As the bus journey ended, Yamino and Hikaru disembarked in a quiet, desolate village. The air was thick with the scent of earth and decay. In the dim twilight, the path ahead stretched through a sprawling field of graves. Weathered tombstones jutted from the ground like jagged teeth, and the silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves.
A shiver ran down Yamino's spine. Dark thoughts clouded his mind, each one more unsettling than the last. "This place… it feels wrong," he muttered under his breath.
Hikaru walked ahead, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. "Come on," he said without looking back. "We're almost there."
The sun dipped below the horizon, and night enveloped the landscape. The faint glow of the moon provided little comfort as shadows stretched and danced across the graves. Yamino's unease grew with every step, his heart pounding like a drum. Something about the field felt alive, as if unseen eyes were watching their every move.
"Hikaru," Yamino called out, his voice wavering. "Are you sure this is safe?"
Hikaru stopped, turning to face him. The dim light cast eerie shadows on his face, making his features seem sharper, almost ghostly. "Safe?" he repeated. "Probably not. But this is our reality now, Yamino. You'll have to get used to it."
Before Yamino could respond, a soft sound reached his ears—a low, mournful wail that seemed to rise from the very ground beneath their feet. He froze, his eyes darting around the dark expanse of graves. "Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Hikaru's expression didn't change. "Keep moving," he said curtly. "We're almost there."
The wail grew louder, joined by faint whispers that seemed to come from every direction. Yamino's breath quickened, his palms damp with sweat. He quickened his pace to keep up with Hikaru, who showed no signs of stopping.
Finally, they reached the villa. It loomed before them, a dark, imposing structure that seemed to grow out of the earth itself. The building was old, its walls covered in ivy, its windows like empty eyes staring into the night. A heavy iron gate, rusted and creaking, stood open, inviting them in.
Yamino hesitated at the threshold. "This place… it's like something out of a nightmare."
Hikaru turned to him, his expression softening for the first time since they arrived. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said. "At least, not inside."
They stepped through the gate, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the overgrown grass. Hikaru pushed open the heavy wooden door, which groaned in protest. Inside, the air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of aged wood and damp stone. Candles lined the walls, their flickering light casting long shadows that seemed to dance in the corners of Yamino's vision.
Yamino closed the door behind them, leaning against it as he tried to catch his breath. "What the hell is this place? So creepy," he muttered.
Hikaru didn't answer. Instead, he began lighting more candles, their warm glow gradually filling the room. "The electricity hasn't reached this village yet," he explained. "Candles are all we have for now."
Yamino watched him, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. "Why here? Of all places, why would anyone build a villa in the middle of a graveyard?"
Hikaru paused, the flame of a candle flickering as he lit it. "This villa has been in our family for generations," he said. "There are stories about why it was built here, but… most of them are just that. Stories."
Yamino frowned. "And what about the graves? Whose are they?"
Hikaru's hand trembled slightly as he lit the final candle. "They… they're ours," he said quietly. "Our ancestors, stretching back hundreds of years. This land has always belonged to our family."
Yamino's eyes widened. "You mean… we're living in the middle of our family's burial ground?"
Hikaru nodded, his expression unreadable. "It's not as strange as it sounds," he said. "To some, it's a way of staying connected to the past. To others, it's a curse."
Yamino's mind raced as he took in his surroundings. The villa, the graves, the eerie atmosphere—everything about this place felt like a bad dream. And yet, there was something about it that drew him in, a dark allure he couldn't explain.
"Get some rest," Hikaru said, breaking the silence. "You'll need it."
"Need it for what?" Yamino asked.
Hikaru didn't answer. Instead, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Yamino alone in the flickering light of the candles. The villa's silence pressed in around him, broken only by the faint whispers that seemed to linger just beyond the edge of hearing.
As the silence stretched on, Yamino's curiosity got the better of him. He found Hikaru in the dimly lit dining room, setting up plates and a simple meal of bread, cheese, and some kind of stew. "Hikaru," Yamino began, "you mentioned stories about this place. I want to hear them."
Hikaru glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "After dinner," he said. "Eat first. You'll need your strength."
Yamino reluctantly sat down and ate in silence, the meal filling but far from comforting. The shadows on the walls seemed to grow darker with each passing minute, the villa's oppressive atmosphere bearing down on him. Finally, when the last of the dishes had been cleared away, Hikaru leaned back in his chair, his expression serious.
"Alright," Hikaru said, folding his hands on the table. "You wanted to know the story of this place? I'll tell you. But be warned, it's not a happy tale."
Yamino leaned forward, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Go on."
Hikaru's voice dropped to a near whisper, as if the walls themselves were listening. "This villa wasn't always ours," he began. "It was built long ago by a European governor who came to this land seeking fortune and power. He poured all his wealth into constructing this place, planning to use it as a retreat where he could live out his days in luxury."
"But," Hikaru continued, his gaze darkening, "before he could ever live here, he was called back to Europe to fight in a war. He never returned. Some say he died on the battlefield, while others claim he was betrayed by his own men. Either way, his body was never recovered."
Yamino felt a chill run down his spine. "And the villa? What happened to it after he died?"
Hikaru's eyes glinted in the candlelight. "That's where the story gets darker. The governor's spirit was said to have returned here, unable to rest. Over the years, strange things began to happen. People who stayed here spoke of hearing footsteps in empty rooms, of doors slamming shut on their own, and of whispers that seemed to come from the walls themselves."
Yamino swallowed hard. "And now it belongs to us?"
Hikaru nodded. "Yes. Our family acquired it generations ago. No one knows why, but it's been ours ever since. Some say the governor's spirit still lingers here, watching, waiting."
The faint wail from earlier seemed to echo in Yamino's mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the villa was alive, its secrets hidden just beneath the surface. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked softly.
Hikaru's gaze met his, steady and unflinching. "Because this is our inheritance, Yamino. For better or worse, this place is part of who we are. And it's time you understood that."