The darkness didn't last long.
A soft click echoed through the hallway, and the chandelier sputtered back to life—dimmer than before. Its glow seemed… wrong. Like it lit the space but didn't touch it. Shadows clung to the corners like they didn't want to leave.
Ava stepped closer to Daniel, clutching her useless inhaler. Around them, the others stood frozen—listening.
The dice were no longer rolling.
But the sound had moved.
Deeper into the house.
"Okay, what the hell is this place?" Tasha muttered, glancing around. "Is this some kind of prank? Like hidden cameras or something?"
"This isn't a prank," Marcus said. "It's too quiet. Too... aware."
They began to move—slowly, cautiously—into the main corridor.
The house stretched longer than it should have. The hallway twisted left and right with no logic, no symmetry. Wallpaper peeled in long strips. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet, groaning like something old. Every few steps there was a new door, a new passage that didn't match the outside structure.
The students split naturally into groups, whispering, calling out, knocking on wood panels.
Most of the doors were locked.
Others opened into things that didn't make sense.
Daniel and Ava stepped into a study.
A fireplace sat cold and cracked, but flames danced behind its glass screen. No heat touched the room. The books on the shelves were neatly arranged—alphabetical, dustless—but all the titles were blank. A globe spun slowly in the corner.
On the desk, an open book sat waiting. It wasn't aged or torn. Just... placed. Like someone had been writing moments before.
The page read:
Twenty-four entered.
Two shall fall.
The rules are bound by six.
Daniel stepped back like he'd touched fire. "Okay, nope."
Ava stared at the page. "Rules?"
"Of what?"
She turned the page, but the next was blank. Every page after that was too—clean, white, waiting.
In the hallway, Leah and two others—Jonah and Belle—found a spiral staircase leading downward. They called for the others, voices echoing strangely.
"It's a basement," Jonah said. "I think I hear something… humming."
"No," Belle whispered, stepping back. "Not humming. Breathing."
Meanwhile, Marcus opened a door that revealed a dining room far too large for the house. The table was set with silver platters, untouched food, and twenty-four crystal glasses. The chandelier above flickered in sync with the heartbeat Ava could feel in her chest.
There were chairs.
Exactly twenty-four.
Silver nameplates were carved into each backrest. Ava stepped forward, brushing dust off the one closest to her.
It read: Ava Ward.
Her breath caught. "They know us."
Nadia gasped and rushed to another. "Mine too."
One by one, students found their names. A perfect table. A guest list no one had RSVP'd to.
They all regrouped eventually.
At the foot of the grand staircase.
Where it waited.
A black velvet-covered pedestal. A square table beside it. And resting in the center…
Two dice.
Bone-white. Too smooth. Too perfect. They didn't have numbers—they had symbols.
A snake. A clock. A flame. An eye. A hand. A key.
Six sides.
Six rules.
Ava stared at them, her skin crawling.
The dice vibrated slightly, like they wanted to be touched. Like they were alive.
No one moved.
Then—the voice returned.
This time louder.
Inside their heads.
"One of you will roll.
One of you will fall.
The first game begins…
When the dice are cast."
The voice was cold. Female. Ageless. It didn't speak in echoes. It spoke in inevitability.
Ava's breath caught. Her lungs still didn't close—but she had never felt so trapped.
"Wait," Reuben said. "What does it mean? A game?"
Dax looked around, arms tense. "We're not playing anything."
"We might not have a choice," whispered Maya.
Belle's hand hovered near the dice. "What if we just roll them? Get it over with?"
"No!" Daniel barked. Everyone jumped.
"They said someone will fall," he continued. "That's not just poetic. This place… it means it."
Jonah folded his arms. "We can't just stand here forever."
But even he didn't volunteer.
Silence stretched between them like wire—taut and trembling.
Tasha crossed her arms. "So what? We roll and someone dies? Is that the game?"
"It can't be that simple," Nadia said. "There has to be a trick. A way to cheat it."
"There's always a rule," Ava murmured. "Six rules. Six sides. And twenty-four of us."
Daniel nodded. "Four players per side?"
"Or four rounds," Reuben added grimly.
The chandelier gave a sudden spark.
The walls pulsed with cold.
Then—the dice rose.
Lifted by invisible force, they floated above the table.
The eye symbol on one die began to glow faintly.
Then the hand.
Then the flame.
Clack.
They dropped back onto the velvet surface, perfectly still.
Eye.
Flame.
As if answering a question no one had asked.
Ava felt something slide through her—like invisible fingers pushing through her ribs and wrapping around her heart. The others winced at the same moment.
"Did anyone else—?"
"Yes," said Leah. "I felt that too."
The pedestal groaned.
A new panel opened in the wall behind it, revealing a narrow hallway.
Dimly lit.
At the end of it—an old wooden door. Crimson light glowed faintly from beneath it.
The voice returned.
"The game has chosen.
Enter and speak only truth.
Lies will burn you.
Silence will cost you."
Ava's eyes widened. "It's the Eye. And the Flame."
"Truth and fire," Daniel whispered. "What kind of game is this?"
"The kind that kills," Marcus replied.
Everyone hesitated.
No one moved.
Then, the chairs from the dining room began to scrape.
One by one, they slid into the hallway, dragging themselves into position in front of the crimson door—twelve chairs in all.
Ava took a shaky breath. "Twelve players?"
"No," Maya said, pointing. "Look. They have names."
Sure enough, etched across the back of each chair—twelve names glowed faintly.
Jonah. Belle. Dax. Nadia. Ava. Daniel. Tasha. Marcus. Leah. Reuben. Maya. Thandi.
Twelve of them.
Exactly half.
"No," Reuben whispered. "Why those names?"
"Maybe it's random," Jonah offered, though his voice shook.
Tasha shook her head. "No chance. This house doesn't do random."
"We don't have time to figure it out," Marcus said, jaw tight. "It said the game begins when the dice are cast."
"Which means it's already started," Belle added, staring at the crimson glow.
The door creaked open on its own.
Thick, hot air spilled out, curling like smoke.
Ava stared down the hall, knowing there was no way out now.
They had already crossed the line.