The Black Haus

Chapter 1: Whispers in the Mist

The road to the Black Haus was one of shadows and silence. Narrow and overgrown, it twisted through the skeletal remains of a once-thriving forest. Ancient oaks, their branches stripped bare, reached toward the overcast sky like desperate hands. A chill clung to the air, seeping into bones and biting through cloaks.

Renault pulled his hood tighter against the cold. The exile hadn't seen another soul for miles, and he preferred it that way. The accusations that had followed him out of the capital still lingered like a phantom at his heels. Murderer. Betrayer. The words echoed in his mind, though he'd stopped arguing his innocence long ago.

Ahead, the mist thickened, curling around the gnarled trunks like a living thing. It was here that the stories began—whispers of a house that devoured all who dared approach. Renault scoffed under his breath. Superstitions held no power over him. But as he stepped closer, a prickling sensation danced across the back of his neck, and he froze.

There, in the gloom, the gates of the Black Haus emerged.

They were wrought iron, twisted into a grotesque semblance of vines and thorns, and at their center was the sigil. Renault's breath hitched as he stared at the mark—a spiral interwoven with jagged lines—identical to the one burned into his forearm. He clenched his fist to hide the mark, though no one was there to see it.

A low groan echoed through the forest, and the gates creaked open of their own accord. The mist poured through like smoke from a fire, beckoning him forward.

For a moment, Renault hesitated. He could turn back, return to the empty road, and leave the cursed house to its mysteries. But the sigil on his arm throbbed with heat, and an unnatural pull gripped him, dragging him toward the shadowy mansion beyond the gates.

The Black Haus stood at the heart of the clearing, its towering spires piercing the ashen sky. Black stone glistened as though slick with rain, though the air was dry. Windows, framed in intricate ironwork, glared like unblinking eyes.

Renault stepped onto the cobblestone path leading to the door. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against him. The world seemed quieter here—no rustling leaves, no birdsong, not even the wind.

As he reached the front steps, the massive wooden door swung open with a resounding creak, revealing nothing but darkness inside.

"Welcome," a voice whispered, low and serpentine, from within the void.

Renault's heart thundered in his chest, but he forced himself to step forward. The door slammed shut behind him, and the darkness swallowed him whole.