steady. Real.
A voice followed, smooth like melted honey.
"Everything will be fine, Diana."