The butler lifted the lantern and raised it high. Its weak flame threw shadows along the walls as he led the way into the mansion. The moment Conus stepped inside, the air changed. It was colder, as though the house itself resented his presence.
The lantern light crawled across faded wallpaper that had peeled like old scabs, exposing rotten wood beneath. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling, thick and untouched for years, and the smell of damp earth mixed with the faint trace of mildew.
The hall stretched into darkness, the wooden floor groaning under each step. A grand stairway emerged ahead, its railing fractured in places, dust lying thick over the carved wood. Conus followed as the butler ascended, each step creaking under his weight. At the top, the corridor loomed like the hollow throat of the house, lined with doors on either side, each closed.
A shiver crawled across Conus's neck. He turned instinctively. At the foot of the stairway stood a figure. Tall, too tall a man, with limbs too long and a back hunched as though his body could not bear its own height. The figure did not move. He stood in the dark, staring up at Conus with eyes buried in shadow.
Conus narrowed his gaze, seeing clearly where the lantern could not reach. He leaned closer to the butler. "Who is that?"
The butler stopped, confusion flashing across his face. He turned, lifted the lantern, and pushed the light forward. The glow landed on the tall man. His features twisted awkwardly beneath the shadows, his face expressionless, his body stiff.
"Ah," the butler said quickly. "That is Owen. The gardener."
Conus's brow rose. The image of the overgrown fountain and wild grass outside returned to him. If Owen was the gardener, he had long abandoned his duties. Goes the same for the butler.
Modret cleared his throat and gestured forward. "Come. The Oracle waits."
They pressed on. The corridor seemed endless, stretching farther than the house should have allowed. The light quivered along walls smeared with damp stains, until finally they reached a door marked with blackened carvings. The butler opened it carefully, and at once, the smell of smoke and incense spilled out.
Inside, hundreds of candles burned, their flames casting a glow across the room. They were arranged in strange, spiraling patterns upon the floor, the wax pooling into crooked streams that bled into one another.
At the far end of the room sat a woman, her back to them, waving incense before a wall crowded with statues. Each statue was the same face carved again and again, row upon row, watching with sightless eyes.
The butler bowed slightly. "Oracle. I have brought the messenger."
The woman gave no reply. The incense continued to sway, thin streams of smoke snaking into the air. Minutes stretched. Three of them. Then, slowly, she turned.
Conus saw her face. It was deformed, warped as though some curse had carved her skin unevenly. One eye was larger than the other, her lips curled strangely to one side. Her gaze, however, was gentle.
She rose with deliberate grace and crossed the room. Without a word, she took Conus's hand and pressed her cracked lips against the back of it. Then she touched her forehead to his skin in reverence.
Conus stiffened. Her actions unsettled him, but he said nothing.
"The goddess spoke of your coming," she whispered, her voice thin.
Conus's reply came quick. "Yes, this goddess. Who is she?"
The Oracle froze. Her face darkened.
Conus quickly realized his mistake. Before she could discover he was no true messenger, he added, "It is how I know I am truly in the right place."
The frown melted into a smile. She nodded in approval. "She is Noctu, goddess of the night."
Conus's mind shifted at once. Noctu had to be tied to Lord Darkness. It was common sense. The night was related to the darkness. Hence, it would mean this was still all of Lord Darkness' doing. That much he could accept.
The Oracle turned to the butler. "Gather all the staff. Bring them here. It is time they meet our guest."
The butler bowed once more and slipped out with the lantern, leaving the room dimly lit by the maze of candles. Conus's frown deepened. He still had no answer for why he had been brought here.
As the door closed, the Oracle moved back to her seat. She gestured to another chair opposite her.
"Though the goddess has told me most of it, I would still prefer to hear from you. Tell me what troubles you." He spoke with a dignified posture.
She sat, her deformed face watching with an intensity that made the candlelight seem colder.
The Oracle gestured again to the empty chair beside her. Conus hesitated, then moved closer and sat.
She folded her hands upon her lap as she began to speak.
"This place was not always like this," she said. "It was once alive, prosperous. Once owned by a powerful noble, Duke Macmillan du Fazar, a man of honor, a soldier whose name stirred pride in the Queen's court. He fought as a general in her campaigns, and his victories brought wealth and recognition to his house. This house you see now, broken, abandoned, was once a jewel of the county. Music filled the halls, wine flowed, and the Duke's retainers walked with heads held high."
She paused, her single large eye glinting in the candlelight. "But everything changed because of one boy. The Duke's son, Lanta. A boy of privilege, spoiled by his father's triumphs.
One night, Lanta forced himself upon the daughter of a Shaman. Her father was furious. He stormed the castle and demanded the boy marry his daughter. It was justice, the only justice he could have asked. But Lanta was already betrothed to the princess. The Queen herself had blessed the arrangement. To break it would have been treason in all but name."
The Oracle's voice dropped lower, like a whisper.
"So Duke Macmillan made his first mistake. He turned the Shaman away. He sent his guards to drive him from the gates, even as the man cursed the family and warned that retribution would come. All fell on deaf ears.
For months, the Shaman returned, warning, pleading. But his words grew fewer until one day, they stopped altogether. The Duke thought the matter had ended."
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing as if she could still see it. "Until two bodies were found hanging in the rafters of the North Wing. Father and daughter. They had crept in, unseen, and ended their lives together above the house of the one who wronged them."
Conus felt the room grow colder. The candles shook, their flames struggling.
"The Duke's second mistake," she said, her tone sharp. "He had buried them here. In his yard. Out of guilt, he said. Out of duty. But that act tied their rage to this land. That was when it began."
The Oracle leaned forward, her lips twisting faintly.
"Lanta had suddenly changed. The drunkard who wasted coin on dice and cups of ale suddenly grew sober. He stopped leaving the estate. He spoke less, ate less, until one day he stopped speaking altogether. Always smiling. A smile that never left his face, no matter what was said to him. At first, the Duke believed it was remorse, a sign of repentance. For a time, he was even glad. But his joy slowly turned into dread."
Her fingers traced the air as though sketching the memory. "The boy grew thin, his bones clawing at his skin. At night, he screamed. Not the cries of a man in torment, but a twisted laughter. He muttered to himself, words no one understood, prayers or curses, no one could tell.
Then one day, without provocation, he drew a blade and killed a servant. Stabbed him until his body was little more than punctured flesh, and drenched in the blood… his smile stretched wider than ever."
The Oracle's gaze fixed on Conus. "That was when the Duke could bear no more. And so he sent for me."
The Oracle's gaze seemed to drift far beyond the room, past the candles, past Conus, as though she were staring into the dark corridor of her memory.
"When I first laid eyes on him," she whispered, "I knew he was no longer alone. The boy was a vessel. Something ancient, something drowning in rage had taken root in him. It looked at me through his eyes. And oh, those eyes…" She shook her head slowly, her voice faltering.
"They were black, as if no soul remained. Only fury."
Conus's own eyes sharpened. A faint glimmer stirred in them, though he stayed silent, letting her continue.
"I prepared the ritual," the Oracle said. "An exorcism I had only read of, taught to me by those before me who had seen curses cling to men like leeches. I gathered the staff. Salt and iron were laid in circles. Candles of blessed wax lit every corner. And at the center, I bound him. The boy struggled, laughed, wept, all in the same breath. That smile never faltered."
Her voice deepened, trembling.
"I began the chants. Invocations to drive out what did not belong. The air thickened, the walls trembled. His body twisted unnaturally, bones cracking as he shrieked words not of this world. The sound shattered glass, splintered wood, and yet the staff stood their ground, holding him as I pressed harder with my prayers."
She lifted her trembling hands, as though she still felt the heat of that battle upon them. "The spirit resisted. It lashed at me, not with blade or hand, but with visions. I saw fire consuming the castle. I saw rivers of blood flooding the land. I heard a thousand voices, all screaming my name. It tried to break my will, to drown me in its rage."
Her voice dropped into a rasp. "But I did not falter. I burned incense. I spoke the words. I summoned every ounce of strength I had left. Light clashed with shadow. My voice against its roar. And then…"
She closed her eyes, exhaling as if reliving the final strike. "With a scream that shook the air, it tore from him. The boy collapsed. His smile… was gone."
The room fell into silence. The only sound was the hiss of candle flames.
The Oracle's eyes opened again, shining like wet stones. Her lips curved into something between grief and fear.
"I had won," she whispered. "Or so I thought."