Chapter 2: The Innkeeper
Mikel's heart raced as he approached the door, the glow of the inn's lights more inviting than anything he had ever seen. The storm howled behind him, a wild, chaotic force, but here, inside the warmth of the inn, everything felt… peaceful. His hand trembled as it reached for the door, and the second it touched the brass handle, the wind seemed to die down. The storm, though fierce outside, had been banished by the inn's presence, as though the very building itself kept the violence at bay.
With a deep breath, Mikel turned the handle and pushed open the door. The warmth hit him like a wave, and he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the rich, earthy scent of wood and herbs. The interior of the inn was a contrast to the storm outside—cozy and inviting. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. The furniture was made of dark oak, polished and well-maintained, and there was a softness to the atmosphere, as though the place had been here for centuries, watching the world change around it while remaining untouched.
Mikel paused in the doorway, taking it all in. His wet clothes clung to him uncomfortably, and he realized how cold he had become. But the warmth of the inn was already working its magic, soothing his chilled skin. He stepped inside, feeling the door shut behind him with an almost silent finality.
The room was empty, save for one person standing behind the counter. He was tall, his features sharp and angular, with dark eyes that seemed to observe everything with an unsettling intensity. His hair, though dark, was streaked with strands of silver, and his clothes, though simple, were impeccably well-kept—fine dark fabric that looked both worn and timeless. There was something ageless about him, like he had been there forever and would remain long after everything else had faded.
"Welcome," the man said, his voice smooth, with a calmness that sent a shiver down Mikel's spine. "I've been expecting you."
Mikel froze. The words struck him like a jolt of electricity. He hadn't said anything—hadn't even given his name—but somehow, the man knew who he was. The chill returned to Mikel's bones, though not from the weather.
The innkeeper's eyes never left him. They were dark, unreadable, and yet, Mikel felt as if the man could see right through him—through the layers of doubt, regret, and shame that Mikel carried with him.
"I—" Mikel cleared his throat, his voice hoarse from the cold. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was caught in the storm. I—I need a place to rest for the night."
The innkeeper's lips twitched, as if he were suppressing a smile, though his expression remained mostly neutral. "It is no intrusion, traveler. This is a place for those who are lost, for those who need shelter. You are welcome here. But you must understand, the price for staying is not always what it seems."
Mikel's brows furrowed. "Price?"
The innkeeper nodded, his gaze still fixed on him, unwavering. "Yes. Every choice comes with a cost, though it is often not a price you would expect to pay. For some, it is their time. For others, their memories. And for a few, it is their very soul."
Mikel felt a cold prickle on the back of his neck, but the warmth of the fire, combined with the exhaustion of his journey, made it impossible to leave. He had no other choice. His body ached with fatigue, and his mind was too weary to question this strange place any longer. He needed rest, even if only for one night.
"I understand," Mikel said slowly. "I'll pay whatever price is required."
The innkeeper's smile widened, but it wasn't a comforting smile. There was something distant, almost detached about it, as if the man had seen countless travelers come and go, and none of them had left the way they came.
"Very well," the innkeeper said, stepping from behind the counter. His movements were smooth, almost effortless, as he led Mikel down a narrow hallway that seemed to stretch far longer than Mikel had expected. The walls were adorned with dark paintings—portraits of people he didn't recognize, some with sorrowful expressions, others with smiles that didn't reach their eyes. The air felt heavy with their presence, as though the inn held more secrets than Mikel could ever hope to uncover.
They passed a few doors, each one closed, but as they moved farther down the hall, Mikel began to feel that odd sensation again—the feeling that he was being watched, not just by the innkeeper, but by something… else. It was as though the very walls of the inn were alive, observing him, waiting for something.
Finally, they arrived at a door at the end of the hallway. The innkeeper placed his hand on the doorknob and gave Mikel a long, measured look.
"This is your room," the innkeeper said. "Rest well, traveler. Tomorrow, you will begin to understand the true nature of this place."
Mikel nodded, though his throat tightened, and his mind screamed for him to ask more questions. He wanted to know what this place was, why he had been drawn here, and what kind of price he would pay for shelter. But the words seemed to die in his throat as he stepped into the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Inside, the room was surprisingly simple. A large four-poster bed with dark, velvet curtains stood in the center, the sheets rumpled but inviting. A fire blazed in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, and a small table with two chairs sat near the window, which looked out into the rain-soaked woods beyond. But it was the walls that caught his attention.
There were no mirrors in the room—nothing to reflect his image. Instead, the walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, each one depicting scenes from an unfamiliar world. The figures in the tapestries seemed almost lifelike, as though they were moving just at the edge of Mikel's vision. His eyes lingered on one tapestry in particular, one that showed a woman standing in a field, her eyes wide with fear.
Mikel shook his head, trying to dismiss the unsettling feeling creeping over him. He needed sleep—needed rest. Tomorrow, he would figure this place out.
But as his body collapsed onto the bed, the whispers began. Soft at first, like the rustling of leaves in the wind, but growing louder—until they seemed to echo through the walls of the room.
Mikel's eyes snapped open. The room was silent, but the feeling of being watch haven't gone away
He closed his eyes again willing his self to sleep
Little did he know that the inn was watching him