Sir Dalewood stood at a long mahogany desk, candlelight flickering against the pages of an ancient manuscript. The artifact sat beside him, unmoving, yet somehow breathing. It watched. It always watched.
He stared at the translation of the Latin phrase he'd uncovered from the engravings beneath the manor's base:
"Domus Auri Devoret. Ubi cupiditas est, ibi habitat."
"The House of Gold devours. Where greed dwells, there it lives."
His breath caught in his throat.
"This isn't just a gift," he muttered. "It's a beacon. No—it's a seed."
As he turned another page in his worn black journal, what he saw chilled his bones. A faded ink drawing: a one-eyed house with a door that bled shadow. Beneath it, sketched centuries ago in a monk's jagged Latin, was a warning:
"Do not open what was sealed in fire. The house grows by feeding. It does not stop."
The Origin: The Seed of Devouring
Millennia ago, long before the concept of good and evil took shape, there lived seven kings who ruled with ambition, fear, and gold. But none ruled long. Betrayals were swift, greed swifter. Kingdoms crumbled in the shadows of want.
In their final desperation, the kings summoned a dark force — something older than gods, something that fed not on flesh or soul, but on the ache of never enough.
They sealed it into a small manor, carved from black obsidian and inscribed with sacred greed. It was meant to be a vault. Instead, it became a vessel. The entity grew sentient, absorbing the kings, their families, and every soul they brought near.
And so, the House of Gold was born — a parasite shaped like a gift.
Veronica's Nightmare (Continued)
That night, the manor gave her a clearer dream.
Veronica saw the seven kings, now grotesque shadows with golden masks, circling the manor. Each time one offered blood, the manor grew a new window, a chimney, or a floor.
"Feed us," the house whispered in her dream, "and we will give you more."
Suddenly, a cloaked man stepped out of the smoke, face hidden, arms extended with a velvet box. His voice echoed not in her ears, but her bones:
"You invited me. I only give what is asked for."
The Stranger: The Giver
They call him The Giver.
In each century, he appears: sometimes a monk, other times a priest, a traveler, or a guest with no name. He carries the gift like a priest carries a relic, never pushing it — only offering.
Legends say he once loved deeply and was betrayed by all, even God. In vengeance, he found the manor and made a deal. Now, he walks between worlds, offering the seed to those hungry enough to accept it.
He appears when people are celebrating — weddings, births, coronations — because that is where desire hides beneath the veil of joy.
He does not lie. He only speaks in promises people already want to believe.
"Gold is only cursed if you don't deserve it," he told a bishop before the man was swallowed by the altar of his own cathedral.
Sir Dalewood's Realization
Sir Dalewood trembled as he flipped the final parchment over. Blood had dried between the pages. The last line read:
"He will offer. You will accept. And your name will be forgotten."
He stood upright, sweating. He needed to get this knowledge to the Wheelbehelms before it was too late.
But the manor's eye was already opening wider…