Five

The creak of the heavy wooden door opening reveals a manor far different from what I'd expected. From the outside, it looks pale and abandoned, like a forgotten relic of some bygone era. But inside, it's... pristine.

The interior is classic, with dark wood floors that gleam as if polished daily and walls adorned with intricate crown molding. A massive chandelier, its crystals refracting dim light, hangs from the high ceiling. Despite its age, everything appears well taken care of—almost too well.

My attention is drawn to four massive paintings hanging on the walls of the entryway. Each depicts a male figure, pale and haunting, their eyes darkened as if painted with shadows. They seem unnervingly lifelike, their ghostly complexions making them feel less human and more... something else.

I pause, staring at them. "What are these?" I finally manage to ask, though my voice comes out quieter than I'd intended.

Hades doesn't answer. Instead, he strides forward, leaving me to trail behind him. My gaze lingers on the paintings as I follow, a chill creeping up my spine. Creatures. That's what they look like—pale, eerie creatures captured in perfect, unsettling detail.

I haven't even opened my mouth to complain about how unnerved I feel when the sound of footsteps catches my attention.

A man descends the rounded staircase ahead of us, his movements fluid and unhurried. His light blue eyes, bright as the ocean, lock onto me instantly, and his hair—silver like the moon—seems to shimmer in the dim light. He's tall, with a lean, graceful build, and his sharp features are softened by the playful grin spreading across his face.

"What's this, Hades?" he says, his tone light and teasing. "What do you bring this time? And why is it not dinner?"

Hades doesn't even flinch. Instead, he grins, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that infuriatingly smug way of his. "We can eat her if you want."

I stiffen, my body going rigid as my heart hammers in my chest. My eyes dart between the two of them, searching for any sign that they're serious.

The silver-haired man bursts into laughter, loud and unrestrained. He places a hand on his chest, as if the very idea is too ridiculous to handle. "Oh, this one's tense," he says, shaking his head. His light blue eyes sparkle with amusement as he steps closer, his grin widening. "Relax, little mouse. We don't bite."

"Speak for yourself," Hades mutters under his breath, though the hint of amusement in his voice tells me he's still joking.

His smile softens, and he extends a hand toward me. I glance at him and find his gaze warm and disarming. "Name's Callum," he says cheerfully.

I hesitate, glancing at Hades before reluctantly shaking his hand. "Freya."

"Well, Freya," Callum says, his grin returning full force, "welcome to our humble abode. Though, between you and me, I'm surprised he let you in. Hades is usually so picky about who gets to stay."

I glance at Hades, who's leaning casually against the banister, arms folded as he watches the exchange with mild amusement. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his posture that suggests he's not as indifferent as he appears.

Callum claps his hands together, breaking the moment. "Come on, little mouse," he says with a teasing wink. "Let's show you around before you decide to scamper back to the maze."

"Not tonight."

Hades steps forward and positions himself on the staircase, now at the same level as Callum. His dark blue eyes lock onto Callum's with an intensity that causes the room to still. Slowly, he shakes his head.

"She's tired," Hades says, his voice low but firm. "My little mouse would prefer to rest tonight."

The way he says it—my little mouse—makes my chest tighten. There's a possessiveness in his tone that I can't quite ignore, and the words hang in the air between the three of us.

Callum's cheerful smile falters immediately, the light in his ocean-blue eyes dimming. His expression freezes for a split second before his shoulders stiffen, and he steps back, as though Hades' words have physically struck him.

The change in Callum is so sudden, so stark, that I can only stare. His playful demeanor melts away, replaced by something more uncertain, even troubled. His gaze flickers between me and Hades, and his jaw tightens as if he's struggling to say something.

"I... I'll show her to the guest room... then," Callum stammers, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Hades doesn't respond, only continues to stare at Callum. Whatever message is being exchanged between them, it's one I'm not privy to, but the atmosphere is too intense, like an invisible thread stretched taut between them.

Callum turns to me. "Come now," he says, though the teasing lilt in his voice is noticeably absent. His steps are quick as he descends the stairs, motioning for me to follow.

I glance at Hades, who remains rooted in place. He doesn't say anything else, but his eyes linger on me, their dark depths filled with something I can't quite decipher.

I follow Callum down the hallway and I can't quite shake what I just witnessed. One moment, he had been full of charm and mischief, and the next, it was as if someone had pulled a rug out from under him. His cheer faded so fast it was almost alarming.

What was it about Hades' words that shook him? My little mouse. The phrase plays over in my mind. What does it even mean? It wasn't just the words, though—it was the way Hades said them, the calm finality in his tone, like a line had been drawn in the sand that no one was allowed to cross.

And Callum... He didn't just hear those words. He reacted to them, almost viscerally. It was in the way he stepped back, the way his smile crumbled, the way his voice wavered when he spoke after.

I glance at his back as he leads me through the dimly lit corridor. His silvery hair catches the faint glow of the lanterns on the walls, but his usual lightness seems to have dimmed. Even his stride feels off—less sure, less confident.

As Callum leads me down the long, dimly lit corridor, the soft echo of our footsteps on the polished wood seems to carry further than it should. The hallway is lined with portraits—grim, dignified faces staring down at me, their eyes seeming to follow my every movement. A cool breeze stirs the air around me, though I can't tell if it's from the open windows or something else entirely.

When we reach the end of the hall, Callum stops before a door, his hand brushing against the carved wood. He turns to me, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, but it's different now—subdued. "Your room, little mouse," he says. "Don't worry. It's all yours."

The door creaks open, and I step inside, a rush of cool air greeting me, filling my lungs with the scent of old wood and something faintly floral. The room is grand in a way I hadn't expected—old-world charm with a carefully maintained touch. It's not lavish, but it's undeniably regal, like it's been here for centuries, and yet it feels oddly lived-in.

A canopy bed draped in deep crimson velvet stands as the room's centerpiece, its silk sheets catching the faint light from the moon filtering through the large windows. The furniture is dark and heavy, with intricate carvings that seem almost too detailed to be real. Shelves line the walls, stacked with books, the scent of parchment and leather mingling in the air. There's a beauty in its quiet elegance, but it's the kind of beauty that makes you feel like an intruder.

I step further inside, my boots making no sound on the thick, plush rug beneath my feet, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, even as I'm left alone here. "It's beautiful," I murmur, though something in my gut tells me it's not just the room that's beautiful. It's everything about this place—strange, ancient, and unsettling.

Callum lingers in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "It is," he agrees with a grin, though it's tinged with something else now, a flicker of unease. "But there's something you'll need to get used to around here."

I tilt my head, the question bubbling up before I can stop it. "Where are the maids? The servants?" I glance around the room, half-expecting someone to appear at any moment. "How is this place so well-maintained without anyone here to take care of it?"

Callum shrugs, his smirk returning, but it's a little more strained this time. "You'll find that around here, things don't really work like they do outside these walls. The manor... takes care of itself. It doesn't need maids or servants."

A shiver runs down my spine, a cold feeling creeping up my neck. "What does that mean?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He leans against the doorframe, his gaze flickering over me. "You'll figure it out soon enough. Just get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow."

I hesitate, my thoughts swirling with questions I can't ask, things I don't understand. I open my mouth to speak again, but then close it, the weight of his words pressing against me.

"Thanks," I finally manage, still caught in the unease that's settled in my chest.

"Don't mention it," Callum replies easily, though his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Rest well, little mouse."

I stand there, staring at the door as it closes softly behind him, locking me in with only my thoughts to keep me company.

The room feels different now—colder. The faint rustle of leaves in the distance drifts through the window, mingling with the sound of my own breathing. I turn back to the bed, the soft red fabric drawing me in. But the more I look at it, the more it feels like a trap. Everything in this house feels like it's designed to lull you into a false sense of safety, to make you forget that nothing here is as it seems.

I slip into bed, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. My thoughts swirl—about the game, the king, the cursed immortals, and why I'm here. What's truly going on behind all these walls? What does Hades really want? And most of all, what kind of kingdom have I stepped into?

Sleep teases the edges of my mind, but it doesn't come.

I lie in the bed, the sheets twisted around my legs, my body restless, my mind even more so. I toss and turn, thoughts racing faster than I can keep up with. The silence in the room is suffocating, pressing in on me like a heavy weight. The manor, despite its beauty, feels too still, too quiet—unnerving in a way I can't quite explain.

Sleep is nowhere near me. I stare up at the ceiling, counting the faint shadows that flicker in the candlelight. I can still feel the strange pull of the place, the weight of the secrets it holds, and the unanswered questions that gnaw at me. What is this place really?

Frustration bubbles up, and I groan, swinging my legs off the bed. My feet meet the cool, smooth floorboards, and a shiver runs through me. I ignore it. I need a distraction, something to occupy my mind. A book, maybe. I grab the nearest one from the shelf and sink into the armchair by the window, the dark night outside matching the restlessness swirling inside me. I try to focus on the words, but they blur in front of me. I can't concentrate—too many thoughts, too many unknowns.

I sigh and set the book aside, my throat suddenly dry. The kitchen. Maybe a drink might help.

I slip out of the room quietly, the cool air of the hallway greeting me as I walk down the dark corridor. My bare feet pad softly against the floor, my steps measured in the silence. I haven't taken much time to learn the layout of the manor, and I can already tell it's easy to get lost in its winding halls. But I don't mind. The quiet is all I need right now.

I walk deeper into the manor, the dark corners stretching on endlessly. The silence presses in on me, but there's something soothing about it. Until I pass a door, slightly ajar. A muffled voice drifts out from inside.

It's not Hades' voice.