Yohan Kant stood outside Atis Albet's room, staring at the door with a mixture of apprehension and determination. The narrow staircase of the building was dark, only a dim light escaping from the room, through the gap beneath the door, made it possible to even see his steps. It was horrowing, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional creak of old wood.
Yohan's long coat hung heavily on his stooping shoulders, its edges frayed by years of wear. His hat was slightly askew, a testament to his distracted state. In one hand, he held an office bag; in the other, a cigarette.
He hesitated. Thoughts swirled in his mind like a storm, an uncontrollable tide of regret, suspicion, and duty. He knew he had to do this—whatever "this" was now. The feeling in his chest was more than dread; it was a gnawing sense of inevitability.
Yohan lit his cigarette with trembling fingers, the orange glow briefly illuminating his face, lined with exhaustion and shadowed with unease. As he took a drag, he reached out to the door, his movements deliberate but reluctant.
The motion sent a faint metallic clinking echoing from inside his coat, the sound a jarring reminder of something hidden. Something he hoped he wouldn't need.
Knock. Knock.
The sound reverberated down the hallway, louder in the stillness than he intended. He waited, listening intently, his ears straining for any response. But the silence remained unbroken. No footsteps. No voice. Not even the faintest hint of movement from within.
Yohan frowned, his cigarette hovering near his lips. He knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. A chill ran down his spine as his grip on the bag tightened.
Then…it came.
The whispers.
They were sudden, intrusive, and impossible to pinpoint. A cacophony of overlapping voices, distant yet unbearably close, drowning his senses in a suffocating tide. Words he couldn't understand filled his ears, each syllable a blade cutting into his mind. The cigarette fell from his lips as his knees buckled, his free hand clutching the doorframe for support.
Yohan felt himself slipping, his vision blurring as the whispers grew louder, threatening to consume him entirely. The weight of his own thoughts vanished, replaced by an all-encompassing void.
But just as quickly as they began, the whispers stopped.
He gasped for air, his chest heaving as if he had been drowning. His vision cleared, and the world around him snapped back into focus. He leaned against the wall, his entire body trembling. There was a new emotion in his eyes now—horror, raw and unfiltered.
"I shouldn't have come here," he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky. His instincts screamed at him to leave, to turn around and never look back. This was a mistake. A monumental, irreversible mistake.
Gathering his resolve, Yohan pushed himself upright. He turned, ready to flee the cursed building, to escape whatever presence had just grazed his mind. But before he could take a step—
Click.
The sound of the door unlocking froze him in place.
Slowly, the door creaked open, its hinges groaning like a wounded animal. Yohan's breath caught in his throat as he stared into the darkness beyond. The air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on him like an unseen force.
Then, a voice.
"Markiv…?"
It was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the silence with an eerie clarity.
Yohan didn't respond. He couldn't. His legs refused to move, his body paralyzed by fear. A figure emerged from within the room, the candle light burning it's way to the staircase.
Atis Albet stepped forward, her silhouette faintly illuminated. Her face was pale, her eyes sunken, and her expression unreadable. She looked at Yohan with a gaze confused.
"Sir…?" she asked. But before she could finish what she had begun to speak, she paused.
CLICK!
Yohan had plunged his hand under the cover of his coat. He pulled it out.
A revolver.
A finely crafted peice of art, a weapon of eminent death. The barrel gleamed in the dim light coming from the room while the polished walnut grip, gleamed in a faded sense. It was covered in sweat from his palms. Upon it were engraved symbols of mystical connotations. Sun, moon and …Stars.
He pointed it towards Atis' forehead.
She took a step back in horror. But sound came not from her mouth. Only a ragged breathing was heard.
Doubt, smeared on in her eyes. She looked back into the professor's. And saw a resolute madness. He was not Joking!
Her hands shivered in panic. And just as she was about to scream.
BANG…BANG! BANG!
He pressed it. Thrice…