Chapter 03 – The Game Begins

The silence settled like a second skin — thick, watchful, almost alive.

Elara sat motionless on the edge of her bed, a book resting on her lap, pages still untouched. She hadn't read a word in over an hour. Outside, the wind clawed at the windows, a long, low wail that felt too deliberate to be mere weather.

She rose, her movements cautious as though afraid the walls might listen. At her dressing table, her reflection greeted her with the same distant emptiness. The mirror seemed to hesitate, as if it didn't want to reveal what it truly saw.

Her gaze fell to the bottom drawer — the one she hadn't dared to open.

It resisted at first, creaking like an old bone before finally giving way.

Inside: a small wooden box, carved with ivy patterns and initials so worn they were ghosts themselves. The box was surprisingly light, yet something inside rattled softly, like ancient dice deciding her fate.

She lifted the lid with a slow, shaking breath.

Inside lay small wooden figurines: a king, a queen, a child, and something that looked like a wolf — its fangs half carved, half imagined. There was no board. No instructions. Just these figures. Waiting. Watching.

Her fingers hovered above them. Finally, she chose the child. Its face was almost erased by time, yet a faint hint of a smile remained.

She set it gently on the table.

The moment it touched the surface, the nearest candle sputtered and died — its final breath a thin coil of smoke that snaked toward the ceiling.

Elara froze. Her breath shallow, her pulse thrumming like distant war drums. The silence deepened, pressing against her skull.

She quickly returned the child to the box, shut the lid, and turned away, her heart hammering so loudly she feared the walls might echo it back.

That's when she heard it.

A click.

Soft. Distant. But unmistakable.

She moved to her door, opening it just enough to peer into the corridor. Shadows pooled like ink outside, heavy and unmoving. Nothing.

Yet something deep inside her twisted — she knew.

She turned back to her room. The third door — the plain, unassuming one she'd been warned about — had been closed before.

Now, it was open. Barely. Just enough to whisper: I'm listening.

She shut the main door slowly, as if afraid to disturb whatever was now awake. She leaned against it, her breath ragged. Her gaze darted to the wooden box still resting on her table.

Still closed.

Still waiting.

The game hadn't ended. It had only begun.

She crawled back into bed, fully clothed once more, and blew out the remaining candles. The darkness swallowed her whole, and she lay there, wide-eyed.

She didn't sleep.

Not when the walls began to whisper.

Not when the floor above creaked under phantom steps.

Not when, just before dawn, she turned toward the mirror—

And saw her reflection move… a heartbeat too late.

Worse yet—

The child figurine, the one she'd placed back in the box, now sat in her reflection's hand.

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See you in the shadows…

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