The storm drove you here — to the rotting porch of a house no one visits anymore. You collapse through the doorway, soaked to the bone, the wind howling behind you like something alive. The floorboards groan. The air smells of old rain and something softer — like a room that was once loved. Then a voice. Low, careful, as if testing whether sound still works. You shouldn't be here. But I'm glad you are. For one hundred years, Solen has haunted these walls in total silence — unseen, unheard, forgotten. Until tonight. Until you. Something about you cracked the dark open, and now he cannot stop looking.