The day began like any other. A simple request posted on the guild board: investigate a long-abandoned mansion rumored to be cursed. Locals spoke of whispers in the night, eerie lights in the windows, and people who entered never walking out again. Naturally, Frye and Mochi took one look at the poster and practically shoved it in my face.
"A haunted mansion?" Frye grinned, her braid bouncing as she leaned in close. "Sounds like a fun little scare. Bet I come out braver than you."
"Pfft. Ghosts don't scare me," Mochi muttered, already cracking her knuckles. "But if anything so much as breathes weird near Master, I'm ripping it in half."
Iris, ever calm, studied the request with her delicate fingers pressed to her lips. "If the curse is real, it could be a corruption of divine energy. That would make it sacred… or sacrilegious. Either way, I'd like to examine it."
The only one who didn't speak right away was Zion.
We all turned to her. She looked away.
"Zion?" I asked. "You okay?"
She crossed her arms and stared down the road ahead. "I'm fine."
But when we reached the mansion, an ancient, towering thing covered in vines and gloom, she didn't take a step forward. The gate loomed wide open, the iron twisted and rusted. Beyond it, the house seemed to breathe with every gust of wind.
The moment the heavy front door creaked open with a slow, groaning wail, Zion flinched hard and almost raised her shield.
Frye burst out laughing. "Wait. Wait. You're scared? The mighty steel wall of our party is afraid of haunted houses?"
"I'm not—!" Zion started, but her voice cracked slightly. "I'm not scared. Just cautious."
Mochi grinned wide, fangs glinting. "Master, I think our knight just confessed to being a scaredy cat."
I smiled, unable to help myself. "It's okay. We'll protect you."
Zion glared at me with red cheeks and stormed inside ahead of everyone, muttering something about "professionalism."
The interior of the mansion was like stepping into a dream carved out of dust and dread. The floors creaked with every step. Candle sconces lit on their own as we walked past, flickering shadows stretching impossibly long along the walls. Paintings of pale nobles stared at me with eyes that felt just a little too real. The air was cold, stale, and full of whispers that didn't match my own breaths.
Frye wandered into an upper hallway, claiming she saw a secret room behind a torn curtain.
Iris wandered to the old chapel wing, drawn to a strange glow.
Mochi chased what she said was "something tall and hairy" down a side corridor.
And then… they were gone.
No screams. No sounds. Just—gone.
I ran back through the halls, calling their names. No answer. The mansion felt bigger than before. The air heavier. The flickering lights more erratic.
Only Zion remained, standing beside me, hand trembling just slightly on her sword.
"Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice nearly lost in the quiet.
I felt her clutch my arm tightly, pressing close—her strong facade crumbling.
And despite the fear crawling up my spine… I smiled and gently held her hand.
Because right now, the knight needed me.
The silence in the cursed mansion grew heavier the farther we walked. No more clever remarks from Frye, no more low growls from Mochi or quiet musings from Iris. Just me and Zion, our footsteps muffled on the faded carpet, our breath held with every creaking floorboard and flickering candle.
Zion tried to take the lead, sword raised and shield in hand. But with each passing shadow, each ghostly whisper that echoed through the crooked halls, she slowed. Her posture, always so commanding, faltered slightly every time the wind rustled a curtain or a loose floorboard groaned underfoot. She masked it well, but not from me.
I didn't say anything at first. Letting her have the illusion of control was a small kindness. But when she startled and raised her sword toward a painting whose eyes moved—only to find the painting hadn't changed—I stepped forward and gently touched her wrist.
"Easy," I said softly.
Her fingers tightened on the hilt, then loosened.
She lowered the sword.
I reached out and took her free hand in mine. She froze, startled—not because I touched her, but because she didn't expect the warmth to calm her so quickly. Zion was always the shield, the unbreakable will of our party. But here, in this cursed house filled with unexplainable horrors, that shield had cracks.
"I hate this place," she whispered. Her voice barely rose above the faint hiss of candlelight. "I've always hated things like this. Ghosts. Curses. Things that can't be blocked or struck down."
I squeezed her hand.
"It's alright," I told her. "It's not shameful to be scared. You've kept us alive more times than I can count. Let me do that for you this time."
She stared at me, a little stunned. Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to deny it, to brush it off. But she didn't. Instead, she looked away, cheeks faintly red, and gave a single nod.
We both pressed on.
The deeper halls of the mansion twisted unnaturally. Doors led to staircases that circled back, hallways looped into one another, and entire rooms disappeared after we left them. It was like the house was alive and shifting with our steps. Zion stuck close now, not out of fear, but coordination. Her presence was steady, her fingers still interlaced with mine as though it gave her something solid to anchor to.
One room contained a grand piano that played itself until we entered. The notes grew dissonant and shrill, then stopped the moment we set foot on the faded rug. Another room held a shattered mirror that, when pieced together with magic, reflected not our image but scenes from the past—faces of adventurers long dead, their eyes hollow and mouths open in silent screams. Zion said nothing, but her grip on my hand tightened each time.
We found a writing room where letters hovered in midair, ghostly quills scribbling invisible ink across parchment. One note read: "Still searching. Traps too many. Hope fading. She's gone." Another: "I hear them whispering to me. I want to go home."
In the next hallway, Zion spotted something. "There," she said, pointing toward a crooked candelabra. At first, it seemed insignificant—until she reached out and twisted it. A soft click echoed through the air, and a panel in the wall opened to reveal a hidden passage. She didn't look proud, just focused.
"We keep going," she said. "They're still alive. I know it."
The passage led downward, beyond the lower halls into a stone-walled basement lined with shattered bones and rusted weapons. Dust drifted through the air like snow, disturbed only by our footfalls and the soft glow of my elemental detection magic.
There, carved into the stone, was a ritual circle.
It spanned the entire floor, drawn in crimson ink that shimmered with a low, humming power. Four anchor points pulsed faintly, like slow heartbeats. I didn't need to be a mage to understand—each anchor was tethered to someone's life force. Someone I knew.
I moved closer, analyzing the glyphs. Each one was inscribed with layered runes, and my fingers instinctively traced the mana pathways. I recognized the magical residue at each anchor—Frye's quicksilver aura, Iris's gentle radiance, Mochi's aggressive heat.
"They're alive," I breathed.
Zion knelt beside me, studying the outer ring.
"But they're being drained. Slowly. And if this finishes—"
"They'll die," I finished grimly.
"No." Zion stood. "Not if we break the ritual."
I nodded. "If I disrupt the primary glyphs with elemental feedback, I can scramble the mana and stall the process. Maybe even reverse some of the drain."
Zion walked the perimeter, counting the glowing runes, examining every pattern. "There are defensive wards. Hidden ones. We'll trigger them the moment you start channeling."
I stood and looked at her.
"I can't do this without you."
She looked back, her expression steeled again—but softer than usual. More honest. "Then we'll do it together. I'll handle the traps. You handle the spellwork."
The flickering candlelight reflected off her silver armor. Her eyes were still afraid—but no longer frozen by it. She faced the ritual, sword drawn, and said in a low voice:
"I'm not losing anyone. Not here. Not again."
And beside her, neither would I.