Nobody spoke.
Not immediately.
The silence inside the estate felt heavier now.
Different.
Like the house itself had gone still.
Waiting.
Chiara remained crouched beside the shattered portrait, her eyes fixed on the dust-covered faces.
Marco stood frozen near the staircase.
And Adriano…
Adriano couldn’t look away.
The boy in the painting stared back at him.
Dark hair.
Dark eyes.
The same expression.
Not similar.
The same.
Like staring into a reflection painted years ago.
“…no,” Marco said quietly.
Then louder:
“No.”
His voice echoed sharply through the hall.
Chiara looked up.
“Marco…”
But he was already staring at Adriano.
Not confused.
Not curious.
Suspicious.
His jaw tightened.
His shoulders stiffened.
And something colder entered his eyes.
“Explain.”
Adriano blinked.
“…what?”
Marco took a step forward.
“The portrait.”
Another step.
“The house.”
Another.
“The shadows.”
His voice lowered.
“You.”
Silence.
Adriano looked between them.
Then back toward the portrait.
“…I don’t know.”
Marco laughed once.
Short.
Humorless.
“You don’t know?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Interesting answer.”
Chiara stood slowly.
“Marco.”
“No.”
He didn’t look at her.
Not even once.
“Ever since he arrived, strange things have been happening.”
The candles flickered.
As if reacting.
Marco pointed toward Adriano.
“And now we find a portrait with his face inside a house nobody has entered in years?”
Silence.
“He knows something.”
Adriano frowned.
“I don’t.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Marco.”
Enough.
The room fell quiet again.
Heavy.
Adriano looked back at the painting.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His eyes settled on the little boy standing between the man and woman.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
Not fear.
Something deeper.
Something buried.
Then—
FLASH.
Sunlight.
Warmth.
Running footsteps.
Laughter.
A garden.
Someone calling:
“Caeliano!”
A woman laughed.
Again:
“Caeliano, slow down!”
A little boy turned.
Smiling.
Then—
Darkness.
Fire.
Screaming.
Someone shouting.
Not laughing anymore.
A man’s voice.
Urgent.
Afraid.
“Take him and run!”
Another voice:
“Don’t let them find him!”
Then—
Nothing.
Adriano staggered.
His hand flew to his head instantly.
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
Sharp.
Violent.
He dropped to one knee.
Chiara moved first.
“Adriano!”
She knelt beside him immediately.
“What happened?”
He couldn’t answer.
His breathing had become uneven.
The walls around him suddenly felt too close.
Too loud.
Too—
The candles flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then violently.
FWOOSH.
Every flame inside the hall surged at once.
Marco stepped back.
“…what now?”
The shadows moved.
Not toward Adriano.
Not toward Chiara.
The walls.
They were moving across the walls.
Slowly.
Chiara stood carefully.
Fire crackled weakly along her sword again.
Unsteady.
Watching.
Waiting.
Then the shadows began changing.
Forming shapes.
Letters.
Words.
Ancient symbols spread across the stone walls.
Marco stared.
“…what is that?”
Chiara frowned.
“I…”
She stepped closer.
“…I can’t read it.”
Silence.
Then both of them looked toward Adriano.
Because Adriano could.
For some reason—
He understood every symbol.
Every word.
Like he had known them his entire life.
His voice came quietly.
Barely above a whisper.
“…The Fifth Pillar remembers.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Marco looked at him immediately.
“What?”
Adriano slowly lifted his eyes.
Confused.
Because he didn’t know how he knew.
He just did.
Then—
The entire house shook.
CRACK.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
The staircase trembled.
The walls groaned.
Chiara stumbled slightly.
Marco grabbed the railing.
And above them—
Creeeeeeak.
All three froze.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
A door upstairs opened.
By itself.
Silence.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Then—
Footsteps.
One.
…
Two.
…
Three.
The sound echoed softly from somewhere deep in the darkness above.
Marco’s face paled.
Chiara gripped her sword tighter.
Adriano stared upward.
Because somehow—
Somewhere deep inside him—
He already knew.
The house wasn’t empty.
And for the first time since entering…
It no longer felt like the estate was remembering him.
It felt like something inside had remembered him first.