Three weeks had passed.
Three long, dragging weeks inside the suffocating stillness of the mansion.
Noctis decided to take a brief break from the relentless storm of thoughts in his head, though not from his goal. Resting his mind did not mean abandoning his purpose. It only meant observing from a different angle.
For the past three weeks, Noctis had not confined himself to just the garden or his room. He moved quietly. Watched carefully. Listened deliberately.
He observed everything.
Every minor event that unfolded in the mansion. The subtle changes in the servants’ behaviour. Their walking patterns. Their expressions. The timing of meals. The silence between conversations. And most importantly—the paintings that lined the corridor walls.
That was where the strangeness concentrated.
He had noticed something peculiar.
The paintings changed seven times a week.
Not randomly. Not occasionally.
Every single day.
Each day carried a different theme, almost as if the mansion itself followed a ritual.
1st day – Scenic paintings of nature
2nd day – Paintings of wild animals in their natural habitats
3rd day – Paintings of plants and blooming flowers
4th day – Paintings portraying various weather conditions
5th day – Paintings of destructive natural disasters
6th day – Paintings depicting the deaths of wildlife and people
7th day – Paintings of people from different cultures around the world
It was systematic. Intentional.
And the seventh day unsettled Noctis the most.
There was something deeply disturbing about the way the cultural paintings were portrayed. The faces felt too expressive. Too aware. As if the subjects knew they were being watched. As if they were watching back.
He didn’t understand why the paintings changed. But one thing was clear.
They were not decorative.
They were meant to be solved.
Each day, there were exactly seven paintings displayed, lined up side by side in the dim corridor. The corridor itself felt unnatural. Despite having enough visible light fixtures, it remained oddly shadowed, as though the light refused to fully illuminate the space.
He had searched for switches.
Some were missing.
Some simply did nothing.
Or perhaps they had never worked at all.
Noctis could not think of any logical explanation for the pattern. The only thing he could come up with was a name.
He called it the “Seven Puzzle.”
It felt appropriate.
A cycle of seven days. Seven paintings. Seven themes.
Another detail stood out.
On the first day’s paintings, written faintly in the bottom-right corner, were the words:
“It starts from here.”
The sentence appeared only on the first day.
It never appeared again on the following days.
That alone suggested direction. A beginning point. A sequence.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Still confused by the Seven Puzzle, Noctis decided not to jump to conclusions. Rushing in this mansion had never rewarded him before.
For several more days, he searched the mansion thoroughly for any clues connected to the paintings.
Behind shelves. Beneath carpets. Inside cabinets. Within cracks of the walls.
Nothing.
No hidden compartments. No markings. No additional messages.
Frustration built slowly but steadily.
Eventually, in a rare lapse of control, Noctis slammed his fist onto the desk in his room.
Pain shot through his knuckles.
It achieved nothing.
“I hid one of them behind the paintings in the corridor…”
Noctis muttered the words Ilya had once spoken.
He had already checked.
Every painting.
Every single day they changed.
He had removed them carefully, inspected the walls, even checked the frames.
There was nothing.
Not even dust.
“Was she lying?”
The question lingered heavier than he expected.
“But why would she lie?”
Silence answered him.
“Is it just another mind game this mansion is playing on me?”
That thought felt the most plausible—and the most dangerous.
The mansion had already proven itself capable of manipulating perception.
Questions flooded his mind, circling endlessly without resolution.
When nothing new surfaced, Noctis opened the diary once more.
He had read it enough times to recite entire passages from memory. He could rewrite the gardener’s handwriting without glancing at the pages.
Yet it remained his only tangible connection to the truth.
He skimmed through it again.
Same entries.
Same handwriting.
Same dates.
Same time stamps.
Time.
His eyes stopped.
Wait.
Time.
Noctis straightened abruptly.
The sixth diary entry.
It was the only one that described the corridor in detail.
The content itself had seemed ordinary before. Mentions of strange sounds. Unease. A lingering presence.
But this time, his focus shifted.
The entry had been written at 6:39 PM.
“6:39 PM…”
Noctis whispered the time under his breath.
If the gardener wrote the entry at 6:39 PM, then he must have experienced the strange sounds shortly before writing it.
Around six.
Noctis had never visited the corridor at six.
Not once.
He usually avoided it during that hour, distracted by other routines.
What if the time mattered?
What if the corridor behaved differently depending on when it was entered?
It was a thin lead.
But it was the only one he had.
With no alternatives, Noctis decided.
He would visit the corridor at exactly six in the evening.
No earlier.
No later.
The following evening, as the minutes crawled closer to the hour, a strange tension settled in his chest.
He had been in the mansion for over a month now, yet the suffocating sensation had never faded. It felt as though unseen eyes lingered on him constantly.
Watching.
Observing.
Amused.
Even when no one stood nearby.
Maybe they were watching.
Maybe they were entertained by his struggle.
The thought irritated him—but it did not deter him.
His goal remained unchanged.
Escape.
As the clock struck six, the sound echoed faintly through the mansion halls.
Noctis stood before the corridor entrance.
The air felt colder.
The lights seemed dimmer than usual.
The shadows deeper.
It was subtle—but undeniable.
A faint chill traced down his spine.
Good.
That meant something was different.
He stepped inside.
Each footstep echoed slightly longer than it should have.
The silence between sounds stretched unnaturally.
He walked slowly, senses sharpened.
Nothing happened at first.
Just the familiar corridor.
The paintings stared back at him.
He continued walking.
A minute passed.
Then another.
And then—
A faint sensation crawled across his skin.
Unease.
His instincts screamed.
He felt it clearly now.
He was not alone.
The presence was subtle but undeniable.
Noctis slowed his steps.
Then stopped.
It happened in less than a second.
A fractional delay.
A slight echo that did not belong to him.
Another pair of footsteps.
Behind him.
Distinct.
Measured.
Not his.
Noctis turned sharply.
Empty corridor.
Silence.
His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay composed.
“Who’s there?” he called out evenly. “I already heard you. Show yourself.”
No response.
The silence felt heavier now. Pressurized.
Then suddenly—
Rapid footsteps.
Rushing toward him.
Fast.
Too fast.
Noctis spun around again.
Nothing.
The sound vanished as abruptly as it appeared.
The corridor returned to stillness.
But then—
A whisper.
Soft.
Close.
“It starts on the first day. Ends on the seventh. It continues for at least five days long.”
The words drifted through the air, brushing against his ears like cold breath.
Noctis did not move.
He listened carefully.
The whisper faded.
And strangely—
He wasn’t afraid.
This was confirmation.
This was progress.
A slow smirk formed on his face.
He had been right.
Without wasting another second, Noctis turned and sprinted out of the corridor, heading straight for his room.
He shut the door behind him and immediately opened the diary.
Carefully, precisely, he wrote down every word he had heard.
He stared at the sentence afterward.
“It starts on the first day. Ends on the seventh. It continues for at least five days long.”
This was it.
The final piece.
He could feel it.
The Seven Puzzle was no longer abstract.
It was structured.
Logical.
Solvable.
All that remained was to connect the sequence—and uncover the truth hidden behind the paintings.
And once he did—
The mansion would finally give him answers.
