The rain began without warning.
It struck the roof with fury, as if the sky itself wanted to wash away the sins of the house. Yuki woke with a start, heart pounding, as though something had called to him in a dream. He went downstairs without thinking. The house was dark—but not asleep.
At the end of the hallway, Rei was waiting.
—"I found something," he said, his voice trembling. "About you."
Yuki frowned, but his feet moved on their own. The blackened paper was in Rei's hands. When Yuki saw it, he went pale. Something in his chest snapped shut like a rusted trap.
—"I don't remember this," he whispered.
—"But the house does," Rei replied.
Before they could say more, the lights flickered. An echo of footsteps crossed the upper floor. But everyone else was downstairs. All the clocks stopped at once.
Then, a child's voice:
—"Are you going to play with us?"
They both turned.
A boy. Barely five years old. Barefoot, in a gray gown, standing in the doorway. Others followed. Silent. Transparent. Their eyes clouded with time. Yuki stepped back. Rei did not.
—"We're not here to hurt you," Rei said, his voice calm but aching.
The boy spoke again:
—"You promised you'd come. You said you'd come back. But you never did."
It was Elías. The first child who disappeared. The one who always haunted Rei's most broken memories.
—"The seals pushed you away, but they didn't erase you," the child said. "We waited. We... died waiting."
The air turned icy. The children weren't angry. They were heartbroken.
Yuki trembled. Something inside him began to crack. Fragments of lost memories, of muffled screams, of padded walls and blinding white lights.
—"I... I was here, wasn't I?"
Rei nodded.
—"The house chose you, like it chose me. Like it chose them. And now it wants to close the cycle."
A crow cried outside. The rain stopped. And for the first time in years, the house held its breath.