Joel didn't know how to react. In front of him, a young woman of noble appearance looked at him with a mixture of admiration and curiosity, as if unaware of the hidden edge in the atmosphere. At her side, a discreet servant and two armed guards stood in expectation. But it was the other man who truly unsettled him: a burly man with a firm bearing, alert eyes, and a magical presence that, although hidden behind simple clothes, was impossible for someone like Joel to ignore. He was a mage, certainly not on the level of the cursed mages, but still dangerous. His aura was restrained and disciplined… similar, potentially, to the one Toren had before he died.

  And that set off all of Joel's alarm bells. His hand remained on the hilt of his katana, firm but not yet drawn, while his thoughts churned like a storm beneath the surface. He hadn't prepared for this. Why the hell had he sold those statues? Why did he allow his name to be heard even in a town as small as Niblit?

  He never thought a nobleman—even a young woman just entering adulthood—would appear in this remote corner of the empire. He never thought his small home could attract attention.

  For a fleeting moment, an idea flashed through his mind like a dark lightning bolt: kill them all and flee. Escape again, take the children, hide far away, disappear, and start all over again. With his skill, he could do it, and no one would know what happened in this remote part of the world.

  But then his gaze shifted for a second to the carved wood of the door, the sculpted pillars of the threshold, the traces of the effort he poured for months into that house. That work wasn't just a refuge; it was his life made matter, a piece of his soul turned into form.

  He didn't want to abandon her, at least not now. So he held his murderous pulse, took a deep breath, and decided to listen to what the young noblewoman wanted.

  "What can I help you with?" he finally asked, his voice low, not aggressive but charged with a cutting tension.

  The young woman smiled boldly, showing no fear. "My name is Alicia Celdrik. And if you are the sculptor of this house and those marvels I saw in the village shop... I would like to speak with you about your work."

  Joel seemed surprised at first. His gaze remained fixed on the young noblewoman and her companions, assessing them carefully. He soon focused his attention on the mage, whose tension was evident in the rigidity of his shoulders and the way his hand rested near the cane at his side. This man wasn't there out of courtesy: he was a trained bodyguard, someone who had seen danger before... and recognized it now.

  However, young Alicia seemed oblivious to any concern. Her smile remained serene, almost fascinated, as she took in the carved details of the entrance.

  Finally, Joel broke the silence. "I'm not used to visitors, especially ones this... important. I apologize if I don't sound polite enough, but I was very busy and I'm really not used to receiving unexpected visitors."

  His tone was dry, devoid of any formality and almost coarse. But Alicia didn't seem the least bit offended. On the contrary, she seemed amused.

  "It shows," she said with a small laugh. "But your work makes up for any lack of courtesy."

  Paul, the magician, tilted his head slightly, studying the sculptor with renewed attention. Joel noticed something loosen in his expression, as if he were beginning to convince himself that this man didn't represent a threat... but rather someone he was used to dealing with. Perhaps a nobleman? An exiled nobleman? A noble artist who went into exile in search of inspiration?

  An idea was born in Joe's mind and he decided to take a bet immediately.

  "Alexander Darcy," he said suddenly, his voice firm but not overly weighty. "That's my name. Let's just say I come from a place I won't name, in a kingdom quite far from this small Duchy. This is quite a beautiful place, and I couldn't help but seek inspiration for my works here."

  The name had come to his mind like a flash, a mixture of memories buried between other lives and confused dreams. But it sounded authentic, with a hint of nobility.

  Paul frowned slightly at the sound of the surname, as if trying to remember it, but ended up gently shaking his head. "That name isn't familiar to me, but it's not unusual coming from beyond the Duchy. In any case," he added diplomatically, "if you have any dealings with Miss Alicia, I'm afraid I'll have to inform Baron Celdrik of your existence. It's a matter of security and protocol."

  Joel nodded, pretending not to care. "As long as it doesn't involve unwanted visitors, I don't mind."

  Paul nodded respectfully, and for the first time since they arrived, his shoulders slumped slightly.

  Joel didn't let his guard down, but he understood that the immediate danger had passed. Young Alice was still there, smiling as if she'd just found treasure in the middle of the woods. And he, maintaining the role of noble artist, decided to play along. He took a step to the side and extended a hand with an elegant gesture, inviting young Alice and her entourage into the house.

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  "I don't usually receive visitors, but... since you're here," he said in a neutral voice, "you're welcome."

  He knew the children were safe in the cellar, entertained with books and games. He had been careful to teach them not to make a sound or peek out in case of visitors, when he was in town, or if he signaled them that there was danger. This routine had become almost an automatic reflex for them.

  Alicia smiled enthusiastically and moved toward the entrance, guided more by excitement than protocol. However, just as her foot was about to cross the threshold, Paul suddenly tensed. His body reacted before his mind could fully process it, and in a swift movement, he grabbed Alicia's arm, stopping her in her tracks.

  "Wait!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide.

  Alicia turned, surprised by his abruptness, while the other guards instantly went on alert. Joel, from inside the house, frowned slightly, stopping by the door.

  "What's wrong?" Alicia asked, confused.

  Paul didn't respond at first. There was something… something in the air, a kind of invisible pressure. An oppressive, almost predatory feeling emanating from the house itself. It wasn't magic in the traditional sense; It was more primitive, as if a colossal, sleeping creature had just opened one eye to observe them.

  "This house..." Paul murmured, lowering his voice, "there's something strange about it."

  He looked at Joel, as if waiting for a reaction or a response. But the would-be sculptor just watched him with imperturbable calm, although his eyes held a spark of renewed attention.

  For a few seconds, silence fell on the threshold. Even Alicia, for the first time, seemed to hesitate. But the feeling faded as quickly as it had come. The pressure disappeared, as if it had never been there. Paul blinked, bewildered, and no matter how hard he tried to sense that force again, he found nothing. The threshold of the house was now as normal as any other.

  "Did something bad happen?" Alicia asked quietly.

  "I don't know," Paul replied, slowly letting go of her. "What I felt is gone now. But I swear... for a moment... something was watching us."

  Joel said nothing, but inwardly he cursed the sensitivity of certain magicians. He hadn't expected Nana's "presence"—the living statue—to be detected in that way. Perhaps she had reacted to the presence of strangers. Perhaps he shouldn't have invited them into the house. He's still unclear about the extent of the statue's consciousness.

  Finally, Paul nodded slightly. "Okay, let's continue, but carefully."

  Alicia, though still a little intrigued, smiled again and finally crossed the threshold. And then, everyone fell silent for a few seconds, not out of discomfort, but out of awe.

  The interior of the house was... dazzling, with every corner carved by hand. The polished wooden walls told stories carved in relief. The overhead beams, adorned with floral patterns, cast soft shadows on the ornate stone floor. The center of the main room was dominated by a majestic fireplace, whose sculpted figures danced among scenes of sleeping dragons and distant mountains. Every piece of furniture was a work of art, and every corner seemed designed to spark the imagination.

  "It's... magnificent," Alice murmured, turning slowly. "As if we were in a dream."

  Joel closed the door behind them, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel proud.

  Alice, still marveling at the beauty of the room, stopped in front of the large carved fireplace, which seemed to tell a silent story with its moving figures frozen in stone. She took a step forward, turned to Joel, and, with a charming smile and a determined voice, said,

  "Mr. Darcy... would it be possible for you to make a sculpture of me?"

  Joel blinked, surprised by the direct request. "Of you?"

  “Yes. A stone statue, if possible. Something worthy of giving to my father. I think he’d like a likeness of me that isn’t an exaggerated painting,” she explained, placing a hand theatrically over her chest. “Besides… if I’m honest, I’m curious to see how I would look in one of your works.”

  Joel didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t uneasy about the idea, for while sculpting human faces was far more demanding than animals or abstract forms, it was also a rewarding challenge. Even more so if it came with an incentive.

  “And how much would you be willing to pay for something like that?” he asked with calculated coldness.

  “Fifty gold pieces for the completed work,” Alice replied without hesitation. “And ten in advance.”

  Joel narrowed his eyes. With that amount, he could supply himself for months, even years if he was careful. He could refuse such a sum and simply ignore anyone who bothered him, putting up the facade of an antisocial magician, but something inside him tells him that would bring a lot more trouble. What trouble? He wished he knew. In the end, it might be a good thing to establish good relations with the local nobles. He'd once heard the saying, "There's no better place to hide than right under the noses of your pursuers."

  "I accept," he finally said, nodding once. "But I won't work if there are spectators. I'll take measurements and sketches, and then I'll work alone."

  "Deal," Alicia replied, satisfied.

  While they talked, Paul stood apart, his gaze slowly scanning the room. Every object was a masterpiece, and every corner concealed details that seemed almost impossible to have been handcrafted. Something wasn't right; none of this was normal.

  One of the guards, bored and more relaxed than Paul, approached one of the side walls, drawn to a series of carved reliefs. Out of sheer curiosity, he reached out and touched one of the motifs with his fingertips. And suddenly, he froze in place.

  "What the...?" the man murmured, withdrawing his hand in surprise and staring at it in bewilderment.

  A thin line of red liquid began to drip from his hand to the floor. Not from a wound... but from his entire palm, as if his hand were sweating blood. His fingers trembled, and he slowly stepped back, turning pale.

  Paul noticed it immediately and quickly approached while the guard, speechless with terror, wrapped his hand in a white handkerchief. When he reached him, he clearly saw the bloodstain that had formed on the stone floor... one that disappeared as soon as the guard's shadow moved away.

  "Are you hurt?" Paul asked, taking the hand wrapped in the handkerchief.

  "No... I don't know," the man whispered. "I didn't feel anything. But... blood came out... just from touching..."

  The second guard approached as well, not knowing what was happening. Carefully, Paul removed the handkerchief from the first guard's hand, and there was nothing, not a trace of wound or cut. The skin was clean, dry, and in perfect condition, just as the handkerchief was clean, as if nothing had happened. The three remained silent.

  It was then that Paul felt something behind him. A shudder, as if a pair of invisible eyes had been fixed on the back of his neck. He turned his head slowly… and saw it. On the main table, in the middle of the living room, rested a small iron statue, which he didn't remember noticing upon entering the house. A vaguely human figure, with a simple face… but with a mouth that seemed barely curved in a mocking sneer, as it stared directly at him, as if trying to get his attention.

  Nothing indicated that the statue was anything special, but Paul felt it; the thing was staring at him. A chill ran down his spine. He swallowed hard, his mind searching for answers. Whatever inhabited this house wasn't just the art of a talented sculptor; it was something more, something asleep. Or worse… something awake.