The air near the basement door felt different—thicker, colder, as though the darkness behind it had weight.

  Noctis stood before the door longer than he had intended. Fear still lingered in his chest, coiled and watchful—but it no longer ruled him.

  He stepped inside, gripping the flashlight he had found in the storehouse. With every step, he descended deeper into the darkness. The faint light spilling in from behind him slowly faded until it disappeared altogether. The basement was quiet, filled only with the presence of small insects and rusted, forgotten devices. Strangely, he couldn’t hear his own footsteps. It was as if there was no floor beneath him at all—like he was walking on air—yet the pressure of the darkness pressed down on his body, heavy and suffocating.

  The basement was vast.

  The farther he walked, the more lost he felt. He could no longer see the basement door; it had already vanished into the black. Still, Noctis didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to. He examined everything he passed, searching desperately for clues—but found nothing.

  Then, a thought struck him.

  What if the relation between light and the basement mentioned in the diary didn’t mean bringing a light source… but finding one?

  It wasn’t a certainty, but it was the only idea he had.

  He walked on. And on.

  Soon, the silence sharpened. He could hear his own breath, the faint buzzing of a bulb somewhere far away, the subtle skittering of insects, even the blood rushing through his veins. Yet still—no sound of his footsteps. It was unnatural, but Noctis didn’t question it anymore. He had already seen enough to know better.

  The basement seemed endless. It felt as though he had walked for kilometres—enough to cover the entire mansion—yet there was no end in sight. His legs ached, his body screamed for rest, but he refused to stop.

  Then he heard a voice.

  It was a whisper, as though someone had spoken directly behind his ear.

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  “It fell… and nobody was able to do anything. And Ian Vexwood did not look behind.”

  Noctis’s heart skipped a beat. Sweat poured down his back as his body froze completely. He trembled uncontrollably, unable to move. He tried to steady his breathing, to calm himself—but his knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor.

  A child’s giggle echoed behind him.

  For the first time since entering the basement, he heard footsteps.

  They weren’t his.

  They were light, uneven—like those of a child slowly walking toward him from behind.

  Noctis slapped his own face, forcing himself to snap out of it, to regain control. He turned around—

  And froze.

  On a lone shelf stood a single teardrop-shaped crystal, emitting a soft, pale light. It hadn’t been there before.

  But did that matter?

  The glow brought him an overwhelming sense of comfort. He recognized it instantly—a Mear crystal. Without questioning it, Noctis staggered toward the shelf. As he reached out to take it, his fingers brushed against something else.

  “A ring…?” he muttered.

  He decided to take it as well. The ring was old, dirty, and heavily rusted, with faint engravings too unclear to read. He slipped both items into his pocket.

  When he turned back around, the basement door stood barely ten steps away.

  Too exhausted to question it, Noctis walked toward the light, leaving the darkness behind him.

  Outside, the mansion’s hallways were silent. He checked the time—and his breath caught.

  It was already midnight.

  He had entered the basement around five in the evening.

  Seven hours.

  Noctis returned to his quarters without thinking further. He placed the teardrop-shaped crystal and the ring on the table and collapsed onto the bed.

  The next morning, he immediately began examining the items.

  After careful inspection, he concluded that the crystal had once been part of a chandelier. The ring bore a name engraved into its surface, ending with the surname Vexwood. The rest of the name was obscured by rust and grime. The only chandelier that matched the crystal’s shape was the one hanging in the mansion’s main entrance.

  He didn’t know what to make of it yet, so he focused on the ring.

  The voice from the basement still haunted him.

  Without realizing it, Noctis whispered the words aloud—

  “It fell… and nobody was able to do anything. And Ian Vexwood did not look behind.”

  Ian Vexwood—the master of the mansion.

  He didn’t understand what the sentence meant, or why that name had been mentioned. But he knew he couldn’t ignore it. He carefully wrote it down in the diary.

  Later that day, he asked the kitchen staff for some vinegar. Back in his room, he soaked the ring and scrubbed it relentlessly, as though his life depended on it.

  In a way, it did.

  After hours of effort, the rust finally flaked away, revealing a dull platinum surface beneath.

  Engraved clearly upon it were the words:

  Illya Vexwood