Volume 1 Chapter 3 "THE FIRST BLOOD"

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘌𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵

The brass key remained on Elior Sinclaire's desk.

Ancient.

Heavy.

Its dull bronze surface was scarred by time, while the Roman numeral IV rested quietly upon its handle like an old promise waiting to be fulfilled.

Outside, dawn slowly awakened the city.

Employees hurried through the halls of Nikolai Enterprises carrying coffee and contracts.

Phones rang endlessly.

Printers hummed.

Laughter drifted through the executive floor.

Everything appeared ordinary.

Only Elior's world had changed.

His gaze never left the key.

Memories he had buried years ago clawed at the edges of his mind.

A burning house.

A child crying.

Someone screaming his name.

Then...

darkness.

The fragments vanished before he could grasp them.

A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts.

Lucien Nikolai entered carrying today's reports and two cups of coffee.

He paused almost immediately.

The untouched cup from yesterday still rested on the desk.

That alone was enough to worry him.

"You didn't drink your coffee."

Elior answered without looking up.

"I'm considering retirement."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"Before breakfast?"

"...Especially before breakfast."

For a brief moment, the familiar sarcasm returned.

Lucien smiled quietly.

"There you are."

But the smile disappeared just as quickly.

His eyes drifted toward the brass key.

"...New decoration?"

Instinctively, Elior closed his hand around it.

The movement lasted less than a heartbeat.

Lucien noticed anyway.

He always noticed.

Silence settled between them.

Questions filled the room.

Neither dared ask them.

Lucien simply placed another fresh cup of coffee beside him.

"If overtime starts involving haunted antiques..."

"...call me."

Then he walked away.

The office door closed softly behind him.

Once again, the room fell silent.

Elior looked down at the brass key resting in his hand.

For the first time in years...

fear found its way back into his heart.

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐

𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘭𝘦

Night covered the city beneath heavy rain.

Without telling anyone, Elior followed the path the brass key seemed to whisper.

The streets grew emptier.

The buildings older.

Eventually, he arrived before a forgotten mansion hidden behind rusted iron gates.

The estate looked abandoned.

Its windows shattered.

Its walls swallowed by ivy.

Yet above the entrance remained a single untouched emblem.

A silver chess king.

The same symbol.

The gate opened with a slow metallic groan.

No wind touched it.

No one stood nearby.

Still...

it welcomed him inside.

Dust coated every piece of furniture.

Portraits watched silently from cracked walls.

The silence felt alive.

Each step echoed through empty corridors as though someone walked beside him.

Then he saw it.

At the foot of a grand marble staircase...

a streak of crimson.

Fresh blood.

Its trail stretched across the polished floor like a ribbon leading into darkness.

Someone had been here.

Moments ago.

Elior followed it.

Room after room.

Hall after hall.

Until it stopped before a massive wooden door.

His hand trembled ever so slightly.

The brass key fit perfectly.

Click.

The ancient lock surrendered.

The heavy door opened only a few inches.

Then—

a gunshot shattered the silence.

The sound echoed through every corridor of the mansion.

Birds burst from broken windows.

Dust rained from the ceiling.

Elior stepped back instinctively.

The door creaked open by itself.

Beyond it...

a man collapsed onto the floor.

Blood spread beneath him across the white marble.

His trembling hand reached toward Elior.

His lips moved weakly.

Only three words escaped before life abandoned him.

"...Don't trust..."

The sentence remained unfinished.

His hand fell.

The room became silent.

Then another sound emerged.

Footsteps.

Not one pair.

Several.

Slowly descending from the upper floors.

Watching.

Approaching.

Waiting.

Instinct took over.

Elior turned and ran.

Behind him, unseen figures emerged from the darkness of the staircase.

The abandoned mansion disappeared into the rain once more.

And deep within its silent halls...

the dead man's outstretched hand still pointed toward the open doorway.

As though trying to warn whoever would come next.

End of Chapter 3

The dead rarely speak.

But when they do...

The living are never ready to hear the truth.

🖤✨

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