Silas spun around, heart racing, as a faint whisper brushed against his ears.
His sharp gaze darted across the room, but all he saw was the mess—a jumbled chaos of scattered clothes, books, and trinkets.
He stood still for a moment, shoulders tense, before muttering under his breath, almost as if to steady himself. "It's nothing. Just… my imagination."
Yet, his unease lingered. Silas wasn't good with order—he hated it, not for the effort it demanded, but for the way it forced him to confront his thoughts. Chaos, in a strange way, was comforting.
He took a deep breath and scanned the room again, more slowly this time. But no matter how hard he looked, there was nothing out of place—other than the usual disaster of his belongings.
"It's just paranoia," he muttered, forcing himself to believe it.
With a reluctant sigh, he crouched to pick up the clothes littered across the floor. The silence in the room felt suffocating, and his own voice, now a low murmur, was the only sound breaking through.
"What happened last night? How did it end like this?"
He grimaced at the thought, shaking his head as if to banish the fragments of memory trying to surface.
As he folded a crumpled shirt, a loud voice from outside shattered the uneasy quiet.
"Silas! Oi, Darkwynd! Let's go!"
The abruptness of it made him flinch. He moved to the window, pushing back the heavy curtain. Standing outside was a boy—about nineteen—with unruly black hair and an impatient stance.
Before Silas could respond, another voice called out from within the house.
"Silas! Rudric's waiting for you!" Mai's tone was sharp but familiar, laced with just enough irritation to make him sigh.
Rudric. So that's the guy's name, Silas thought, a flicker of recognition breaking through his lingering haze.
"I heard him!" Silas called back, his voice louder now, though the frustration in it wasn't entirely directed at Mai.
He grabbed a gray shirt from his bed and shrugged it on, reaching for the dark robe hanging on the door. The fabric felt heavier than usual, as if weighted by the unresolved questions swirling in his mind.
Silas glanced once more at his room, now tidier but far from calm, before stepping outside. His face betrayed nothing, but beneath the surface, unease simmered, coiling tighter with every passing moment.
First Floor
Silas descended the stairs carefully. When he opened the door, he found Rudric leaning casually against the wall outside. There was a hint of impatience in his sharp gaze.
"Silas, come on. It's already late in the day," Rudric said, his tone carrying a faint edge of irritation.
Silas froze in the doorway, his heart pounding. Damien, who was impersonating Silas, felt a surge of panic. Unsure of what to say, he opted to feign forgetfulness.
"Where?" he asked, his voice faltering slightly.
Rudric raised an eyebrow, his disbelief evident. "What? How could you forget?"
His tone grew sharper, frustration seeping through. "Just yesterday, you were the one who insisted we visit the abandoned mansion of that Dutchman, Evoce."
Silas blinked, the words triggering something deep in his memory. He stood still, his mind racing to piece together fragmented recollections.
"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed suddenly, a nervous smile forming on his lips. "For another note on the concept of angels and devils, right?"
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he tried to maintain composure. He now remembered—a page from his old diary that mentioned the mansion. It had hinted at a possible connection to their research.
Rudric's expression softened, though his eyes remained watchful. "Exactly. My father asked us to investigate the place. But," he added firmly, "we need to leave before sunset."
"Why?" Silas asked, curiosity tightening in his chest.
Rudric sighed, his jaw tightening slightly. After a moment of hesitation, he replied, "I'll explain in the carriage."
Realizing there was no point in pushing further, Silas nodded. He quickly said goodbye to Mia and Kael, then closed the door behind him and followed Rudric.
---
In the Carriage
The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels on cobblestones filled the tense silence between them. Silas sat uneasily, his eyes darting to Rudric, who gazed out of the window, his features set in quiet contemplation.
"Why do we need to leave before sunset?" Silas finally asked, his voice cutting through the stillness.
Rudric turned his head slowly, his sharp eyes meeting Silas's. His usually calm expression now carried a shadow of unease.
He then leaned back against the carriage seat, his fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm on his knee.
"The mansion of Evoce isn't just abandoned, Silas," he said, his voice low and measured. "There are… stories about it. Whispers of people who went there and never came back. They say something changes after sunset."
Silas tilted his head, curiosity and unease warring within him. "What kind of stories?"
Rudric's lips pressed into a thin line. "Legends, mostly. Tales of shadows moving on their own, voices calling your name even when no one else is there. My father believes the mansion is connected to the phenomena we're researching—angels, devils, and the spaces in between."
(The diaries mentioned this..)
"Phenomena?" Silas echoed, leaning forward slightly. "You mean the anomalies we recorded in the eastern villages? The vanishing boundaries, the fractured timelines?"
Rudric nodded, his expression darkening. "Exactly. Evoce was once a scholar, like us. His mansion might hold answers, but it's dangerous. That's why we must leave before sunset. It's when the mansion's aura… shifts. Whatever lies within becomes more active after dark."
Silas's unease deepened, though he masked it behind a veil of skepticism. "So, you're saying a haunted mansion might hold the answers we're looking for?" His tone carried a faint edge of sarcasm.
Rudric's gaze sharpened, his voice hardening. "I don't care if you believe me, Silas. What matters is that you stay alert. This isn't just another puzzle to solve. My father's warnings aren't idle."
The weight in Rudric's voice sent a chill creeping down Silas's spine. He turned his gaze to the window, watching as the landscape shifted from the bustling energy of town to the desolate stillness of the countryside. The barren fields and gnarled trees seemed to stretch toward the carriage, as if whispering secrets too dark to utter aloud.
"Fine," Silas said after a long pause, his voice quieter, though steady. "I'll take it seriously."
The rest of the journey passed in tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels. When the mansion finally came into view, the sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the land.
It stood atop a hill, its silhouette jagged and unwelcoming. Blackened stone walls, shattered windows, and a wrought iron gate hanging askew on rusted hinges painted a grim portrait of abandonment and decay.
Silas felt a tightness coil in his chest, but he forced himself to speak. "Well, it certainly looks like the kind of place where trouble thrives."
Rudric chuckled dryly, though there was no humor in it. "Trouble? That's putting it mildly."
The carriage came to a halt with a jolt. As they stepped out, a sharp wind whipped through the air, carrying with it a faint, almost imperceptible whisper.
Silas paused, his gaze shifting to Rudric, who was already striding toward the crooked gate. "Let's not waste time," Rudric called over his shoulder. "We need to finish before nightfall."
For a brief moment, Silas hesitated, a sliver of doubt rooting him in place. But then, with a steadying breath, he followed. The sun sank lower, and the shadows stretched farther, reaching like grasping hands as the two figures ventured closer to the mansion.
As Silas and Rudric pushed open the old, unlocked door, it creaked ominously, the sound echoing through the still air. The mansion's interior greeted them with an eerie stillness, as though time itself had paused. Despite its obvious age, the furnishings appeared almost untouched. Dust hung in the air, catching the light filtering through cracked, stained-glass windows, but the room itself was immaculate.
Silas swept his gaze over the space, his brow furrowed in quiet bewilderment. "...As if someone's been taking care of this place," he muttered, his voice barely audible, as if afraid to disturb the silence.
Rudric scoffed, brushing a cobweb off his shoulder. "More like the place is frozen in time," he said, his voice louder than necessary, breaking the unsettling calm.
They moved deeper into the mansion, their footsteps soft against the faded carpet. Silas found his attention drawn to the walls, where a series of paintings hung in pristine condition. The colors were vibrant, the brushstrokes sharp and clear, as though the artist had finished them only yesterday.
One painting in particular stopped him cold. It depicted a man with gray hair neatly combed back and piercing blue eyes that seemed to follow him. The figure's expression was inscrutable, teetering between calm and authority. Silas's breath caught as recognition struck.
"Evocation," he murmured, the word tumbling from his lips like a half-forgotten memory. He couldn't look away from the man's eyes—they seemed to pull him in, demanding something of him.
"Silas! Get over here!" Rudric's voice rang out from somewhere deeper in the house, jolting him from his thoughts.
The sound came from the third room down the hallway.
---
Silas stepped into the room and was met with an uncanny chill. The air felt heavier here, as though the walls themselves were watching. Rudric stood near the far wall, his head bent over a strange set of symbols etched into the plaster. They looked ancient, their lines jagged and sharp, but there was a strange elegance to them, as though they had been carved with purpose.
"Look at this," Rudric said, his voice a mix of excitement and unease. He crouched down, sketching the symbols into his notebook with careful strokes. "You don't see something like this every day. It's... ancient, right? Probably worth something, too."
Silas approached slowly, his eyes fixed on the symbols. They seemed to hum with a faint energy, as though they were more than just marks on a wall. He shivered but forced himself to remain calm.
"It's strange," Silas muttered, his voice low. He felt a creeping sense of unease but couldn't deny the fascination tugging at him.
"Strange?" Rudric glanced up, grinning. "This is more than strange—it's incredible."
---
Unable to shake the sense that there was more to this place, Silas wandered further into the mansion. He found himself drawn to a small room off the main corridor. Inside, the air was stale, thick with the scent of mildew. A desk sat in the center, its surface buried under a haphazard pile of grimy, yellowed papers.
He hesitated before stepping inside. The room felt... wrong, as though it hadn't been disturbed for centuries. But curiosity drove him forward. Silas carefully picked up one of the papers, brushing away layers of grime. The ink had faded, but faint lines of text were still visible.
As he tried to decipher the words, every creak of the floorboards made his heart race. The room felt oppressive, the silence pressing down on him like a weight.
"Boo."
Silas spun around, the paper slipping from his hands. Rudric stood in the doorway, a wide grin plastered across his face.
"Damn it, Rudric!" Silas snapped, his chest heaving. "What's wrong with you?"
"Relax, it's just me," Rudric said, holding up his hands. "You're way too jumpy." He glanced at the desk. "What's all this? Can you read any of it?"
Silas exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Not yet. They're too filthy. I need time to clean them." He crouched to retrieve the paper he'd dropped. "But... these might be important. Really important."
Rudric leaned closer, his brow furrowing. "Important how?"
Silas didn't answer right away. His fingers brushed over the faded words. "I don't know yet. But I have a feeling."
The two worked in tense silence, gathering the papers. The quiet was thick, broken only by the occasional sound of rustling pages. Then—
Bang!
The door they had left ajar slammed shut with a force that rattled the room. Both men froze, their eyes snapping to the door.