Chapter 3 – The Cellar Door
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The first night passed without incident.
No voices. No shadows.
Just silence. Heavy, layered silence.
But the second night was different.
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Auron woke to the sound of scratching.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't frantic.
It was… slow.
Measured.
As if something beneath the floorboards was tracing patterns into the wood.
He sat up in bed, heart suddenly aware of itself.
The sound came from below.
The cellar.
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The next morning, he said nothing.
He swept the halls. Cleaned the silver. Served breakfast to a guest who never removed his hood.
Lord Pearce watched him closely.
"Did you sleep well?" the lord asked, smiling.
Auron nodded.
"Yes."
He lied.
Pearce's smile widened.
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By the third night, the scratching had turned into whispers.
Not clear enough to understand.
But familiar.
One voice. Male. Calm. Repeating something over and over.
Auron pressed his ear to the floor.
The voice whispered:
> "Auron…"
"…why do you look like them?"
He bolted upright.
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The next day, he finally asked.
"What's in the cellar?"
Pearce didn't look surprised.
Not even annoyed.
He simply said:
"Something that recognizes you."
"Why?" Auron asked, jaw clenched.
Pearce sipped his tea.
"Because, my dear boy… you're not the first one with those eyes to walk through that door."
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That night, Auron stood in front of the cellar.
No key. No lights.
The scratching had stopped.
But the voice returned.
> "Auron… open it."
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His hand moved on its own.
Fingers brushed the handle.
The cold metal felt like it was alive.
Breathing. Waiting.
He turned it.