Paul couldn't tear his eyes away from the iron statue. He felt his throat tighten, as if his body was reacting to a danger his mind couldn't yet fully grasp. He felt watched... judged, and the rest of the group, especially Alicia, continued to enjoy the interior of the house, unaware of the abyss Paul glimpsed through that supernatural silence.

  Then, a memory emerged, clear, from the mists of his mind. During his stay in the Duchy's capital, years ago, on one of the few occasions he shared drinks and conversation with other higher-ranking bodyguards, one of them—a veteran named Halrick—spoke to him about a subject he at first thought was an exaggerated fantasy: the Wizard Towers.

  Halrick wasn't a charlatan. He was a bodyguard in the service of a Marquis, with frequent access to circles where secrets little known to ordinary mortals were discussed. And between drinks, in a low voice, he warned him of one of the most dangerous places a bodyguard could find himself: a magic tower.

  "Towers are temples of madness, boy," Halrick had told him, his voice thick and deep. "They're built by some mages of level seven or higher, in important cities, usually the capitals of powerful kingdoms. Not everyone can do it, and power isn't enough: you need resources, ancient knowledge, pacts with forces that don't always understand human morality..."

  Paul, then young and skeptical, had listened with respect but without true belief. "And what do those towers have?"

  "Everything. They're living extensions of their master. Laboratories, arsenals, libraries, traps, prisons, summoning chambers. But most importantly... what's truly frightening is the tower's spirit."

  Paul had frowned. "A spirit?"

  —Yes. A consciousness or some kind of entity linked to the tower. I don't know if they're born with the tower or if the mages create them… but once they're there, they control everything. The doors, the traps, the seals, among so many possible things. These entities observe, judge, and attack if they sense someone poses a threat to their master or the balance of the place. I know from reliable sources that in the imperial capital, in level-10 eminence towers, even entering with permission can be fatal… Touching sensitive things or doing anything the spirit deems inappropriate usually results in a horrible death. Those things don't know how to control themselves.

  Now, at that moment, standing inside the sculptor's house, his gaze fixed on that small iron statue… Paul felt that was what was watching him. That was how he had reacted when the guard touched the relief. “A tower spirit… here?” he thought.

  Paul's legs trembled. If he was right, this wasn't a simple house built by an eccentric artist. It could very well be a magical tower in development, an embryo of power capable of evolving over time into something to rival the arcane bastions of the empire.

  How had he not noticed before? The aura, the impossible design, and the hidden details in the architecture. And most disturbing: the active silence. That feeling of being constantly in the crosshairs of something that doesn't breathe, but thinks.

  Cold sweat ran down his back. If this Alexander Darcy, as the man had presented himself, was the owner of this place… then he wasn't an eccentric nobleman, nor just any sculptor; he was a powerful magician. One with the potential, perhaps, to sweep away the strongest in the Duchy. What can we say about the small county of Maroth? And yet, this individual was acting with a calmness and humility completely incompatible with that level of power.

  Paul glanced quickly at Alicia, who continued chatting happily with Alexander about the details of her sculpture, completely oblivious to the storm raging in her protector's mind. He had to think fast. Leaving immediately was something anyone would have done instantly in this kind of situation, but he knew it wasn't a realistic option, as the owner of the house might consider it disrespectful.

  He tried to move forward, aiming to get closer to Alicia and warn her of the danger without arousing suspicion. But as soon as he did, an icy shudder ran down his spine. It was a stinging sensation, as if something invisible and sharp had grazed his entire arms. He immediately looked down at his hands, and then he saw it: both were covered in blood. They were bleeding violently—his fingers, his palms, even his forearms—as if his pores had opened to spill their life out onto the ground. Blood soaked his sleeves and fell to the floor in a thick, steady drip, staining the spotless ground crimson.

  He felt his throat close. He wanted to scream and move, but he couldn't. A force beyond the physical held him still, as if something had chained his will in a single blink. And then, his gaze was drawn, as if magnetized, to the main table. There, where before there had been nothing but a decorative sculpture, the iron statue—that figure that had previously watched him silently—was now in a different position. Its hand was raised, its index finger resting against its metal lips, with the universal gesture of silence.

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  Paul froze. And without knowing why, without even thinking, he nodded, like an obedient child facing a threat he couldn't understand, but recognized as real. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, and a second later, he opened them again, and the blood was gone. His hands were clean, his clothes didn't have a single stain, and the floor shone as before. Everything was just as it had been, and nothing indicated that anything had happened. Except for his labored breathing, his trembling knees, and the intense cold that had settled on the back of his neck.

  Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the statue. It now lay in the same position as before, inert and staring off into another corner of the room. As if it had never moved, as if it had all been a hallucination brought on by fear. But Paul wasn't crazy; he had seen it and felt it. And then, as he looked more closely... he noticed, there, on the figure's metallic lips, where the finger had earlier demanded silence, there was a small, dark stain, neither rust nor a shadow. It was blood, his own blood, very little and barely visible, but unmistakable to him.

  And in that moment, Paul realized he was trapped in a place where the rules of the outside world didn't apply, and that if he wanted to keep young Alice alive... he would have to obey, at least for now.

  Paul remained silent for the remainder of the conversation between Alexander and Alice. His normally serene and attentive face remained tense, his jaw clenched, and his eyes darting quickly to every corner of the haunted house. He didn't look back at the statue, because he didn't dare.

  Alexander Darcy seemed completely focused on his work. With quick, precise strokes, he drew several sketches on paper of young Alice, who posed cheerfully and cooperatively, smiling delightedly at the attention she was receiving. This lasted several hours, and ended when the would-be sculptor indicated he now had enough material to make a statue of her.

  When the sun began to fall behind the trees, tinting the sky a soft amber hue, Paul couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, as the visit was over. Alexander escorted the group back to the edge of the woods and bid farewell with a slight bow, almost like someone who had accepted an artistic commission for the sake of entertainment.

  Alicia looked satisfied. Paul, for his part, kept his brow furrowed, his hands rigid, and his eyes burning with silent concern. He firmly insisted that they leave as soon as possible, and despite logic dictating that it was prudent to rest in the village for the night, he ordered a night return trip.

  The guards didn't dispute the order, and Paul climbed into the carriage alongside Alicia and Lisa, something he normally avoided doing out of respect for protocol. But this time it wasn't a matter of comfort or etiquette, and his somber face was enough to silence any objections.

  For a long time, the interior of the carriage remained silent, with only the crunch of the wheels on the road and the distant chirping of crickets for company.

  Until finally, Paul spoke. “That place,” he murmured softly, staring out the window as if still haunted by a shadow, “was no ordinary house. And that man wasn’t just any sculptor. He’s something more… Something dangerous.”

  Lisa shuddered, her hands clenched tightly around her apron. “What do you mean, Mr. Paul?”

  He was slow to respond, slowly turning his face toward Alicia, his expression even more serious. “I’ve been in many houses, my lady. I’ve protected other nobles, faced wizards, creatures, assassins… but I’ve never felt anything like this. I suspect, even without evidence, that that house is a developing project of an extremely powerful wizard… One whose true purpose in a place like this we don’t really know.”

  Lisa paled immediately. “But what happened? Why didn’t you say so before?”

  Paul looked down at his hands, then closed them slowly, as if he had difficulty speaking. "Because we couldn't escape... Not without provoking something that simply left me unable to do anything, until the master said it was time for us to leave."

  Alicia, despite everything Paul said, didn't seem all that affected. She frowned, confused. "But nothing unusual happened. Mr. Darcy was kind to me. The house was beautiful, even magical, yes... but I didn't feel threatened. Are you sure it wasn't your imagination?"

  Paul didn't respond immediately. He just looked at her for a moment, his eyes reflecting something he couldn't even put into words. "I wish it were, my lady. But you don't know how the world of the Empire's strongest magicians works. We're talking about creatures who lost their humanity hundreds or thousands of years ago... Never trust those who long ago ceased to be controlled by common laws. We must return to the Baron's mansion immediately."

  The carriage continued on its way, gliding through the trees like a whisper in the night, while the wind blew weakly from the west, bringing with it a deep scent of forest and wild fruits.

  Alice listened silently to Paul's words, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on the interior of the carriage. As he spoke, her face reflected a mixture of discomfort and doubt, as if she didn't want to accept what she was hearing, but couldn't completely dismiss it either.

  The silence stretched for a while longer, until Alice spoke with a sigh. "I understand you're worried, Paul," she said, her voice soft but firm. "And I appreciate you protecting me; you do it very well. But I think you're exaggerating. Maybe there's something about that place you don't understand... but I didn't sense any danger. None."

  Paul closed his eyes for a moment, containing his frustration. Lisa, beside him, remained mute and pale.

  "My lady, I swear if I knew how to explain it better, I would. But what I saw in there... that wasn't ordinary magic," the bodyguard insisted again.

  Alicia shook her head, though her expression indicated more stubbornness than disbelief. "Be that as it may, I'm not canceling the trip to the mansion. I have a celebration planned with friends coming from the Duchy's capital. Besides," she added, lowering her voice slightly, "I want the statue. It's for my father, and I can't leave it behind now."

  Paul clenched his jaw tightly. Every fiber in his body wanted to return to Maroth immediately, inform the Baron, and leave that corner of the cursed forest behind. But Alicia was no longer a child; she was also stubborn, and worse, she had the power to decide. Even more so when there really didn't seem to be any danger.

  "Then at least..." he finally said, his voice grave. “You have to accept the fact that we'll never set foot in that house again—not you, not Lisa, not me. If you want that statue so badly, I'll send for it with an escort within a week. But you're not setting foot in there again, no matter if I have to disobey you and answer to your father for it. Understood?”

  Alice looked visibly disappointed. Her eyes wandered toward the carriage window, as if trying to capture the image of the wonderful house they had just left behind.

  "All right," she finally murmured. "I won't insist on going back. But only if you bring the statue back whole and unscratched. I don't want it to ruin the surprise I want to give Father."

  Paul nodded slowly, without taking his eyes off her. "I promise."