Chapter 4 - CHAPTER 4 THE HOUSE THAT BREATHS

Wind scraped across the broken city, carrying the scent of burnt wax and iron. Where Daichi had stood, now the new Host stood still — his eyes no longer blue but colorless, reflecting the ruins as if they were painted inside them. The bone dice around his neck pulsed faintly. Each beat was a memory drawn from the city's stones.He looked down. The plaza was quiet again. Haruto was gone, scattered into echoes. Mei's presence lingered faintly in the air, a soft outline dissolving into the mist. The Game had reset.Daichi listened, and beneath the silence, heard a heartbeat that wasn't his.It came from below.He turned, kneeling to touch the cobblestones. The sigils that Haruto's flame had traced still gleamed faintly, but now they pulsed like veins, drawing something deeper from under the city. With each pulse, a breath seemed to rise from the ground — the city inhaling, exhaling.The Host had awakened.Far from the plaza, on the storm-wrapped mountain, thunder bled into the sky. The mansion waited like a monument to sleeplessness. Its windows were eyes; its corridors, arteries.And on a long oak table in the entrance hall, five new envelopes shimmered into being, born from drifting smoke. Their crimson seals bore new names.Akira Sato. Ren Ishida. Hana Lee. Kazuo Mori. Natsumi Arai.Each letter trembled once — as if impatient — then stilled.The CallAkira awoke to the scent of rain and old paper. His apartment was small, barely enough room for a mattress and his sketchbooks stacked against the walls. He had been painting the skyline when the storm started. Now, lightning illuminated the envelope lying at his door.He hadn't heard it arrive.Its seal shimmered faintly like an open eye. Something in him whispered he'd seen that symbol before—in dreams that left him breathless. Against reason, he picked it up.Inside: one line, handwritten."You have been seen."And beneath that, an address.He looked out at the storm, then back at the words. He didn't remember moving, but when he blinked next, he was already driving toward the mountain road.The GatheringThe mansion's door opened before any of them could knock. The hall beyond stretched impossibly far, lined with mirrors that reflected more people than were truly there. The five stood in silence for a moment, each clutching their letter.Hana spoke first. Her voice shook, but her eyes were sharp. "Who called us here?""The Game," Ren said simply. He was older, the kind of man who carried the weight of mistakes in his posture. "I've been here before."The others stared, and he met their gaze with tired certainty. "Years ago, before it burned down. But this—" he glanced at the mirrors, where endless reflections watched them move "—this feels different."Natsumi frowned. "You came back? Why?""To try again."Before anyone could reply, the mirrors shuddered. The reflections stepped forward — not breaking glass, but fading out of it like fog solidifying into flesh. Each reflection looked exactly like their counterpart, except for one thing: the eyes were empty sockets filled with light.A voice filled the hall. Daichi's voice."Welcome to the House that Breathes," it said. "The City sleeps, but the Game awakens. Five are called. One will remain. The rest will be remembered — if they earn it."The air thickened. The reflections smiled. Then, without sound, they turned and began walking deeper into the house.A door appeared at the end of the corridor, its frame shifting like lungs.Ren stepped forward first. "The only way out is through," he muttered. "Follow, or be left behind."The Rooms of MemoryThe first room was filled with clocks. Hundreds of them, dangling from invisible strings. Their hands ticked forward, backward, sideways, each beating out an impossible rhythm.Kazuo ran his hand along one. "These are from everywhere," he said softly. "Different timelines."The moment he touched it, one clock melted into mist, and an image formed above it: a hospital room. A child lying still. A nurse whispering condolences.Kazuo froze. "That—no—"The illusion cracked and shattered. Where the image fell, letters scattered like dead butterflies. One landed in his palm. On it was written:"You forgot her birthday."He screamed, but no sound left his throat. The reflection of himself stood nearby, its mouth open in silent laughter.Daichi's voice whispered through the ticking: "Every Game takes what you buried."Ren dragged Kazuo away. The clocks fell like rain. They ran to the next door.The second room was a dining hall where plates filled themselves with black liquid. Hana felt the air tighten. Her reflection sat across from her, smiling.On the far wall, paintings came to life — scenes of her family, her mother kneeling beside a door, whispering prayers Hana never stayed long enough to hear."Stop," Hana said."Drink," her reflection uttered. Its voice was hers, but lighter, empty. "You wanted success; you traded the rest."The others watched as Hana lifted a shaking hand. The liquid rippled. Within it, the reflection of her own face morphed into something older, unreachable. A version of herself that stayed, forgave, lived quietly.She crushed the cup. The illusion shattered.A whisper answered: "One debt repaid."DescentThey moved on, silent, fear lining every step. Natsumi held her letter tightly. When lightning flared through a window, she saw a second door beyond it — pale wood carved with spirals of eyes.She pushed it open.Inside was a stairwell leading downward, deeper than it should exist. The walls pulsed faintly, drawing air through cracks like lungs. The House breathed.Ren touched the railing. "The city connects below. That's where the Host waits."Akira frowned. "Host?""The one the Game feeds on." His jaw tightened. "The one it leaves behind."The Chamber BelowThe stairwell ended in an enormous chamber. It looked half-cathedral, half-nightmare. The floor was made of glass, below which the Forgotten City flickered upside-down — fog drifting upward like ghosts escaping their graves.And at the center stood Daichi.He seemed both alive and not. Every movement of his robes trailed particles of light. His voice echoed from every surface."The Game cannot die," he said. "Only change its keeper. The last one broke the memory, and so the loop requires new pieces."Akira swallowed. "Why us?"Daichi smiled faintly. "Because you still remember what you wish you didn't."He raised his hand. The bone dice glowed between his fingers. They rose into the air, multiplied, then split into five burning shards that embedded themselves into each of their chests.Akira gasped. The shard burned cold. He felt images flood his mind — a woman crying by a river, his own voice saying sorry, over and over.Hana clutched her heart. Ren knelt, sweating, whispering a name he hadn't spoken in twenty years.Natsumi stared at Daichi. "Why do you make us suffer?""Because the Game feeds on regret," he said. "And regret is endless."Breaking the HouseThe chamber began to twist. The ceiling became sky; the glass floor turned liquid, reflecting stars that shouldn't exist. Akira's shard pulsed brighter until it cracked.Inside it, he saw not memories — but futures. Five roads leading outward, all ending in fire.He screamed to the others. "It's not meant to end here! We can end it! The House breathes because we feed it—stop feeding it!"Ren looked up. "How?""Forget," Akira whispered. "All of it."He tore the shard from his chest. The pain was blinding, his reflection shattering into dust. The others followed, one by one. Every shard that hit the ground warped into light, and the House screamed — a sound like walls inhaling fire.The mirrors above cracked, showing glimpses of Daichi's face — flickering between human and spectral.He fell to his knees, clutching the dice. "You don't understand. If you forget, I cease."Akira stepped forward. "Then rest."He reached out, touching Daichi's shoulder. The contact burned both of them. Memories streamed out — cities, rain, voices calling, laughter buried under debt and pain. All poured into white nothingness.The House began to collapse.Epilogue: BreathlessWhen the light faded, only the mountain remained. The mansion was gone.Akira awoke beside a river at dawn, paint-stained hands trembling. His sketchbook lay open — blank.Hana, in another city, woke to sunlight and the faint sound of bells, though none tolled nearby.Ren found himself outside the hospital where his daughter still waited, decades undone.The Game was forgotten.All except one.Far below, where the city had once breathed, a single whisper remained — tired, fragile."The Host endures."And on the river's edge, five new envelopes formed in the water, their seals faint, almost fading — but not gone.