The graveyard fire hissed and crackled behind them, but none of the four moved. They stood still, waiting, listening, expecting something, anything. The flames licked upward, consuming the oil-soaked cloth, then sank back into embers.
Yet, there was nothing.
Sarah shifted uneasily, her voice breaking the stillness. "Err… nothing is happening."
The Oracle's grip tightened on her shovel, her expression unreadable. "Then perhaps the spirit was never bound to the shaman's corpse. We should return. Check inside. If the ritual worked, it should be weakened somewhere else in the castle, or dead maybe."
Conus gave a single nod. They retraced their steps, back through the iron door, along the stone path, and into the yawning mouth of the castle. The silence was suffocating. No whispers. No creaks. Only the echo of their own footsteps.
The stairs stretched before them, curling upward. The candle flame guttered in Owen's grip, throwing warped shapes along the walls. Conus checked the glowing digits on his system.
Three hours left.
"How do we even find the spirit if it is still alive?" Sarah's voice wavered as they climbed.
No one answered. The words had barely faded when Sarah's foot slipped. She cried out, her body pitching forward, but Conus caught her arm, steadying her before she fell.
The candle tilted. Light spilled across the step.
Blood.
It was smeared along the floor in a thick streak, the kind left by someone dragged unwillingly. The trail led away from the stairs, pulling into the deeper dark.
Conus's eyes hardened. "I guess you have your answer."
They followed.
The blood led them into a vast chamber. The air here was heavy, stale, like breath caught in a throat. Conus pushed the candlelight forward, shadows scattering to reveal the room.
Sarah's voice was hushed. "This was the Duke's room."
It might once have been opulent, but now the grandeur was smothered under dust and decay. Drapes hung torn, the bed stripped bare, and in the hollow silence came a muffled sound.
A whimper.
Conus's head snapped toward it. The light caught on two figures at the far end of the room. Both bound to chairs, heads slumped forward, ropes tight around their wrists.
Mara and Modret.
Conus's gut twisted. He had left them safe in the shrine.
"Mara!" Sarah's cry split the air as she rushed forward. She tore the gag from Mara's mouth.
Mara collapsed into sobs, her voice broken. "Modret! Please, please!" Her hands shook as she struggled against her bindings.
Conus cut her ropes with one swift motion. She surged toward the old butler, clutching his face in trembling hands. "Modret! Wake up, please!"
But his head only hung lower. His skin was pale, slack.
Conus crouched beside him, eyes narrowing at the deep cut that slit his neck. The artery severed. The pool of blood beneath the chair told the rest. He was gone.
Sarah pulled Mara back as she wailed, her cries sharp enough to pierce stone. The Oracle stepped forward, silent. She touched her forehead gently to Modret's, her eyes closing. A tear slid free, cutting down her cheek.
"You may rest now, Modret, in the warm hands of the night goddess," she whispered.
For the first time since stepping into this cursed mansion, Conus felt something stir in his chest. It was the faces of his own friends he saw, their blood on snow, their last screams burning in his mind. Anger flared like fire stoked by wind.
His voice was harsh when he turned to Mara. "What happened? Tell me everything."
Sarah bristled. "She can't! Look at her! She's not herself."
"Do you think we can afford to care for feelings right now?" Conus snapped, his voice filled with rage.
Before Sarah could bite back, Mara forced herself to speak through sobs. "After you left… Modret cared for me. My wound… I was getting better. Then, there was a knock." Her tears streaked her face. "He didn't want to open it, not after you told him not to. But it was Miran, one of the cooks. She begged us to open the door. Said Sammy was after her."
Conus's jaw clenched.
"I tried to stop him," Mara choked. "I told him not to. But he wouldn't listen. He thought she was in trouble." Her sobs broke, her shoulders trembling. "When he opened it…She fell inside with his throat already cut. Sammy was right behind her."
Owen's hand tightened around the candle. The flame bent low, wavering.
Mara's cries sharpened. "His smile… it was evil. So evil. He took us both. He dragged us here. To weaken Modret, he stabbed him."
The Oracle's face was grim. "That explains the trail."
Sarah's hands curled into fists. "And then he, he tortured him, didn't he?"
Mara nodded weakly, her voice barely holding. "He… he made me watch. Every moment. Till Modret… stopped moving." Her hands covered her face as she sobbed into them.
Conus's teeth ground together. His hands shook, not from fear, but fury.
"Where is he now?" His voice was sharp, a blade against stone.
Mara lifted her tear-swollen eyes. "After Modret died… Sammy laughed. His smile grew wider, his face twisting. He coughed blood, his skin peeling. Then he… he ran. Out. I don't know where."
The Oracle's eyes darkened. "It seems the ritual did not work. However, the host appears to be falling apart already."
Conus's gaze narrowed, sharp as a drawn dagger. "Aside from us… how many of the staff could still be alive?"
Conus's mind raced as his eyes swept across the room. He counted silently, weighing the faces, their breaths, their trembling hands. The staff members were probably all dead, except for Sammy, and the ones standing here with him.
This was it.
There was no way for Sammy to find another host without stepping into this room. The noose had tightened.
His gaze shifted to the Oracle. "How does the spirit usually change its host?"
Her brow furrowed, lips tightening before she answered. "It is… suspected to be through physical touch."
"Suspected?" Conus pressed, his tone sharper than the blade at his side.
She nodded slowly. "From what we have seen, from what I've observed over these cursed years… that is what we concluded."
Conus's jaw flexed, the faint glow of his candle catching the edge of his eyes. "Then we wait."
Sarah's breath paused. "Wait? You mean we should just stand here? Do nothing while that thing is out there?"
"Yes." Conus's voice was flat. "Its host is dying. Which means it'll come looking for a new one." He paused, his gaze cutting through them one by one. "And that means we don't have to go looking for it. We make it come to us."
The air thickened. Mara's tear-streaked face buried against Sarah's shoulder as she trembled. Owen shifted the candle slightly higher, his silence broken only by the faint rasp of his breath. The Oracle closed her eyes, whispering something too low to hear, perhaps a prayer or perhaps a curse.
Conus stood still, his dagger drawn, his body coiled tight as a shadow in waiting.
Minutes dragged like hours. Every creak of wood, every sway of candle flame made hearts leap in their throats.
Then—
A sound.
Footsteps. Slow and dragging.
From the corridor beyond the Duke's chamber.
Mara's sobs strangled into silence. Sarah tightened her arms around her, eyes wide, lips trembling. The Oracle gripped her shovel tighter, her knuckles pale. Owen shifted his stance, raising the candle higher, the light spilling into the dark mouth of the hall.
The sound grew louder. A rasping cough broke through it, followed by a sick, bubbling laugh.
"Found you…"
Sammy's voice. But it was no longer his alone. It was layered, distorted, as if two voices overlapped, one human and one impossibly wrong.
Conus raised his dagger. His tone was calm.
"Stay behind me." He said.