Ronald stared at me until I looked back at him. "What?"

  Ronald pointed at the floor; my gaze pulled once again to the etched symbols on the floor.

  They pulsed. Rhythmically.

  The once-faint lines now gleamed with a low, silver radiance, humming like breath from another world. The room itself felt alive, pressing in around us with a suffocating intensity that made my skin crawl.

  Warnings? Or... Memories of all those transmigration mangas I used to read surfaced. I shook my head. Nah. That only happens in fiction. This is reality!

  "What are these symbols? Do you know, Llyne?" Ronald's voice quivered slightly.

  I tapped my chin. Should I scare this little adorable hamster? I took a peek and saw Ronald crouching on the ground, eyes shut. I chuckled and shrugged. Let's not. I'm not that cruel. I'll just trick him after we are out of the haunted house.

  I knelt, reaching out.

  The moment my fingers traced the edge of a curve, something cold stirred under my skin.

  "Hmm... Ancient and cryptic text?" My mind raced with possibilities. "Maybe Isaac knows."

  But how do I let Isaac see?

  Ronald nodded, but I could see the grip he had on his own courage, if he ever had one, was slipping. He stared at the glow like it might suddenly reach out and drag him under.

  "Let's search the area for more clues," I offered quickly, rising to my feet. "We need more context."

  But the second those words left my mouth, Ronald threw himself at me.

  "Don't tell me we're going to split up and search for clues. I don't want to!" Ronald gripped me tightly. "I'll die from terror!"

  A small chuckle escaped me despite the tension in the air.

  Such a big build with such a scaredy cat heart. Moe gap!

  I shuffled his hair. "No, Ronald. We won't be splitting up. I promise we'll stick together." I pulled him to his feet. "Two is better than one."

  His grip didn't loosen, but his eyes softened, and we moved again.

  I pulled a second torchlight from my inventory and flicked it on with a satisfying click. The new beam pierced the gloom like a blade, casting long shadows that slithered and crawled across the walls.

  "Taste my purification power, demon!" I crackled with fury. Ronald, on the other hand, loosened his grip and slowly shifted away from me, but not too far.

  The symbols did not change when we passed them. They simply remained, silent and patient, as if the house itself had decided to remember us.

  The crows outside never stopped, settling deep in the air around us.

  Their caws seeped through wood and stone. I could almost feel them on my shoulders, restless and watchful, murmuring nonsense I didn't want to understand.

  The wings shifted a fraction after the sound reached us.

  "Llyne... I'm really scared." Ronald's voice was barely above a whisper now.

  "It will be fine," I said. The words came out of habit. "Once we meet Rona, we'll race ourselves out of here."

  Of course, not without tasting this haunted house's local delicacy. I eyed the crows outside and smacked my lips.

  Ronald's nervous laugh came too fast. It didn't last long.

  Caw. Caw. Caw.

  The crows cried out again. Louder. Hungrier.

  "Yeeek! What's that?!" Ronald's grip around my arms tightened.

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  I held back a laugh. Barely. Replied with a smirk. "Emergency food supplies."

  "...Emergency... food supply?" He blinked. His hands flew to his mouth, eyes blinking. "Eh?! You're going to eat those innocent crows?!"

  Innocent? Did he forget those beaks nearly pierced our torsos moments ago? Aiyaiyai!

  I gave him a deadpan reply. "If they have meat, they're food." Without waiting for Ronald's next word, I started walking again.

  Ronald sped forward, catching up to me. "But you just said crows hold grudges."

  "If we eat them all, who's left to hold a grudge?" I shrugged. "So let's press on. I'm getting hungry."

  Ronald stopped in his tracks. That sounds very wrong. Very criminal. Hands clasped together, praying for forgiveness.

  Meanwhile, I turned and walked back, wrapped one of my arms around his, and pulled him forward. Ronald didn't struggle and he continued to pray.

  We stepped into the next hall. The corridor stretched long and narrow, swallowed by silence so complete our footsteps felt too loud against it.

  The torchlight cut through the dark, carving moving shadows across the walls like strokes on a restless canvas. Every step forward seemed to make the space shift slightly around us.

  The corridor felt slightly longer than I remembered, though I could not tell whether it was the space changing or my own sense of distance faltering.

  Ronald's cheeks trembled, "Do you feel that?"

  Our eyes looked at each other. Should we turn back?

  The thought was small. Quiet. Yet somewhere behind us, a faint draft moved.

  Paintings lined both sides of the corridor.

  Portraits of nobles and strangers. Grim men with tired eyes. Noblewomen frozen in poised grace. All held in their frames, unmoving.

  Their eyes didn't follow us. Not really. But it felt like they did. And some… felt too alive to be only paint.

  "This reminds me of the third test," I muttered, voice low. "I hope no earthquakes or weird hands are coming out of the paintings."

  "Don't worry." Ronald stood straighter, voice rising slightly. "I'll protect you, Llyne."

  "Thanks, Ronald. I know you will." I shuffled closer to him. Safe.

  We kept walking. We browsed each painting as if we were at an art museum. I sniffed, poked, and drew doodles with my finger. Each painting was left with imaginary doodles.

  Now they don't look that scary.

  I moved to the next painting.

  For a moment, I thought the man inside the frame blinked. Not at me. Before I could think, my legs moved on.

  Moustache, winks, stars, kissy faces, pink bows. Every nonsense stuff I could think of was drawn on each painting.

  I continued with the rest until I saw the next one. My finger froze mid-air.

  "Hmm? That man is…" My eyes locked on one particular painting.

  An old man sat on a throne of dark, aged stone, its crimson velvet cushions worn thin by time.

  The tall backrest carried faded royal motifs, once proud symbols of a kingdom that had outlived its glory.

  He wore a formal black suit that sat oddly against the ancient seat, as though modern time had been placed on something far older.

  Stringy gray hair clung loosely around his head, paired with a long, thin beard that reached past his chest. His face was deeply wrinkled, every line carved by years rather than age alone.

  Despite being human, there was a stillness about him. Like a man who had sat on that throne long enough to become part of it.

  "Masta." The voice came out of my mouth in a whisper. A cold wind brushed past my hair and tickled my ear.

  He reminded me instantly of the senile Master. Only this one has more flesh on his bones. And deeper, hollower eye sockets.

  "Why is the Master's portrait here?" I whispered, more to myself than Ronald.

  Then I noticed another figure standing beside him. A butler in a perfectly pressed dark coat. Posture straight. Motionless.

  His eyes were a deep, unnatural red. Calm. Eyes looking far beyond the corridor rather than at us.

  Then I noticed something wrong with the painting.

  His white gloves held a porcelain teacup on a silver saucer. Steam rose from it in slow, deliberate threads.

  It was moving.

  The steam did not disperse. It only curled upward in a steady rhythm. Breathing. I leaned closer, rubbing my eyes once.

  Then...

  A scream suddenly cut through the air behind me.

  "AARRGGGHHHH!"

  I turned and saw Ronald was sprawled on the floor, eyes wide, trembling. I rushed to his side in seconds.

  "Ronald, what happened? Are you hurt?"

  He didn't speak. He just pointed. And I looked. A painting. A family.

  Two adults; one man, one woman. Their expressions were carved with quiet strength and solemn regret. Between them stood a younger woman, no older than I.

  Something about her… her presence. Her eyes. The silence thickened as I looked at Ronald.

  There was a sad, faraway look in his eyes like someone who had just remembered what it felt like to lose something irreplaceable.

  The same look I wore when I lost Ma.

  My gaze shifted to the dusty family portrait on the wall. That's when I realized...

  "M-my family..." Ronald's voice cracked. "Their portrait. It's there."

  I rose slowly and approached it.

  Their clothes were modern. Their faces, familiar. The expressions on the canvas reached into me and gripped something I hadn't expected to feel.

  And in the bottom corner of the painting, faint script caught my eye. Small. Elegant. Precise.

  "...These are... dates?"

  Ronald stepped beside me. His voice broke as he whispered, "That's the date of each of my family members'... deaths."

  I stared. I placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Death...dates? Ronald... he... how...?

  "Time as well." His voice was barely more than breath. "I was still a child then, but… I remember it clearly."

  The silence that followed was cold and absolute.

  The painting did not change. The dates remained. The smiles remained. The house remained.

  But Ronald's world, his past, had just been laid bare by the very walls of this place.

  And now I know. This house wasn’t interested in showing illusions. It was showing the truth instead.

  Truth.

  Buried quietly inside the shadows. And we hadn’t even reached the end of the corridor.