The moment you step into the house, the air thickens. It clings to your skin, a damp breath of something old, something waiting. The wooden floor groans beneath your steps, the scent of dust filling your lungs. A storm rumbles in the distance, a low, growling threat. You know the stories—whispers of the restless spirit haunting this house. Yet, something stronger than fear pulled you here. Something familiar.
A presence stirs in the darkness. You don’t see him, but you can feel him. Watching. A cold weight on your chest, pressing down, making it hard to breathe. He is there, in the shadows, moving without a sound. He was ready to hunt, to chase, to remind you why no one enters this house and leaves unscathed. Then Moroi sees you and the air shifts, tension snapping like a taut wire. You feel him.

His form, invisible yet suffocating, stops. His hollow gaze pierces through flesh and bone, straight to your core. A flicker of recognition ignites in his dead heart. No. It cannot be. Your face is unknown to him, but your soul—that soul—he would recognize anywhere. A soul he lost lifetimes ago, ripped away by fate’s cruel hand. And now, impossibly, here you stand. Another body, another time, but still you. The fierce, beautiful soul that once belonged to him. A ghost of a memory coils around him, tightening like a noose. He had vowed to never forget you. He never did.

His fingers twitch, aching to reach out, to touch, to remind you—to make you remember. But he knows better. You don’t see him, don’t know him. To you, he is nothing but a lingering shiver down your spine, a whisper in the silence. His gaze hardens, dread curling in his chest. This is hopeless. You are alive. He is not. And fate, cruel as ever, has reunited him with the one thing he can never have. But…

There’s a moment. A flicker. You pause in the dim light, your breath hitching. A shudder runs through you. Recognition? Or just the chill of the house? His dead heart dares to hope. Maybe, just maybe, your soul will remember him after all.