Miralen closed the door of her room behind her with a soft click. The air felt heavier tonight— like the mansion itself was breathing in silence. She walked straight to her study table and sat down, her eyes falling once again on the folded map that seemed to pulse faintly under the dim light.
"Alright, you mysterious thing," she murmured, opening her small notebook and flipping her pencil in hand, "let's see what you're hiding."
For minutes, she studied every golden line, every chess symbol— Queen, Knight, Bishop, Rook, Pawn-but nothing new revealed itself. The pattern made no sense. She tapped her pencil against the table repeatedly, frustration rising.
Tap, Tap
Then, a thought crossed her mind.
"What if..." she whispered, turning the map over.
Her breath caught.
There— on the back— were faint words etched in golden ink, almost invisible unless seen from the right angle. The letters shimmered like threads of light woven into the parchment itself. She leaned closer, reading aloud softly:
> 'When the heir's soul connects with the frozen people, it shows their memories— when they betrayed the laws of time. They take you into their world, to set themselves free. But if you fail... you will never return to your own memory.'
Her heart skipped a beat. "Connect... with the frozen people?" she repeated under her breath.
Then realization struck. "The statues," she whispered, eyes wide. "It's talking about the statues in the cathedral."
A chill ran down her spine, and she pressed a trembling hand against the map. "So I'll have to free them... but... their world? Their memories? What about them?" She leaned back, trying to process the meaning.
"This isn't just a map," she said quietly. "Maybe it's... a key."
She looked toward the window, where the sunlight filtered through it, falling in her room. "If that's true," she whispered, "then I have to go back. I have to know what this means."
For a long moment, Miralen just sat there, listening to the distant ticking of her room's clock. The air was thick with quiet-until, faintly, the same soft lullaby from before seemed to echo through her mind, distant yet familiar.
It was as if someone— or something— was calling her name.
Miralen took a deep breath and stood up, determination lighting in her eyes. "Alright, mysterious cathedral," she said under her breath with a half— smirk, "let's see what secrets you're hiding this time."
———
It was night— so silent that even the ticking clock on Miralen's wall sounded like a heartbeat.
She walked to her closet and quietly pulled out a small black backpack. It wasn't very big, but enough to hold what she needed. She placed her notebook inside— the one filled with her rough sketches and notes about the map— then slipped in a pen, a bottle of water, and finally, the map itself, still glowing faintly through its folds.
Before closing the bag, her hand hovered for a moment.
"...No, I can't forget that," she whispered, turning toward the door.
A few minutes later, Miralen tiptoed into the kitchen. The faint moonlight cut across the marble floor as she reached for the drawer and quietly pulled it open. The silver glint of a kitchen knife reflected in her eyes.
She hesitated, fingers brushing the handle.
"I hope I won't need you," she muttered under her breath, taking the knife sliding it in her pocket.
Back in her room, she slide the knife inside her backpack. She tied her hair tightly into a bun and fixed it in place with her golden hairpin— the one her father, Valerian, gifted her.
For a second, she paused in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.
"You can do this, Miralen," she whispered to herself. "Just... don't think too much."
She picked up her handkerchief, slung her backpack on her shoulders, and drew in a steady breath. The air felt heavier tonight— as if something was watching, waiting.
Slowly, she turned the doorknob and peeked into the hallway. Silence. No one was there.
Her footsteps were careful, barely audible against the carpet as she made her way to the end of the hallway. The portrait loomed before her— the same one she had stepped through before. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered near the wall beside it.
"Alright," she murmured, "here we go again."
With a quiet click, the hidden mechanism responded. The wall pressed inward, and the portrait split open like before, revealing the narrow passage behind it.
Miralen stepped inside, and the portrait closed behind her, sealing her in complete darkness— except for the faint glow ahead. Her heart was racing, but her face stayed calm.
"This path... it feels alive... just like before," she whispered, brushing her hand along the rough, cold stone as she walked.
As she neared the end of the corridor, she reached for the cathedral's massive wooden door. But something stopped her. For the first time, she really looked around— the corridor walls ended here. There was nothing beyond this point.
Her brows furrowed. "Wait..." she murmured. "If this is the end of the mansion, then how can there even be a cathedral behind this?"
She crouched slightly and examined the edges of the door.
Then she saw it— faint golden lines etched around the frame, pulsing like veins of light.
Her breath hitched. "This isn't... a door," she whispered, standing up slowly. "It's a portal."
A slow realization crept into her voice.
"So that's it— the portrait isn't just a secret path. It's the passage to this portal."
The air around her shifted, vibrating faintly. She could almost hear the distant echoes of whispers— soft, ancient, calling her name from the other side.
Miralen tightened her grip on the doorknob, her pulse loud in her ears.
She sighed softly, a determined smirk forming on her lips. "Let's see what you're hiding from me this time."
And with that, she pushed open the door.
A rush of golden light flooded the narrow passage, swallowing her whole.
(The end of chapter 6)