In the quiet dimness of the room, Kael began to twist in bed, his face contorted in agony as he tried to articulate words that weighed on his chest like stones of distress.

"Elias, you don't understand," murmured Kael in fragmented whispers, his voice barely an echo in the still air. "None of this makes sense. This town... that mansion... Allison... som... something must have happened in the capital... our families."

Kael's pain was so intense that his voice got caught in his throat. Every fiber of his being twisted as if being pierced by searing knives. A gut-wrenching scream tore from his throat, shattering the cabin's tranquil atmosphere, an echo of the agony consuming him since waking up in that cursed place.

"Please, calm down, Kael!" pleaded Elias, his voice trembling, his face mirroring the distress that engulfed him. "You need rest, but we also need to know what's happening to you. What has put you in this state?"

Kael's words hung in the air, uttered with superhuman effort, as if each syllable cost a battle. "Allison... is not... what she seems. The mansion... the secrets... the... town... they're all connected. You have to..."

Kael struggled to articulate words, but the pain paralyzed him, turning his attempts into stifled groans.

The gut-wrenching screams filled the room, resonating like an anguished lament piercing the air. Each scream seemed to tear his throat, becoming a tangible echo of his suffering.

Elias, heart clenched in helplessness, lunged forward in a desperate attempt to soothe his friend, but his efforts proved futile. Kael writhed in bed, hands gripping the sheets as if afraid of being dragged by the same shadows tormenting him.

"Kael, please, calm down!" Elias pleaded with a trembling voice, trying to contain the tears threatening to emerge in his eyes. But Kael was beyond the reach of comforting words. The pain consuming him was too deep, too overwhelming.

It was then that Elias, with trembling yet determined hands, retrieved a small vial from his bag. It held a mysterious-looking powder with a sweet, earthy scent. Swiftly, he dabbed a handkerchief with the powder, aware that this small act would be their only hope.

"I'm sorry, Kael," whispered Elias with a choked voice as he leaned over his friend. "Forgive me for this."

With care, he placed the cloth over Kael's nose and mouth, ensuring he inhaled the powder. At first, Kael resisted, but the agony gave way to drowsiness, and his eyelids grew heavy, plunging him into a deep state of unconsciousness.

Elias watched his friend slip into unconsciousness with a mix of relief and sadness in his heart. He knew what he had done was a last resort to ease Kael's suffering, yet he also understood that this peace would be fleeting. Kael couldn't endure many more days in that state, and each day would be an unrelenting torment.

Stepping away from the bed, Elias sank heavily to the floor, leaning against the wall. His hands trembled, and his mind swirled with dark, somber thoughts. The room seemed to close in on him, a prison of despair and pain. The reality of the situation weighed on him like a millstone, and the knowledge that his friend was condemned to an unbearable fate tore him apart inside. He closed his eyes, letting tears stream down his face.

At the mountaintop, Elias clung to the fading daylight, watching as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Shadows stretched across the landscape, and the wind whispered ancient secrets among the trees. Amid the tranquil dusk, a lump formed in his throat as tears dried on his cheeks.

Down in the town of Nissari, night gently descended upon the cobblestone streets. Lampposts began to flicker to life, casting golden glimmers onto the house facades. The scent of earth and flowers filled the air as the townsfolk prepared for the quiet nighttime hours. In the central square, a group of children played with laughter and mischief, oblivious to the turmoil brewing in the nearby heights.

Nissari, though small and seemingly forgotten, pulsed with a unique energy. It was a town where traditions thrived, where the community cared for each other, and where knowledge was treasured. Despite the declining population, the inhabitants of Nissari clung to their history and roots with a determination that bound them together.

At the heart of the town, amid ancient cobbled streets illuminated by flickering lamplight, stood the newly constructed mansion. An imposing structure of stone and marble that starkly contrasted with the simplicity of the surrounding homes.

Within the opulent mansion, a room exuded intellect and dedication. Shelves brimming with books soared to the ceiling, filling the air with the scent of aged paper and perfumed candles. At a polished wooden desk, an eighteen-year-old woman basked in the soft glow of an oil lamp. Her dark hair cascaded in gentle waves around a lively and keen face. She dressed with elegance, enhancing her natural grace and confidence.

With delicate and assured hands, she meticulously noted on a unfurled parchment. Each stroke of the quill traced the lines of an ancient language, a tongue few knew but one she had mastered with grace and dedication. Her agile mind reflected in every stroke as she delved into the ancestral symbols.

Occasionally, she glanced up at the open window, contemplating the tranquil scenery of the town of Nissari. Nostalgia and determination filled her eyes as she observed the cobblestone streets, the red-tiled roofs, and the elongated shadows cast by the setting sun.

A soft knock echoed at her study door, and her previously relaxed expression, absorbed in concentration, turned serious and authoritative. With a barely perceptible gesture, she invited the person in.

The door opened slowly, revealing two individuals: a middle-aged man with a serious gaze and a slender elderly man dressed like a butler, whose posture exuded respect and formality. The elderly man, with a placid voice and exquisite manners, took a step forward and bowed, as if entering the young lady's study required a ceremonial act.

"Allow me to present Mr. William Harrow, one of the men who participated in delivering supplies to the mountain, young miss," announced the elderly butler with reverent voice, as if enunciating a sacred rite.

The young lady nodded coolly, locking eyes with the middle-aged man, whose face bore clear signs of worry and nervousness. The gravity of the information he carried weighed on his shoulders like an unbearable burden.

Mr. Harrow took a deep breath before speaking, his words coming slowly, laden with gravity. "Young miss," he began with a respectful yet distressed tone, "as we ascended the mountain to deliver the supplies, I heard a gut-wrenching cry of pain that shattered the silence at the summit. Initially, I thought it was the beasts of the forest or the wind's howl amidst the rocks. However, something in that cry sent shivers down my spine, filling me with unease. My intuition drove me to investigate. After leaving the supplies at the cabin, I chose to hide nearby to observe."

As Mr. Harrow narrated the cries of agony he had heard on the mountain, the young lady couldn't help but allow a glint of interest to surface in her eyes, not out of compassion but out of sheer curiosity. Her gaze narrowed with intensity, urging him to continue.

"I saw the stout one enter the cabin again with the supplies. That's when the cries of agony resounded from within once more. They were harrowing, miss, carrying the weight of the deepest suffering," said Mr. Harrow, his voice trembling, his eyes reflecting the horror he had witnessed. "They were screams of anguish, as if hell itself had descended upon that abode. The echo of that pain still reverberates in my ears, like a sorrowful melody I'll never forget."

The young miss listened to Mr. Harrow's words with a cold and calculated attention. Her piercing gaze seemed to analyze every detail of the account, searching for any hint of falsehood or manipulation.

"I understand," said the young lady with a serene yet sharp voice, akin to a finely honed steel blade. "Thank you for informing me of this, Mr. Harrow. You've done well to investigate and bring me this information. Now, please, go rest. I'm sure you're exhausted from your journey and what you've witnessed."

Mr. Harrow nodded with gratitude and respect before performing a formal bow. "Thank you, young miss. I'm at your disposal should you need more information or assistance."

"It won't be necessary, for now," responded the young lady with a wave of her hand, signaling his dismissal.

As Mr. Harrow left the room, the young miss remained alone in her study, immersed in her thoughts. The news of the cries of agony emanating from the cabin filled her with unease. If Kael had awakened, it meant there was an unknown variable at play, something she hadn't anticipated in her meticulous plans. She couldn't allow this uncertainty to persist; she needed to ensure that the situation was under control.

At that moment, the elderly butler returned to the room with a profound look and an air of seriousness that didn't escape the young miss's notice. His presence was like the mansion's shadow, ever-present, silently observing.

"What would you like to do, young miss?" inquired the butler with a soft yet firm voice, as if ready to carry out any order she gave.

The young miss took a moment to carefully consider her words before responding. She knew that any move they made now could be used against them if not handled with caution. The situation was delicate, and they couldn't afford mistakes.

"Send a message to our contact in the city," she said finally, her voice carrying a sense of urgency. "We need updated information on the situation in the capital and any details regarding Kael's family. I need to know if they're aware and what they're planning. We can't afford to be in the dark while they're active."

The butler nodded in understanding, his wrinkled face showing a determined expression. Before he could open his mouth to confirm his task, the city's alarm bells began to ring, filling the air with an urgent and frantic clamor.