Chapter 28 – Three Steps in the Same Direction

Laterano never truly had dark nights. Even when the skies were clouded and the streetlights dimmed for energy conservation, the glow from tall buildings and old altars still cast faint silhouettes. This city didn't understand total darkness. But Exu knew... darkness wasn't just about light. It was about not knowing.

That morning, the three of them sat around Lemuen's kitchen table.

Three cups of tea, three pieces of toast, and one floor plan of Laterano's underground levels—one that didn't appear on any public map.

Fiammetta circled the bottom-left corner in red. "If the voice really came from the third altar's resonance point, then access should be here."

Lemuen examined the sketch. "That area's rarely used. It used to be a document storage room. Now it's locked. But I have an old copy of the key."

Exu didn't say much. She just marked two other points they had previously suspected.

"We can only choose one route," she said at last. "If we get caught, the others will be sealed off."

Fiammetta nodded. "You decide."

Exu pointed to Lemuen's marked point. "Let's start with the one we can unlock. No need to break in—yet."

The walk to the old building wasn't suspicious. They weren't in disguise—just dressed normally, walking like document couriers, carrying a small bag with a recorder, flashlight, and a thin logbook.

The building looked like an abandoned office—paint peeling, door creaking as it opened. Lemuen slid the padlock open with his old key, then gently pushed the door.

Inside, the air was damp, like a room that hadn't been touched in years.

Fiammetta turned on a small flashlight. "There are shoe prints. But not many."

Exu moved slowly toward a staircase descending below. Old stone steps, cracked walls.

There were no voices.

Their footsteps were silent. Their movements light.

At the bottom, they found a room with a stone floor and old symbols on the walls—ancient Sankta script, but incomplete. Some parts were coated in dust. Others... looked far too clean.

Lemuen crouched down, wiping one of the symbols with his sleeve.

"Too tidy. Someone's been here recently," he muttered.

Exu switched on the recorder. No strange sounds. Just faint echoes, and one low note—like a deep metal pipe resonance.

"We'll record for ten minutes here," Exu said. "If no new signals show up, we move to Point Two in two days."

Fiammetta nodded. Lemuen stood at the corner, watching the entrance.

No one spoke again.

That night, they returned to Exu's house. The small storage room had been converted into a mini observation post. On the desk: three recorders, one small screen to play back audio, and Exu's notebook, already filled with notes and sketches.

Exu replayed the recording.

At first—silence. Then... footsteps.

Not theirs.

Heavy steps. One. Two. Three. Then silence.

Then, a soft voice. Not quite a whisper, not loud either:

"Three steps... three witnesses... one purpose."

Lemuen turned his chair. "That wasn't recorded from the room."

"Not an echo," Fiammetta added. "It was recorded up close. But no one was there except us."

Exu stared at the screen.

"We're being watched back."

The next day, they didn't head for Point Two. They stayed home, rearranging the map, rechecking entry routes, and comparing Exu's notes since the beginning of her suspicions about Laterano's structure.

Fiammetta wrote a summary:

Three altars. Voices didn't come from standard rituals. The phrase 'three witnesses' was mentioned—possibly symbolic. But we are three. No warning from city monitors. Is this deliberate?

Lemuen added:

→ If it's deliberate, then we're being tested—not hunted.→ But why?

Exu wrote a single line:

If they let us know, it means they want us to choose. But we still can refuse.

Lemuen looked at her. "Are you sure?"

Exu looked back. "No. But I know this—we wouldn't be sitting here unless it mattered."

Fiammetta leaned back in her chair. "Alright then. So… we keep going?"

Exu nodded. "We keep going."

Outside, Laterano remained calm.

Children practiced reading sacred scripts.Post workers rushed to organize routes.The central church was preparing a weekend celebration.

But in one of the empty buildings, a figure stood behind a curtain.

Their eyes fixed toward the south.

And their hand touched an old carving—the symbol of the third altar.