"Is this… normal?"
Erika whirled around, his gaze snapping toward Cole by the fireplace—for confirmation, or at least some shred of same-kind acknowledgment to press down this absurd fear.
Cole was no longer tending the fire.
He stood perfectly still, ramrod straight, his back to Erika, facing the leaping flames in the hearth.
The faint firelight stretched and twisted his unmoving silhouette, casting a silent, unsettling shadow across the ornate carpet and the cold wall paneling behind him.
"Cole."Erika's voice came out dry.
He moved toward him involuntarily, his steps almost soundless on the thick carpet.
"You… heard that too, right?"
No response.
Only the soft crackle of burning wood.
Erika stopped just behind him—close enough to smell the mingled scent of sweat, dust, and hay clinging to Cole's filthy white robe.
A surge of unease pushed him forward.
He hesitated, then reached out with his left hand, wanting to touch Cole's shoulder, to wake him, or at least provoke some reaction—
Just as his fingertips were about to brush the rough fabric—
Cole spun around.
The movement was ghost-fast, stirring a faint chill in the air.
In his hand was a short, thick piece of firewood, freshly pulled from the hearth, its tip still crackling with flame.
The leaping orange-red firelight surged forward, instantly illuminating his face at close range—
—and at the same time casting heavier, more twisted shadows that clawed across his features, plunging his eyes into deep hollows and warping the curve of his mouth into something unnknowable at the edge of light and dark.
Erika sucked in a sharp breath.
His outstretched hand froze midair.His body jerked backward a full step.
His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his throat.
"Ohhh, Erika…"
Cole's voice drifted out, low and hollow, utterly unlike his usual teasing or composed tone.
It sounded distant. Deep. As if echoing up from somewhere far below.
He raised the burning wood.
Firelight danced across his face.The shadows danced with it.
He leaned in slightly, close enough that the heat of the flame nearly licked Erika's skin.
Then he spoke—slowly, deliberately, each word soaked in smoke, fire, and something cold beneath it.
"If you don't want to be eaten…"
He paused.
The fire flickered in his pupils.
"If you don't want to be eaten…"
The repetition landed like an incantation.
"…you have to eat it first."
The words fell.
A bright spark burst from the burning tip with a sharp crack, lighting up Cole's eyes—unnaturally bright, yet bottomless in shadow—and Erika's face, which drained of all color in an instant.
From outside the door—from the direction of the storage room—
that hollow groan chose that exact moment to sound again.
As if… answering.Hungrily.
Eat it?Are you insane?!
Erika's stomach spasmed with fear and absurdity.
He swallowed hard.His throat burned with dryness.
Cole still held the burning wood.
His other hand extended toward Erika, palm up—an invitation.
He stepped forward.
Then another.
Slow. Steady.
"If you don't want to be eaten, Erika…"
Cole's voice dropped even lower, the firelight jumping with each step.
"If you don't want to be eaten…"
Erika retreated instinctively.
His heel caught the edge of the thick carpet, nearly sending him sprawling.
Regret surged up hard and fast—
regret for not forcing down more of that nauseating mush back in the filthy little shop.
Worse was that mad chase earlier, draining what little strength and warmth he had left.
If I had any energy now… maybe—
There'll be a way at dawn, he thought desperately.Sunlight drives away the dark.And the madness that breeds at night.
But how were they supposed to last until dawn?
In this cold room, with its lavish murals and its unnatural "roommate,"under Cole's unreadable gaze,and the occasional groan leaking through the door?
"Alright, Erika."
Cole stopped suddenly.
The dark expression on his face receded like a tide, instantly replaced by his usual mildly impatient ease.
He waved the hand holding the torch casually.
Sparks scattered across the ornate carpet, leaving tiny blackened scars.
"I was joking," he said lightly, as if the words eat it first—and the slow, predatory advance—had truly been nothing more than a tasteless prank.
He switched the burning wood to his other hand and rubbed the back of his neck, adopting a what can I do with you posture.
"Help me break up some firewood," Cole said, pointing upward into the room."This fire needs to burn hotter. It gets cold late at night."
The sudden emotional whiplash left Erika dizzy.
A joke?All of that… just a joke?
"Oh, damn it," he muttered under his breath, unsure whether he was cursing Cole or his own cowardly terror.
As the tension drained from his body, a wave of weakness followed—but the thorn lodged in his chest never fully came out.
He followed Cole.
They crossed the room toward a narrow spiral stairway half-hidden behind heavy drapes.
Cole went first.
The torch in his hand was the only light source.
Its dim, flickering glow barely illuminated the rough stone steps, thick with dust, and the low, oppressive ceiling above that seemed ready to collapse inward at any moment.
Erika's eyes clung to the dancing flame, as if it were the only reliable beacon in this unknown dark.
The stairs spiraled downward.
The air grew colder, damper, carrying the heavy scent of old earth, stone, and rotting wood.
Their footsteps echoed loudly in the narrow space.
Groan…
The sound came again from behind them—muffled by floorboards and stone, fainter than before, yet unmistakable.
Erika's step hitched almost imperceptibly.
He forced himself not to think about it.
Not what it was.Not why it made that sound.Not what truth might lurk behind Cole's "joke."
He stared only at the wavering flame ahead, at the hem of Cole's filthy white robe.
One step after another.
Break wood.Feed the fire.Last until dawn.
At least now there was a task—concrete, doable, almost normal.
As for everything else…
Wait for dawn.
The staircase spiraled endlessly.
The torchlight illuminated only a few steps ahead.
Erika followed close behind as they emerged from the narrow spiral into the second floor.
The flame seemed even weaker in the high-ceilinged space, casting constantly shifting, ghost-like outlines over dust-covered, once-luxurious furnishings.
"This one'll do," Cole said casually, pointing the torch at a high-backed wooden bench carved with elaborate patterns.One of its legs already sagged at an angle.
In the yellow glow, the bench looked like a tired, docile beast, waiting to be dismembered.
No more words.
Cole wedged the torch into a heavy brass candlestick near the fireplace, securing the light.
He rolled his wrist and moved to one side of the bench.
Erika took the other.
They each grabbed the back and seat.
"One, two, three—!"
Cole barked.
They pulled together.
CRREEEAK—!
The wood screamed under the strain, splintering with a sharp, piercing shriek that exploded through the silent room, drowning out the crackle of the fire.
Erika felt the resistance under his palms—then the teeth-grinding vibration as it finally gave way.
Dust and fine splinters burst into the air, swirling in the firelight, clogging his nose with itch and the stale stench of rot.
Together, they tore the once-dignified bench apart into uneven planks and heavy fragments.
The work was brutal—but surprisingly efficient.
Cole moved with practiced precision, striking the joints and weak points as if he'd done this countless times before.
Erika followed his lead, lending what strength he had.
Soon, a pile of reasonably straight firewood lay stacked on the luxurious but frigid carpet.
They carried the thickest planks back down the spiral stairs to the hearth on the first floor.
Cole fed the wood into the fire.
The dry old embers caught immediately.
Whoosh—
Flames surged upward with a louder, almost joyful roar.
The fireplace burned brighter.
Orange-red light streaked with gold flooded the entire room in an instant, coating the dark wall paneling, the thick carpet, and even the massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with a warm, flickering glow.
The temperature rose noticeably as well, driving away the chill seeping from the stone walls and floor.
Light and heat brought a brief, illusory sense of safety.
Cole crouched by the hearth, using the iron poker to adjust the newly added wood for better burning.The firelight painted his dust- and sweat-streaked profile a vivid red.The lines of his face that usually looked sly or irreverent were softened by the warmth, lending him an air of focus—almost peace.
"Looks like it'll burn well," he said with satisfaction, clapping his hands as he stood and turned to Erika.
The leaping fire behind him left his front half-shadowed and indistinct, only his eyes faintly catching the light in the darkness.
He paused, as if choosing his words, then spoke in a tone that tried to sound casual—yet carried an unmistakable note of testing.
"Tonight… sleep with me?"
Sleep together?
Erika froze for a moment.
But he quickly understood what Cole meant.
In this environment, sticking together—for warmth and for vigilance—was the most practical way to survive the long night.
Sleep alone in the next room, listening to that groan that might sound again at any moment?Or worse?
Or stay with this strange but at least same-kind person—someone who had fire, and who seemed to know what he was doing?
The choice required almost no thought.
Erika agreed.
Perhaps, in some corner of his heart, there was an even colder, more realistic reason:
Cole looks more edible—if that "thing" ever got hungry and had to choose.
The thought flashed by, carrying a chill of self-loathing, yet felt disturbingly real.
"Alright," Cole seemed a little surprised by how readily Erika answered, but didn't comment.He simply nodded.
"Then sleep over here. It's warm, and we can see the door."
He walked to one side of the hearth where the carpet was thicker and flatter.He lay down directly, not even looking for padding, just wrapping his filthy white robe tighter around himself.
He lay with his back to the fireplace, facing the dark wooden door to the storage room, and closed his eyes.
The motion was natural—like just another night sleeping rough outdoors.
Erika watched him for a few seconds, hesitated, then slowly moved to the other side of the hearth.
Leaning against the warm stone of the fireplace, he carefully sat down a short distance from Cole, then turned and lay on his side.
The carpet beneath him smelled of dust and age, but was pleasantly warm from the fire.
He tucked his empty right sleeve under himself, curled his left arm against his chest, and faced the door as well.
The room held only the steady, low whoosh and the soft crackle of burning wood.
Firelight cast warm, wavering red shadows across his eyelids.
Fatigue swept over him like a tide.
His bones felt like they were coming apart, every muscle aching.
He forced himself to keep a sliver of awareness, eyes fixed on the door.
Outside, in the storage room, there was only silence.
That groan did not sound again.
Cole's breathing soon became slow and even, as if he had already fallen asleep.
Erika's eyelids grew heavier.
Warmth.Light.A strange, but temporarily reliable companion.
Maybe… they really could last until dawn?
That was his last blurred thought before consciousness sank into darkness.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH—!!!"
A scream tore through the night's silence without warning.
Not from the "thing" in the storage room.
This voice was sharper—more piercing, more brutally human—packed with the kind of terror that sounded as if it were being ripped straight from the depths of a throat.
And it wasn't alone.
Almost before the final tremor of the first scream faded—
Nearby, as if from the next street over or an adjacent building, another shriek burst out, so high-pitched it nearly tore itself apart!
Farther away, from the deeper inner districts of Darenz, lower, longer screams echoed faintly—like a relay being passed along.
High-pitched.Low.Twisted, keening wails.
The screams rose from all directions, piercing thick stone walls, squeezing through window cracks, flooding the room that had only moments ago felt briefly safe under the hearth's glow.
They layered, collided, and reverberated, weaving an endless web of pain and madness across Darenz's night sky.
This wasn't one or two isolated incidents.
At this scale…
Erika, lying beside the hearth, curled into himself violently.
The warmth and drowsiness shattered instantly.
He clapped both hands over his ears, nails digging into his scalp—but the screams seemed to bypass flesh and bone, drilling straight into his skull, buzzing and resonating inside his head.
The firelight still danced, illuminating his pale, terror-stricken face—
and Cole's profile across from him.
At some point, Cole had opened his eyes.
He was staring calmly at the ceiling, his face utterly expressionless, as if listening to nothing more than a dull rainfall.
That excessive calm.
Erika could cover his ears.
But he couldn't shut out this bone-chilling symphony that blanketed the entire night of Darenz.
The first night of this so-called "vacation" was far longer—and far louder—than he had imagined.