The whispers were getting louder.
Not louder in sound.
Louder in feeling.
Like something was getting impatient.
Adriano sat awake again.
The candle near the window had already burned halfway down, its flame moving softly whenever the night wind slipped through the cracks.
Tomaso was asleep.
Signor Bianchi, too.
The whole house rested peacefully while Adriano stared into the dark as if it held answers hidden within.
And maybe it did.
Because every time he closed his eyes now—
He saw the estate.
The broken gates.
The shattered windows.
That name.
Vera—
No. Veraldi.
He exhaled quietly and stood.
Enough.
If the place wanted to haunt him this badly, then maybe he should stop running from it.
The streets of Valdoro were nearly empty at that hour.
Only lanterns burned faintly outside a few homes, their golden light barely touching the stone roads.
Adriano walked without hesitation this time.
Like he already knew the path.
Like his feet remembered it before his mind did.
And somehow—
That thought unsettled him more than anything else.
The estate appeared slowly through the darkness.
Tall.
Silent.
Watching.
The Veraldi house looked worse at night.
The vines crawling along the walls resembled veins now, twisting through cracked stone.
The windows reflected almost no light at all, black and hollow like empty eyes.
Even the air around it felt colder.
Adriano stopped in front of the gates.
Then frowned slightly.
Because tonight—
They were open wider than before.
“…strano.”
Strange.
He stepped inside carefully.
The gate creaked behind him.
Not loudly.
But enough.
The courtyard was drowned in weeds and neglect.
Dead leaves scattered beneath his shoes as he walked toward the entrance, every step echoing faintly in the silence.
Then—
The front doors opened.
On their own.
Adriano froze.
The darkness inside stretched endlessly.
Still.
Waiting.
A normal person would have turned around.
But instead—
He stepped forward.
The air inside smelled old.
Dust.
Wood.
Rain trapped in stone.
The grand staircase stood ahead, cracked at the edges, draped in shadows thick enough to swallow the walls around it.
And yet—
It didn’t feel abandoned.
Not completely.
It felt paused.
Like the house had been waiting for someone to return.
Adriano’s hand brushed lightly against a table near the entrance.
The second he touched it—
FLASH.
Warm light.
Footsteps racing through the halls.
A woman’s voice.
“Caeliano!”
A little boy is running down the staircase.
Dark hair.
Bright eyes.
Laughing.
Again—
“Caeliano!”
Adriano stumbled back sharply.
The vision vanished.
His breathing is uneven now.
“…Caeliano,” he repeated quietly.
The name felt wrong and familiar at the same time.
Like something buried deep beneath his ribs.
Suddenly—
The candles along the walls lit.
One after another.
Fwoosh.
Fwoosh.
Fwoosh.
Golden flames flicker alive through the darkness.
Adriano stared.
“…what is this place?”
A whisper brushed past his ear.
So faint he almost missed it.
Ben tornato.
Welcome back.
His chest tightened instantly.
No. No, he definitely heard that.
He turned sharply.
No one.
Only shadows stretched longer across the floor.
But they were moving strangely now.
Not naturally.
Almost…
Reaching.
A floorboard creaked behind him.
Adriano spun around.
Chiara stood near the entrance, breathing lightly like she had followed him in a hurry.
For a second, neither spoke.
Then—
“I knew you’d come here,” she said quietly.
Adriano frowned slightly.
“You followed me?”
“You keep disappearing.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
Chiara crossed her arms lightly, though her attention was already shifting around the house.
“…something feels wrong.”
The second she said it—
The fire in the wall candles surged violently.
Her eyes widened slightly.
At her side, the sword she carried heated instantly.
She grabbed the hilt sharply.
The metal burned hot against her palm.
“…what—”
Then the shadows moved.
Not illusion.
Not imagination.
The darkness near the staircase twisted unnaturally, stretching along the walls like smoke underwater.
Chiara stepped back immediately, instinctively drawing her sword.
Fire burst along the blade.
But unstable.
Too unstable.
The flames crackled wildly instead of flowing smoothly.
Adriano noticed instantly.
“Chiara.”
“What is happening?”
The shadows lunged suddenly.
Too fast.
Adriano grabbed her wrist and pulled her back toward him.
The darkness struck the floor where she had stood seconds earlier.
The wood splintered sharply.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Chiara looked up at him.
Close now.
Too close.
And for a moment—
Neither moved.
Adriano’s grip loosened slowly.
“…you should leave,” he said quietly.
Chiara frowned.
“You say that like you’re staying.”
Before he could answer—
Another voice echoed through the estate.
“Chiara!”
Marco.
He appeared at the entrance moments later, breathing harder than usual.
Then stopped.
Because the second he stepped inside—
The house reacted again.
The shadows retreated instantly.
The candles flickered violently.
And Adriano—
The house seemed centred around him.
Like everything inside it knew him.
Marco felt his chest tighten.
“No…”
His gaze snapped toward Adriano.
Then toward Chiara.
Then the room itself.
“What did you do?” Marco demanded.
Adriano frowned.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Marco,” Chiara warned.
But Marco barely heard her now.
Because suddenly—
Something crashed upstairs.
All three looked up sharply.
A portrait fell from the upper wall.
Shattering against the floor below.
Glass scattered across the wood.
Silence.
Then slowly—
Chiara stepped forward.
She crouched carefully beside it.
Dust coated most of the painting, hiding the faces underneath.
She reached out.
Wiped part of it away.
And froze.
Marco noticed immediately.
“…Chiara?”
She didn’t answer.
Her eyes stayed locked on the portrait.
On the family painted there.
A man.
A woman.
And between them—
A young boy with dark hair and familiar eyes.
Exactly like—
“No…” Marco whispered.
Chiara looked up slowly.
Toward Adriano.
Her expression is pale now.
Unsteady.
“That’s impossible.”
And Adriano—
Could only stare at the portrait of the family he didn’t remember.
While the house around him creaked softly.
It finally recognised him.