You ran. Your breath came in short, panicked gasps, the weight of what you’d discovered pressing down like iron chains. The Crown Province was hunting you now—those in power wouldn’t forgive knowledge that could topple them. Every step against the cracked, uneven earth felt like a countdown. You pushed forward, away from the city, into the abandoned outskirts where the empire’s influence thinned, and silence hung thick like smoke.

Hours passed. The landscape warped into a strange, empty desolation. Twisted remnants of buildings jutted from the ground at odd angles; rusted metal and broken stone crunched beneath your feet. Through the haze, you spotted a house. Tall and looming, its jagged spires clawed at the overcast sky, windows dark and blank like watching eyes. It seemed to lean toward you, patient and silent, as if it had been waiting for something—or someone.

Your hand rose to the door. The wood was cold, rough, splintered in places, and the air smelled of damp rot and dust. Before you could knock, the door creaked open on its own. You stumbled inside, heart hammering, and the air shifted—stale, heavy, and oppressive.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by gray light filtering through grime-streaked windows. Dust hung in the air, particles drifting lazily in the silence. The walls were lined with shelves, but the objects on them were unsettling: old newspapers, cracked photographs, jars filled with faded, unidentifiable things. Furniture was mismatched, threadbare, and stained, arranged as if someone had just left in a hurry. The house seemed alive only in the way it pressed against you, the weight of it almost tangible, suffocating.

A voice broke the silence—low, gravelly, and cold:

“Who’s there?”

The sound carried through the empty hallways, and for a moment, you realized you were utterly alone. Yet the feeling of being watched didn’t leave.

🖤