The house seemed to whisper with an ancient voice, heavy with memories and forgotten secrets. Within its walls, the echo of children's laughter, familiar voices, and the tinkling of glass intertwined with a cold sigh—the breath of an unseen presence. Yuki felt that every step he took through the hallways was a dance between past and present, a fragile border where memories blurred as swiftly as the mist creeping through the windows.
Noah had returned that morning with old books, dusty texts promising answers about the hidden history of the house. There was something in him that, despite the mystery, inspired a faint trust, almost protective. Yuki watched him, increasingly convinced he was not alone in that silent storm.
In a corner of the room, the mirror that had so often shown Rei remained dark, as if waiting for the exact moment to reveal another truth.
—Do you think the house can remember us? —Noah asked without looking up from a worn manuscript.
—Not only remember us —Yuki replied softly— but also decide which memories to let live and which to bury.
The air thickened, and a shadow appeared in the glass's reflection. It was not Rei, but something more subtle: a movement, a sigh, a promise.
That afternoon, amidst dust and twilight, Yuki closed his eyes and let the memories flood him.
He remembered the house when it was still a home: laughter filling the rooms, a warm light enveloping every corner, and the figure of his great-grandfather, so alive in his mind he could almost feel his presence beside him. A distant melody, the song of a white raven, marked the afternoons in the garden.
But something had broken. A silence that began as a whisper and ended as a muffled scream. And that fracture seeped into the walls, the air, the very soul of the house.
Rei appeared at his side, like an ethereal shadow that seemed part of the very essence of the place.
—Why do you persist? —he asked with a voice vibrating between melancholy and longing.
—Because there is still beauty here —Yuki answered— even if buried beneath layers of fear and forgetting.
Rei's fingers brushed Yuki's cheek with a softness that defied the cold surrounding him.
—Then let me show you what time has forgotten —he whispered.
And so, between light and shadow, the house began to breathe with its own rhythm, telling its oldest secrets.