The atmosphere in the house had become suffocating. A dark presence spread slowly, like poison seeping into every corner. Yuki felt his skin crawl and a deep chill piercing his bones. In the basement, where the orphanage children had once slept, dense shadows now floated, whispering forgotten secrets.
Noah, flashlight in hand, advanced cautiously. His eyes searched beyond the light, trying to discern what was real and what was not. The orphanage's story, lost in forgotten records, seemed to come alive with each step.
In a corner, a figure began to materialize: an elongated, dark shadow twisting the space around it. Ershem, the entity that had remained dormant, awakened with restrained fury. Its eyes, two black abysses, fixed themselves on Yuki and Rei, summoning them without words.
The children who had inhabited that place had not disappeared but had become echoes trapped in a limbo between life and death, victims of the dark power Ershem represented. Each had a story marked by pain, betrayal, and abandonment, and now those memories emerged as ghosts clamoring for justice.
Yuki vaguely recalled fragments of his childhood that had remained buried until then: laughter in the garden, hands holding him, a promise of protection that was never fulfilled. The house, once a refuge, was slowly turning into a prison where time had stopped.
Rei, aware that the darkness was part of himself, tried to maintain control. He knew Ershem was not only a threat to them but a mirror of his own torment. His presence, as tangible as ethereal, seemed to feed on the vulnerability of the living.
Noah made a decision. He pulled out an old ledger he had found in the house's library, an orphanage accounting book, and began to read aloud the names and dates. With each name spoken, Ershem's shadow momentarily receded, as if those souls in need of memory could find relief in being remembered.
The battle was silent but intense, a fight for the very soul of the house, where past and present intertwined in a fabric of horror and redemption.