The castle had changed.
Noah could feel it in the walls, in the way they hummed beneath his fingertips like a dying heartbeat.
Not just the withering roots, or how shadows curled in on themselves like wounded beasts—but something deeper, more insidious. The air was heavier now, as if soaked in ash and memories. Bitter. Electric. Alive with tension that crept into the spine.
They moved quickly. Abel, now clad in regal black-and-gold armor etched with faint runes, took point with the precision of someone walking back into a haunted dream. Noah followed, tarot deck clinking lightly at his hip, each step laced with anticipation and dread. He was stronger now. Sharper.
They were retracing their steps.
Back to where it started.
Back to the library.
Back to the nightmare.
But this time, it was different.
The moment they turned a familiar corridor—lined with cracked stained-glass windows depicting forgotten saints and velvet curtains that hung like corpses—they heard it.
Wailing.
Not just sound. Not just noise. A soul-rending keening that clawed at the walls.
Three spirits tore through the far wall like smoke given bones. They had once been maids—now their twisted forms dragged tattered dresses soaked in shadow. Their hollowed faces were sculpted by anguish. Mouths stretched unnaturally wide. Sockets burned black with fire.
Abel didn't flinch. His blade sang free, the armor at his shoulders glowing faintly like breath caught in a forge.
Noah sighed, spinning a card into his fingers. "Alright. Girls' night it is."
The ghosts moved fast—feral, tangled like puppets in war.
One lunged at Noah with clawed hands and jaws that opened too far.
He rolled to the side, calling on an elemental card. A blast of burning air burst forward, sigils alight. The ghost hit the wall with a shriek and sizzled.
Another howled toward Abel.
Slash.
The blade met it midair. Shadow burst and recoiled. But it reformed, angrier, thinner, raw.
"They're reforming!" Noah shouted. "They're not playing fair!"
"Then we stop playing nice," Abel said, eyes dark.
Noah's deck shimmered in his hands.
Five cards in quick succession: force, light, wind, flame, and sound.
Each one exploded with beautiful violence.
Two ghosts shredded under the assault, torn back into ether.
The third turned to flee through a wall.
Abel followed.
His sword cleaved through stone and ghost alike, the enchantment biting beyond the physical. A final shriek echoed, and the spirit was gone.
Noah leaned against a pillar, panting. "Okay. Yeah. They're definitely cranky."
Abel wiped his blade clean. "The curse is unraveling faster than we thought."
"Like pulling thread from a sweater," Noah muttered. "Yank hard enough and the whole thing falls apart."
They pressed on.
Past shattered ballrooms filled with broken memories. Through fountains cracked like empty veins. Across the grand hallway where chandeliers once shone like stars but now hung lopsided, gutted. Time and magic had twisted every inch of the place into something unfamiliar.
They reached the throne room—a once magnificent chamber of carved obsidian and gold, now draped in decay. The throne itself stood crooked, vines snaking up its legs like the castle was trying to reclaim the power that had sat there. Stained glass windows above had shattered inward, leaving only jagged edges to cast fractured light. The air tasted of ash and judgment.
Noah paused, letting his gaze drift over the broken steps where royal decrees were once made. Abel said nothing, but the way his hand flexed on the hilt of his blade betrayed something old and tight in his chest.
They moved on.
Through the broken archway at the rear of the throne room—a place that once had been reserved for servants and meals, not kings and decisions.
And then—the corridor.
Long. Quiet. Dust thick like a skin. It sloped downward toward the kitchens.
Toward her.
And then—the corridor.
Long. Quiet. Dust thick like a skin. It sloped downward toward the kitchens.
Toward her.
"Ilyana," Noah whispered.
Abel paused. "What is it?"
Noah stepped ahead, his breath catching.
She was still there.
Same place. Same ghostlight flicker. But she wasn't the same. Her posture was coiled rage now, not sorrow. Her aura cracked with sparks. She clutched her face not in despair—but fury.
And then she looked up.
Her mouth opened wide.
Eyes glowed with betrayal.
"You—!"
Noah raised his hands. "Ilyana, wait—"
But she wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at Abel.
"You left me behind!" she screamed, voice layered in static. "I waited! I waited and you never came back!"
Abel froze, breath shallow.
"I knew her," he said, low. "She worked in the lower kitchens. Always kind."
There was no heartbreak in his voice. Only something tight. Deep.
"She had a crush on you," Noah murmured, watching the ghost waver. "When I met her the first time, she talked about you like you were something... bright."
Abel blinked slowly. "She misunderstood. I barely knew her name."
Ilyana screamed, and it was like a thousand glass shards slamming into their skulls.
She lunged.
Noah was faster.
Light burst from his hand, a radiant flash.
"Don't kill her!"
"I wasn't planning to!" Abel snapped, stepping between them, shield instead of sword.
"You forgot me!" she sobbed. "You let me die here!"
"I was cursed!" Abel roared back. "I didn't remember anything—not even myself!"
She hesitated.
Her form flickered.
Noah flicked a card—Stasis Bind.
Golden threads wrapped her in light, pulling her to stillness.
"Talk to her."
Abel approached slowly.
Hands empty.
Voice low.
"Ilyana. I'm sorry. I never meant to leave you here. You didn't deserve this fate."
Her glow dimmed to a tremble.
"I thought you'd come back. I thought you'd save me."
"I couldn't even save myself," he whispered.
The threads unraveled gently.
She stood still.
Then turned to Noah.
"You remembered me."
He nodded. "You mattered."
Light filled her. Soft. Final.
She drifted apart like a sigh.
Peaceful.
The kitchen was exactly as he remembered: cracked tiles, broken pots, air thick with the ghosts of old spices and oil.
Noah stepped forward.
To the door.
The one he'd slammed in fear, fleeing from the black ichor.
Abel stood beside him. "This is the place?"
"Yup. Welcome to the origin of my emotional damage."
He reached for the handle.
Breathed in.
And opened it.
...
Nothing.
No tendrils. No whispers. Just a hallway filled with time and dust. A few chairs overturned. Melted wax. A cracked painting of a forgotten noble.
Noah exhaled. "Well. That's anticlimactic."
Abel's sword was already out. "You were expecting worse?"
"I was expecting demonic gunk, screams, maybe a few possession attempts. This looks like someone canceled their banquet and forgot to clean."
They walked slowly.
Noah's skin crawled from memory, not threat.
And then—they reached it.
The library.
Noah opened the doors.
What had once been sacred was now ruined.
Shattered glass underfoot. Books torn apart, their wisdom shredded into confetti. Shelves collapsed like broken ribs. Chandeliers scattered like bones. Black soot painted the ceiling.
The desk where the ghostly librarian once welcomed him?
Split clean in half.
No presence remained.
Only the echo of what once was.
Noah stepped inside.
A burned book lay at his feet—something about the Hollow Veil. He bent down, ran his fingers over the char.
"He's gone," Noah said.
"The librarian?"
Noah nodded. "He was strange. Kind. Confused. But he talked to me like I belonged here. Like I wasn't just another intruder."
Abel lowered his blade slightly. "I'm sorry."
Noah didn't answer. He walked through the ash, toward the back wall.
Toward the corridor.
Where it had begun.
Where the black-robed figure had first appeared behind a fractured wall.
Where Noah had made his first mistake.
"You're sure this is it?"
Noah nodded again.
"This is where I met him. The first Weaver. Their leader."
The wall was gone now. The illusion broken. Just a hallway now, bathed in distant red.
Bookshelves torn. Shadows long.
And somewhere deeper inside—
Footsteps.
Not theirs.
Something was waiting.
And this time, they weren't running.