The stairs to level four descended further than the others. John counted the steps. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy.

  The air changed with each step down. Thinner. Harder to breathe. Like standing on a mountaintop, each breath requiring conscious effort.

  But something was wrong with the air beyond just the thinness. John had the distinct sensation of being watched. Not by one thing, but by many. Silent observers lurking in the dark.

  John reached the bottom and stopped to take in his surroundings.

  The niches were gone. Down here on level four, the dead weren't arranged in careful alcoves anymore. They were stacked instead, piled on top of each other in crude shelves carved into the walls. In some places, skulls had been used as mortar. A catacomb in the truest, oldest sense.

  It was silent. Completely, unnaturally silent.

  No larvae chittering in the darkness. No sound of movement or dripping water or settling stone. Just silence so complete John could hear his own heartbeat, his own breathing, the whisper of fabric as he moved forward.

  Chrysalises hung from the ceiling like obscene fruit, each one the size of a person or larger. The shells were hard and amber-colored, cracked open and empty. As John moved between them, Moonfang's light revealed crushed larvae scattered across the floor below them.

  He spotted a sealed chrysalis and approached carefully. Through the translucent amber shell, he could see this one had movement inside. Slow, pulsing movement as whatever was inside grew and changed. An arm twitched. Too long. Too thin.

  John stabbed it.

  The shell cracked like glass, amber shards falling away in glittering pieces. Dark fluid gushed out, hissing and smoking where it hit stone. A claw pushed through the opening, elongated and serrated along the inner edge. A segmented body followed, chitinous and black, with four legs that clicked against the amber shell as they emerged. Finally came a tail, thrashing weakly, tipped with a curved stinger that already wept clear venom.

  The hybrid pulled itself free and fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fluid.

  Moonfang's light caught every detail as it struggled. It was almost viable. Almost ready to hunt. Its mantis head turned toward John, the tiny red pupils tracking his movement with predatory focus. The hybrid tried to stand, pushing up with its bladed arms while the four segmented legs struggled beneath it. But its legs buckled immediately, unable to coordinate or support its weight. It fell hard, claws scraping against stone as it tried desperately to right itself.

  It screamed, but the sound came out wet and broken. A gurgle more than a roar.

  John drove Moonfang through its skull before it could try again.

  He'd always hated praying mantises, even the normal ones. The way their eyes locked onto you while they swayed back and forth. Not much gave him the creeps but they sure did. Spiders were much nicer.

  He stabbed it again just to be sure.

  John pulled the blade free and checked the map one more time. The western alcove was close now, just ahead through one more section.

  John continued through the chrysalis forest, moving carefully between the hanging shells. The thin air made his head feel light, each breath requiring conscious effort. He forced himself to breathe steadily, slowly, not wanting to arrive winded.

  The oppressive feeling grew stronger. He could see vague shapes in the darkness, clustered in alcoves and passages, observing him silently.

  They weren't like the angry ghost on level three. These were different somehow. Aware. Judging him. One of them became briefly visible. A ghost so faded it was barely there, clinging to the wall like shadow made manifest. It stared at Moonfang with what looked like obvious fear, its form flickering as if the very sight of the blade hurt it.

  It was keeping him safe for now, but was useless for dealing with Emily.

  Worse than useless, actually. He needed her whole, capable of making choices.

  John rounded a corner and the passage opened up into a wider chamber. He scanned the stacked bodies while the oppressive feeling concentrated around him. The watching ghosts had followed him here, forming a loose circle in the darkness that pressed in from all sides.

  John moved closer to the wall, holding Moonfang higher. Finally, he saw three skeletons together, exactly like the wiki had described. The middle one smaller and more delicate than the others. The large one beside it had a skull that had been crushed, fragments of bone still scattered around the cavity after all these years.

  And among them, John spotted the remains of a blue dress, the lace at the collar now brown with age and decay. The undertaker had said she was beautiful. Well preserved. But this was just bones and rotted fabric. Nothing special. Nothing that would justify that strange tone in his voice.

  "You shouldn't be here."

  The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, feminine and cold.

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  John scanned the darkness beyond Moonfang's light. "I'm looking for someone."

  "Everyone who comes down here is." The voice was bitter, aged by decades of disappointment. The temperature dropped further. John could see his breath now, misting in the dim light.

  "I'm looking for Emily Whitmore," John said carefully.

  "And how," the voice said slowly, dangerously, "do you know that name?"

  Then she appeared before him.

  She was stunning. Not despite being a ghost, but somehow enhanced by it. The blue dress moved with wind that didn't exist in this dead place. Her dark hair framed a face that was delicate and beautiful, but marked by an expression of quiet misery.

  John lowered Moonfang, trying to appear less threatening to her. The watching ghosts remained motionless around them, waiting to see what would happen next.

  "I'm here to help you."

  She tilted her head slightly, studying him. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "Help." She said the word like she'd forgotten what it meant. "No one helps the dead."

  "I can take you to him," John said. "To the mansion. To—"

  "Don't." Her voice cracked with emotion. "Don't say his name." She looked away, toward the skeletal remains wearing the rotted dress. "That was supposed to be the happiest day of my life."

  Emily laughed, but it was a hollow sound that echoed off the stone. "I'm dead. I've been dead for seventy years. Stuck here in this place. Watching the dress he chose for me crumble to dust." She looked back at John with empty eyes. "There's no happiness left for me."

  "He's been stuck too," John said. "In the mansion he built for you. And he's still there. Still waiting for you."

  "Liar." Emily's form flickered as her eyes blazed with growing fury.

  The watching ghosts pressed closer in response, stirred by her anger. John felt the weight of their collective attention, their potential for violence.

  "He never came," Emily said, her voice rising. "Seventy years, and he never came to visit me." Her form solidified, became more real and more threatening. "Not once."

  "I'm not lying," John said. "He thought you left him and died too."

  "No!" Emily's scream felt like a physical blow. The temperature plummeted and ice began forming on the skulls embedded in the walls, spreading in crystalline patterns. John shifted his weight, ready to dodge if necessary, keeping Moonfang held low but prepared.

  "No. No, he didn't care about me," Emily said, her voice breaking. "He moved on, he—"

  "He thought you abandoned him and it broke him," John said, watching her carefully. "He died in that mansion. He's a ghost now, just like you. Still there. Still waiting for you to walk through the door."

  Emily's form rippled violently, barely holding cohesion as emotion tore through her. She stared at John, her fists clenched so tight he could see the tension even through her translucent hands. Her whole body trembled with emotion she was desperately trying to contain. The watching ghosts remained poised around them, dangerous and ready. John kept very still, watching them carefully from the corner of his eye. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Emily seemed to gather herself back together.

  "Prove it," Emily snarled at him. "Tell me something only he would know. Something that proves you actually know him."

  John thought back to the quest dialogue, to the notes he'd seen scattered throughout the mansion in his playthroughs. "He called you his 'tasty whittle morsel.' Had a whole speech about how sweet you—" He stopped abruptly, seeing her reaction.

  Emily had frozen completely. Her hands covering her mouth, her form solidifying fully for the first time since she'd appeared. The ghosts around them backed off, their threatening presence evaporating. She stood there, staring at John, and started shaking. "He... he still..."

  "Cares." John gestured at her skeleton. "I’ll take them to the mansion. To him."

  "They won't let you," Emily said, her voice unsteady. "We're crammed in here for a reason. The magic—"

  "I wasn't planning to ask," John said flatly.

  "You'd just take them?" Emily's form flickered with shock. "No permission. No ritual. Just... steal my bones and run?" A pause. "For me?"

  Emily looked at her remains for a long moment, silent and contemplative. "What do you want in return?"

  John decided honesty was the best option here. "I need guardians for an orphanage."

  "What?"

  "I bought the mansion. I'm going to turn it into an orphanage for children who were badly let down. They need protection they can trust. The kind that can't be bribed or intimidated or corrupted."

  Emily stared at him. "You want me and..." She couldn't bring herself to say the name. "You want us to protect children?"

  "Yes."

  Emily's form flickered rapidly, emotion breaking through her careful control. "We wanted children. We talked about it all the time. How many rooms we'd fill. How loud the house would be with them." Her voice cracked. "And then I... and he..."

  Emily looked at her skeletal remains one more time. At the ring still clinging to the finger bone.

  "Children," she said quietly. "In our home."

  Emily drifted down slowly to her skeletal remains. Her ghostly form overlaid the bones perfectly, matching their position exactly. "Take the ring finger," she said softly. "Left hand. That's all you’ll need."

  John approached carefully, aware of the watching ghosts observing silently now. He knelt beside the remains and gently worked the finger bone free from the others. It disappeared into his storage ring with a flash of light.

  John nodded and turned back the way he'd come. The watching ghosts parted for him without resistance, creating a clear path through the darkness. Their oppressive presence had lifted completely. Emily's consent had satisfied them somehow, removed whatever threat they'd perceived.

  John moved carefully through the chrysalis forest, watching his footing on the uneven ground. The path back seemed clearer now, easier to navigate than it had been coming in.

  Then the ghosts scattered.

  All of them, simultaneously, retreating into alcoves and passages like smoke dispersing in wind.

  Ah. Guess he wasn’t here so early he could leave without a fight.

  In the darkness ahead, something reflected his sword's pale light. Two small points of red, low to the ground and watching.

  Then another pair, higher up. On the wall.

  John tightened his grip on Moonfang, and despite everything, he smiled.