Lucas stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. The room was quiet. Not ominous. Just… still.
He stood for a moment, listening.
Nothing beyond the faint hum of the lantern in the wall. No voices. No footsteps from the hallway. The kind of quiet you would find at a your own house not some manor full of people.
His eyes drifted to the walls.
He stepped to the one closest to the door—where another Waker's room should've been. Pressed his ear to the cold stone. Held his breath.
Nothing.
No creak of floorboards. No shift of bedding. No cough, no murmur, not even the soft rustle of someone breathing.
Lucas leaned back slowly.
'No sound comes through at all.'
Not muffled. Not faint. Nothing. As if the stone itself swallowed everything it touched.
He turned away, unease tightening in his chest.
The window came next—narrow, barred with iron, sealed tight. It didn't move. Didn't even rattle. Like it had never been meant to open in the first place.
He moved to the closet. Inside, the coat was folded just so. The nightclothes beneath, untouched. Fabric soft and clean. Worn by no one.
Lucas didn't bother trying them on.
At the bed, he paused again. Something had caught his eye earlier, just beneath the frame. He knelt and looked closer.
There they were.
Runes.
Faintly etched, almost hidden in the grain. They didn't glow, didn't hum—not with light or sound. But as he brushed his fingers along them, he felt a pressure, deep and subtle, like something resting just out of sync with reality.
'What are you for?' Lucas ponders.
He traced over the markings with his fingers, watching as they lit up faintly in a deep purple glow.
But nothing came to mind—not even a hint of what they could be.
He stood and stepped back, scanning the corners of the room again, looking for anything he might've missed.
Nothing.
The room was clean, warm, and stocked with everything he needed for the basics.
'Prepared.'
Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in his lap, eyes fixed on the door.
He would wait until he could speak with Lira. They needed a plan—something to follow if things went wrong.
Because if one thing was certain, it was that three moons from now, the system would arrive for every single one of them.
And not knowing what that meant, Lucas had to prepare.
'Too bad there's no clock,' he thought. 'I could check how long it took them to fetch us for our bath. If it's exactly thirty minutes, that's another drop in the bucket.'
'Is there anything I can even do?' he wondered, still sitting on the edge of the bed.
'Maybe Lira has an idea,' he thought, deciding to wait until the servants returned.
Waiting as the long minutes dragged by, Lucas sat in silence, thinking over everything that had happened so far—from the tower, to Barrik, to the strange loss of memories… and of who he even was.
It was all a lot to take in.
Still, if there was one thing he had noticed, it was that back in the tower, people had seemed a bit more… normal.
'That one guy was talking,' he thought. 'And so was the dancer.'
'But once we reached the manor, they all kind of turned into servants themselves.'
'But me and Lira—we're still functioning. Is that because we're family? Or because we know each other's names?'
Lucas rubbed his forehead, frustration tightening his brow. There's too much I don't know.
He let the thought drift, hollow and unresolved. The silence of the room pressed in—until a soft, deliberate knock at the door broke it.
"Sir, are you ready for your bath?" a voice called from the other side. Polite. Measured.
"Yes," Lucas replied.
He opened the door to find the same regal servant waiting, his posture impeccable. Beside him, another attendant had already approached Lira, guiding her away in silence.
"If you'll follow me, sir, I will provide for you a most wondrous bath," the first man said, turning smoothly without waiting for approval.
Lucas hesitated for just a second—then stepped forward, following the man into the waiting hush of the corridor.
Down the stairs past the fireplace, Lucas and Lira were led to a door that opened into the basement. The steps beyond were carved from stone—but unlike those in the Tower, these felt warm beneath their feet. The reason became immediately clear: steam and heated air rose steadily through the open door, brushing against their skin like a sigh from below.
'Why would they need a fireplace if there's this much heat under the manor?' Lucas couldn't help but wonder as he followed the servant deeper into the descending passage.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Lucas took in the sight before him.
The bath was... grand. Larger than expected, carved directly into the mountain itself, its stone polished smooth by time and steam. It was split into two wings, separated by a wide, rune-etched divider that shimmered faintly in the haze. The walls were engraved with intricate designs—flowing lines, mirrored patterns, and the quiet hum of intent that came with old magic.
'More runes...' Lucas noted, eyes lingering on the markings as he followed the servant to the left. Lira, without a word, had already veered right. Gender separation, he assumed.
The servant led him to a private alcove, its entrance curtained by thick fabric. Inside, a shallow pool steamed gently under lanternlight, the heat rising in slow, rhythmic breaths. The servant gestured silently, then faded into the mist.
'Might as well,' Lucas sighed, quiet.
He stripped down and eased himself into the water.
It was hotter than he expected. Not scalding, but deep—saturating his limbs, washing the cold out of his bones. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, sinking until only his head stayed above the surface.
The warmth crept through him like a spell. Muscles loosened. Thoughts drifted.
'It'd be so easy to just close my eyes…'
The water rippled softly around him, and for a moment, the world felt far away. Safe. Removed.
'No.'
Lucas straightened, tension rippling back into his spine.
The comfort was too complete. The silence too perfect. And that hum—low, constant, barely audible beneath the steam—pressed against his skull like a lullaby not meant to soothe, but sedate.
Then another thought struck him.
'Where is everyone else?'
Everyone had been offered a bath. So why was he the only one here?
Despite the heat, a shiver traced his spine.
'It might be worse than I thought.'
He rose from the water before his body could protest, steam curling around him. Toweling off quickly, he dressed, the fabric cool against skin still flush with warmth.
As he pulled on his shirt, a voice cut softly through the mist behind him.
"Leaving already, sir?"
Lucas turned slightly. The servant stood just beyond the curtain, hands folded, expression unreadable save for a faint tilt of the head.
"Was the bath not relaxing enough for you?"
Lucas met his gaze through the steam. "No—it was perfect. Just… I'm not the biggest fan of long baths."
A pause.
Then the servant smiled—wide, practiced, polite.
"No problem at all," he said, voice light. "I'm sure you'll change your mind in the future."
He held the smile for a breath while gesturing for Lucas to pass.
Lucas said nothing. Just nodded once and moved past him, the echo of that smile clinging to his thoughts like condensation on stone.
Walking the manor halls alone, carrying the warmth of the bath Lucas makes way back to his and Lira's rooms.
Standing before her door, Lucas raised a fist and knocked.
Clank. Clank.
No more than a heartbeat passed before the door creaked open.
Lira stood there—hair completely dry. Not damp. Not curled from steam. Just dry. Straight and settled, like it had been hours since water last touched it. Her eyes, still sharp, looked a shade more worn than before. Not softened. Tired.
"Good. You made it. I was worried they got you too," she whispered, stepping forward and grabbing him by the shirt, pulling him inside.
"Wait—what do you mean 'got me'? I was in and out of the bath in five minutes tops," Lucas said, confusion tightening in his voice.
Lira shut the door behind him. Quiet. Deliberate. She locked it.
Then turned.
"That's exactly why I was worried," she said, arms crossing over her chest. "You didn't notice the runes?"
Lucas hesitated. "I saw them. Around the walls. I didn't know what they meant—figured they were holding the structure together, or maybe something to do with heating the water."
"Well, they did affect the bath," she said, her voice low and clipped. "From what I could tell, they're sleep runes. Slow-acting. Subtle. Meant to knock someone out for hours—maybe days."
Lucas frowned. "Then how come you—"
"I didn't use the bath." She nodded toward the corner of the room, where a wooden bucket sat with a damp towel draped over the rim. "Used that. Cold water. Quick rinse. No contact with the pool."
Lucas glanced at her hair again. Dry.
"How long's it been?" he asked.
"Three hours. Maybe more."
He blinked. "That long?"
She nodded. "Yeah. That's how I knew something was wrong. I finished fast. Waited. You didn't show. Neither did anyone else. At first, I thought I was just early—but time kept stretching."
Lucas sat on the edge of her bed, the warmth from his own bath now replaced with a colder clarity. The pieces clicked together like pieces of a puzzle.
"The others?" he asked.
"I checked. Doors are all shut. No sound. No movement. Quiet as graves," she said, her tone flat. "Whatever they wanted to do with them… I think it's already done."
Lucas runs his hand through his hair. "Then it's just us." Sighing.
"Yes, just us." Lira says letting it settle in the air.