It's Tuesday, so we have alchemy class next…? Ugh, not looking forward to that…Damon thought to himself before standing and leaving the training room.
As he entered the corridor, his gaze snapped to the right. A lone window stood at the end of the hall, letting the morning sun pour across the polished floorboards.
The sky's really brightened, huh. Maybe I should just skip…Surprisingly, this was the first time such a thought had ever crossed his mind. He was usually a model student who regularly attended his lessons—provided he actually woke up on time.
If not for his habitual tardiness, his record would be flawless.
"Rain's great, but the sun isn't so bad either," Damon muttered, amused by his own sudden laziness.
Considering the alchemy lesson was being held in the only classroom on the first floor, he had to pass it to reach the stairs. He knew he had to move quickly if he wanted to slip past without being spotted by the instructor.
Striding past a few younger siblings who were walking slowly, he took a sharp right turn by the library. He was about to wheel around the next corner when a flash of light green hair came into view.
Another brother he was all too familiar with was crouched beside a redwood screen door.
The boy's blue eyes were framed by thin rectangular lenses, intently focused on a thick piece of fiction held in his lap.
"Morning, brother. You overslept again, didn't you?" Abel smiled, not even looking up from the page as he noticed the footsteps.
Damon paused, his chest tightening as he indignantly replied, "You could've woken me! That book was in my room!"
He would have vastly preferred waking up to see Abel's soft cheeks and mild demeanor instead of Vincent's sharp, mocking jaw. Since they both shared a profound love for reading, he always enjoyed spending his quiet hours in the library with Abel.
"I know," Abel replied, turning the page with deliberate, unhurried grace. "But if I always wake you, how will you ever learn?"
"Just put the book back when you're done…" Damon let out a long sigh, his irritation deflating into helpless contemplation.
In the past, whenever he accidentally fell asleep mid-chapter in the library, he had routinely used his brother as a personal alarm clock. In his defense, Abel had never refused him once, nor had he ever delegated the task to any of the other children.
As Damon cleared his thoughts, a sudden realization struck him. "Wait, why are you sitting outside anyway? Everyone's getting prepared for class."
"I know," Abel replied, his hand dipping into his brown trouser pocket. He retrieved a silver pocket watch and clicked it open with a faint smile. "I'm waiting for Henry to return this. He lent it to me so I'd know exactly when the combat lesson ended."
Instead of convincing you to join training, he just gave you a timer!?Damon had to actively resist the urge to facepalm. It was incredibly ironic considering the exasperated conversation he and Vincent had shared just moments prior regarding Abel's truancy.
At that moment, the rhythmic click-clack of metal wheels echoed down the hallway.
Ms. Windu, who served as the alchemy teacher's assistant, approached from the far end of the corridor. She was pushing a heavy metal trolley, whistling a light tune as if attempting to lure wild birds.
Beaker sets filled with unknown, colorful liquids and rows of empty glass flasks rattled against one another inside the cart. She drew near, wearing a pristine white laboratory coat over her standard monochrome maid attire.
That's my cue…
Damon hurriedly bid goodbye to Abel and ducked across the corridor, desperately seeking to avoid the woman's sharp gaze. If she caught him playing hooky, she would surely report him directly to the head office.
He quickly slid open a nearby screen door and stepped into the parlor arranged for entertaining outside guests.
Peeking through the decorative glass pane, he watched Ms. Windu stop beside Abel. Their lips fluttered in a brief, muted exchange before the woman pushed the trolley into the classroom.
Damon breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Abel waved toward his hiding spot and followed her inside.
There shouldn't be anyone else walking the corridors at this hour unless they're heading to the kitchen. The others won't rat me out, so I should be completely in the clear.Damon mused silently as the classroom door clicked shut. He quietly slipped back out into the open corridor.
The sections of the hallway nearest to the kitchen were connected to the servants' living quarters and the dining hall through four heavy oak doors. Because of this layout, the orphans rarely interacted with the staff of the house unless a formal meal was being served.
In a traditional noble household, such a boundary would mean the servants were strictly prohibited from speaking to the wards outside of their official duties.
Yet, the House of Redhill operated on an entirely different philosophy.
...
The director, Lady Morrigan, actively encouraged the staff to act casually and warmly around the children. She was unyielding in her belief that everyone living inside the three-story building should be viewed as a single, cohesive family, regardless of their background or reasons for being there.
To Damon, however, this enforced familiarity felt unnatural. It was difficult to view dozens of practical strangers as true family simply because they were kind and agreed to most of his requests.
He could barely even remember all of his siblings' names.
...
I wonder if this is what a normal family is actually like…Damon shook his head wearily, forcing the philosophical thoughts away as he continued his trek toward the grand staircase.
As he drew closer to the center of the house, the crystalline lights lining the high ceiling suddenly flickered, casting brief, sharp shadows against the walls.
The fine hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end. A slight, unnatural gust of cold air tickled his ear.
Huh?Damon's brows creased tightly. He whipped his head around, searching the corridor behind him.
There was nothing. Only the steady glow of the crystals and a completely vacant, quiet space.
"I was sure something felt off a second ago…" he muttered to the empty air.
He turned back toward the stairs, and the overhead lights began to quiver violently once more.
...
Deep within the fleeting darkness of the flickering crystals, several pairs of unblinking eyes materialized directly upon the wallpaper.
They leered at his exposed back with motionless, glassy pupils, watching with sickening amusement as the boy finally reached the foot of the steps.
...
At that exact moment, Damon stopped dead in his tracks. His pupils dilated instantly. He stared up at the red oak staircase, his heart hammering against his ribs with sudden, violent alarm.
Something is definitely wrong here!!He shouted fiercely within his own mind.
He did not know where this sudden wave of existential dread was coming from, but every survival instinct he possessed screamed that nothing good would arise if he ascended to the second floor.
Damon drew a sharp, ragged breath and wiped a cold bead of sweat trailing down his temple. Yielding to the oppressive pressure, he quickly decided to turn around and head back to the safety of the classroom.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
The moment he retraced his step, another pair of feet sounded directly behind him.
The footsteps were light, presumably belonging to a woman, yet they possessed an eerie, almost imaginary quality—echoing exactly half a second later than his own formatting.
Something is following me!
Increasing his pace, Damon did his best to ignore the auditory illusion. However, the phantom steps immediately ramped up in speed, perfectly matching his frantic new stride.
Why aren't they saying anything!? Are they going to follow me all the way to—
Before he could finish the thought, Damon's body entirely froze. Five ice-cold fingers slowly traced the sensitive skin along the side of his neck, sending a violent shiver down his spine.
How could anyone have a hand this cold without being a literal corpse!?
As a second invisible hand came to rest heavily upon the crown of his head, his mind reeled. He scrambled desperately through a mental catalog of the fantasy novels he shared with Abel, trying to find any logical explanation for what he was experiencing.
A ghost? A vengeful spirit? But those things aren't supposed to be real!
Even though he hadn't seen a soul a few seconds ago, Damon couldn't rule out the terrifying possibility that someone was playing a dastardly prank using a specialized Forte, hiding just outside his peripheral vision.
It… this can't be!!
Damon's eyes widened in sheer horror as he realized his peripheral vision was completely clear. He stood entirely alone in the hallway.
With a burst of adrenaline, he violently pivoted away from his unseen harasser and dashed down the corridor, racing like the wind.
Yet, to his absolute horror, the phantom steps simply resumed their chase, matching his sprint.
Tap! … Tap!
They pursued closely, mere inches behind his heels.
Before long, his eyes spotted a saving grace. The polished red door of the alchemy classroom—the very door he had actively avoided mere moments ago—gleamed in the distance.
If—if I can just get inside, then I…With only a few feet separating him from the threshold, his mind suddenly shifted gears in a panic.
He had completely forgotten that the strict instructor, Mrs. Wallace, always finalized the attendance sheet and securely bolted both entrance doors the exact second her lesson commenced.
I'll have to head back to the training room! It should still be open! Vincent is always late to dismiss class!
However, despite the short distance, fortune did not favor him.
The corridor seemed to stretch infinitely ahead, familiar yet suddenly alien under the violently fracturing light of the ceiling crystals. Then, the oppressive, freezing presence fell heavily upon his shoulders once more.
The distinct smell of wet, freshly turned dirt and metallic iron flooded his nostrils. The scent merged and intensified, becoming so thick and rancid it nearly made him gag.
As he tore around a right-hand corner, the illusion became so vivid he could practically see a freshly dug, open grave yawning beside him.
Something was calling to him from the dark.
Damon's boots skidded to a violent halt just before the next intersection. His instincts screamed at him that taking that path would mean absolute death. He whipped his head around with a pale, sullen expression, his eyes locking onto the nearest door to his left.
He lunged toward it and grabbed the brass handle without a second thought, completely failing to notice the small, tarnished sign nailed directly above the frame.
Do not enter without supervision.
Damon yanked the heavy door open, slipped his body into the darkness, and slammed it shut with a loud bang. He braced his entire weight against the solid wood, quieting his ragged breaths as he pressed his ear flat against the surface.
The terrifying footsteps outside seemed to instantly vanish into the void.
"Did I lose it…?" he whispered hoarsely.
Hearing no other sound besides the erratic thumping of his own heart, Damon finally turned around to survey the room he had blindly trespassed into.
All four walls and the floor were lined with sterile, white ceramic tiles. Glowing green circuit lines ran through deep grooves carved into the floor's surface, originating from a complex control panel three feet from the door and snaking across the room toward a bizarre platform resting in the dead center.
The platform resembled a massive geometric pentagon, measuring exactly ten feet across, forged from a dark, lustrous metal he couldn't recognize. Faint, intricate runes were deeply etched along its rim, glowing with the same eerie green light as the floor circuits. Directly above it, a heavy speaker box protruded from the tiled ceiling.
"What is this place? I've never—"
Bang!
Before Damon could dwell on the question, the heavy door rattled violently against his spine. His expression turned instantly ugly.
It—it found me!
Scrambling away from the threshold in a panic, he stumbled backward blindly until his elbow collided heavily with the control panel. His gaze spiraled around the featureless room as he grit his teeth, frantically searching for an alternate exit or a weapon to defend himself.
Then, a sharp metallic sound echoed through the chamber.
Click!
The sterile ceiling lights flickered once, instantly shifting from a calm white to a piercing, bleeding scarlet. A heavy alarm began to blare, low and rhythmic, sounding exactly like a heartbeat made of cold steel.
Following the siren, a flat, entirely synthetic voice crackled to life from the overhead speaker box.
"Initializing dimensional shift. Please remain calm."
Damon's blood ran entirely cold at the mechanical tone.
Dimensional… shift? What does that mean—
In an instant, the strength completely drained from his legs, and his limbs grew as heavy as solid lead. His vision blurred violently at the edges, the oppressive red light of the emergency sirens bleeding rapidly into a heavy, suffocating darkness as he struggled to keep his eyelids open.
No! I can't let this—
He had to call out. He needed to scream for Vincent. For his mother. For anyone who could hear him.
However, his throat was entirely paralyzed, producing nothing but a silent, empty gasp.
Am I dying…? No, this can't be how it ends… How I…
His knees buckled violently the more he fought to maintain his balance. The tiled floor seemed to rush upward toward his face, welcoming him into a deep, final slumber.
Someone… please…
The absolute last thing his fading consciousness registered was the green circuit lines, pulsing faster and faster until they became a solid, blinding glare.