The Roosvakt Family Part 1

Chapter 1

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across Genero Kotik as I stroll down the familiar cobblestone street, my white suit a stark contrast to the earthy tones of the buildings. A gentle breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread from Mrs. Gabrie’s bakery. I adjust my suspenders, a habit more than a necessity, and quicken my pace towards the familiar boisterous laughter echoing from the Rusty Mug tavern.

Inside, Elias, a stout fellow with a booming voice, is already holding court, recounting some ridiculous tale. "…and then the pig, I swear, the pig looked right at me, winked, and ate the whole damn apple pie!" He bellows, sending his companions into fits of laughter.

"You and your pigs, Elias," I say, clapping him on the back as I slide onto a stool. "Always the source of the wildest stories."

"Rallver! Just the man I wanted to see," Elias grins, gesturing to a half-empty tankard. "Care for a drink? We were just discussing the Roosvakt family."

My ears perk up. The Roosvakts. Even the name sends a shiver down my spine, despite knowing it's just a legend. "Oh? And what fresh horrors have they been conjuring in your imagination?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

"This is no laughing matter, Rallver," says Marta, a usually jovial woman with fiery red hair, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "Old Man Hemlock swore he saw their house… shifting. Growing larger than it should be. Like it’s bleeding into another place."

Elias nods in agreement. "And he says their faces… they’re not right. No eyes, no teeth, just… emptiness. A sad, empty grimace."

The Rugter in my mind stirs, a familiar unease settling in. It's a constant companion, this feeling of something not being quite right, a subtle dissonance that clings to my thoughts. I try to dismiss it. "Come on, Marta, Hemlock is half-blind and twice as drunk most days. You can't seriously believe him?"

"Maybe not," she concedes, "But there are others who have seen things. Whispers of strange rituals, unnatural occurrences… They say the Roosvakts follow something called the 'Wave of Roos,' a twisted wisdom that guides their actions."

The tavern falls silent, the laughter extinguished by the weight of the tale. I glance around, noticing the unease etched on the faces of my friends. Even Elias seems subdued.

"Alright," I say, a spark of curiosity overriding my apprehension. "Tell me everything. What else have you heard about this… Wave of Roos?"

Marta shivers, despite the warmth of the tavern. ´They say the Wave of Roos isn't a philosophy, not really. It’s more like… an understanding. A way of perceiving the world that's completely alien to us. They see things we can't, feel things we wouldn't dare to. And it dictates everything they do.´ Elias chimes in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ´Some say it gives them power. Unnatural strength, the ability to manipulate reality itself. Others claim it’s a curse, driving them further and further from humanity.´ I lean forward, intrigued despite myself. ´Manipulate reality?

That sounds like a load of superstitious nonsense.´ But even as I say the words, the Rugter twists again, a knot of doubt tightening in my stomach. ´Maybe,´ Marta says, ´But what about the stories of the Roosvakts'… levels? The different categories of terror they inflict? Have you heard of those?´ I shake my head. ´Terror? Categories? Sounds like someone’s been reading too many dime novels.´ ´No, Rallver, this is different,´ Elias insists. ´They say the Roosvakts don't just scare people with jumps and screams. Their terror is… layered. They have different levels, each one more twisted and unique than the last.

And they have combat forms too, categorized and leveled just like their terror.´ Marta adds, ´It’s not about blood or madness, not always. It’s about something deeper. Something that touches the core of your being, that unravels your sanity in ways you can't even imagine.´ I take a long swig of my drink, trying to process the information. The idea of a family dedicating themselves to the art of terror, categorizing and leveling their methods, is both ludicrous and unsettling. But the conviction in my friends' voices is undeniable. ´Alright, let's say, for the sake of argument, that all of this is true,´ I say, placing my tankard on the table with a thud. ´What does it all mean? Why are we talking about this now?´ Elias exchanges a nervous glance with Marta. ´Old Man Hemlock didn't just see their house shifting, Rallver,´ he says, his voice barely above a whisper. ´He saw… people going in.

People from our village. And they haven't come back out.´ A chill runs down my spine, a cold wave washing over me that has nothing to do with the tavern's stone walls. The Rugter roils within me, a dark premonition solidifying in my mind. This isn't just a story anymore. It’s something real. Something dangerous. The comfortable reality of Genero Kotik is starting to fray around the edges, revealing something much darker beneath.

´Who? Who went in?´ I demand, my voice sharper than I intended. Elias hesitates, then whispers a name, ´Lottie Gabrie… and young Tomas from the mill.´ My blood runs cold. Lottie, with her kind smile and the aroma of warm bread clinging to her, and Tomas, barely a man, full of youthful dreams… gone. Taken by the Roosvakts. The Rugter in my mind is a swirling vortex now, a tempest of anxiety and a growing sense of responsibility. I can’t ignore this. I won’t.

´We have to do something,´ I say, rising to my feet. ´We can’t just sit here and let them… disappear.´ Marta grabs my arm. ´What can we do, Rallver? They´re the Roosvakts! Everyone knows to stay away from them.´ ´Maybe,´ I say, shaking off her grip, ´But I´m not everyone. I’m going to find out what happened to Lottie and Tomas.´ Elias sighs, resignation etched on his face. ´You´re going to get yourself killed.´ ´Maybe,´ I say, forcing a wry smile, ´But I can’t live with myself if I don’t try. Will you help me or not?´ He looks at Marta, who nods slowly.

´We’re with you, Rallver,´ Elias says, his voice filled with a mixture of fear and determination. ´But be careful. This is bigger than any of us.´ I nod, a plan forming in my mind. ´I need information. Everything you know about the Roosvakts, their house, the Wave of Roos… everything. And I need to talk to Old Man Hemlock. I want to hear his story for myself.´ We spend the next few hours huddled in the tavern, poring over every scrap of information we can gather about the Roosvakts. The stories are fragmented, contradictory, and often tinged with superstition, but a disturbing picture begins to emerge.

A picture of a family steeped in ancient lore, twisted by an unknown force, and driven by a terrifying, alien logic. As the night deepens, the tavern empties, leaving only the three of us, our faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight. The air is thick with apprehension, a sense of impending doom hanging heavy in the silence. I feel a prickle of fear, but beneath it, a steely resolve hardens in my heart. I am Rallver, and I will not let the Roosvakts terrorize my village. I will uncover their secrets, no matter the cost. The weight of the task ahead settles upon my shoulders.

The first rays of dawn creep through the grimy windows of the Rusty Mug as I step out into the deserted street. The air is crisp and cold, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke from the nearby mill. Elias and Marta promised to gather what information they could, while I go to Hemlock. My boots echo on the cobblestones as I make my way towards the edge of town, where Old Man Hemlock lives in a dilapidated shack overlooking the Whispering Woods. The woods themselves are unsettling, a dense tangle of ancient trees that seem to absorb all light and sound. I've always avoided them, a primal fear whispering in my ear whenever I venture too close. Hemlock's shack is even more unsettling, a crumbling structure that seems to be held together by sheer force of will. The roof sags, the windows are boarded up, and the yard is overgrown with weeds. A thin plume of smoke rises from the chimney, a faint sign of life. I knock on the rickety wooden door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the morning. A long silence follows, then a shuffling sound from within.

The door creaks open, revealing Old Man Hemlock, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, his eyes cloudy and unfocused. He smells of stale tobacco and something else… something acrid and unpleasant that I can’t quite place. ´What do you want?´ he croaks, his voice raspy and weak. ´I’m Rallver,´ I say, trying to keep my voice respectful. ´I want to talk to you about the Roosvakt family.´ His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of recognition in their depths. He hesitates, then nods slowly. ´Come in,´ he rasps, gesturing towards the dark interior of the shack. The inside is even more dismal than the outside, cluttered with junk and shrouded in shadows. The air is thick with the same unpleasant odor I smelled earlier, intensified now. Hemlock shuffles over to a rickety chair and sits down, gesturing for me to do the same. I perch on the edge of another chair, trying not to breathe too deeply.

´You saw something, didn’t you?´ I say, cutting to the chase. ´Something involving the Roosvakts and… people from our village.´ He shudders, his frail body trembling. ´I saw… their house,´ he whispers, his voice barely audible. ´It was… wrong. Bigger than it should be. Like it was swallowing the world.´ He pauses, his eyes darting around the room as if he expects to be attacked. ´And the people… Lottie and Tomas… they went inside. And they didn’t come out.´ ´Did you see the Roosvakts?´ I ask. ´Did you see their faces?´ He closes his eyes, his face contorted in a grimace of fear. ´No… I didn’t see their faces. But I felt them.

A presence… cold and empty. Like a void.´ He opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto mine. ´Stay away from them, Rallver,´ he whispers, his voice filled with desperate urgency. ´They’re not human anymore. They’re something… else. Something… dangerous.´ His words hang in the air, heavy with dread. The Rugter in my mind is screaming now, a deafening chorus of warning. But I can’t turn back. I have to know what happened to Lottie and Tomas. I have to face the Roosvakts, no matter the cost.

The stench inside Hemlock's shack clings to my clothes as I step back out into the morning air. The old man's warning echoes in my mind, a chilling counterpoint to the rising sun. Each step I take is heavy with the weight of his words.

I decide to check on Elias and Marta. I find them at the Rusty Mug, poring over a dusty tome, its pages filled with faded script and unsettling illustrations. Elias looks up as I approach, his face etched with concern.

"Anything?" I ask, my voice low.

Marta sighs, pushing the book away. "We found some stuff," she says, "but it's mostly just old wives' tales and superstitious nonsense."

Elias nods. "There's a chapter about the Roosvakt family's house," he says. "It says the house shifts, changes its size and shape, almost like it's not bound by the laws of physics."

"Hemlock said the same thing," I reply, "He saw it, just before Lottie and Tomas disappeared."

Marta frowns. "The book also mentions something called the 'Wave of Roos'," she says. "Supposedly, it's some kind of… guidance system? It dictates their actions, their motives."

"Hemlock told me they are not human," I say and take a deep breath. "We need to do something."

Elias and Marta exchange nervous glances. "What do you suggest?" Elias asks.

"I want to see that house," I say. "I want to see it for myself. Maybe then we can figure out what happened to Lottie and Tomas."

Marta hesitates. "Rallver, that's insane," she says. "Hemlock warned you. That place is dangerous."

"I know," I say. "But we can't just sit here and do nothing. We have to try."

Elias is thoughtful. "I'm with you," he says finally. "But we need to be careful. We need a plan."

I nod, a flicker of hope igniting within me. "Okay," I say. "First, we need to gather some supplies. Something to protect ourselves. Then, we go to the edge of town, near the Whispering Woods. That's where the Roosvakt house is supposed to be."

"What kind of weapon do you suggest?" asks Marta.

"Does it matter? I think the only weapon that matters is our brains," I say. "If the Roosvakts are really as creepy as they say, we can at least try to see what they are doing."

We head out, a strange trio united by a shared sense of dread and determination. I know the Rugter inside me is screaming to turn back, to run as far away from the Roosvakts as possible. But I can't. I won't. Lottie and Tomas are counting on me.

Chapter 2

We gather supplies at my place: sturdy ropes, lanterns, and a couple of old hunting knives. Marta brings a bag of herbs and spices, claiming they might ward off evil spirits or at least mask any unpleasant smells. Elias, ever the pragmatist, brings a map of the Whispering Woods, though I doubt it will be of much use, given the house shifts, as Hemlock mentioned. As we pack, a heavy silence descends upon us, each of us lost in our thoughts. I can´t help but wonder if this is the last time we´ll be together, laughing and joking, like we always do. The Roosvakts… they´re an unknown quantity, a force beyond our comprehension.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the village, we set off towards the Whispering Woods. The air grows colder as we approach the edge of the forest, the trees looming over us like silent sentinels. The woods are unnaturally still, not a bird singing, not a leaf rustling. Even the wind seems to hold its breath. We press on, deeper into the woods, Elias leading the way with his map, Marta clutching her bag of herbs, and me bringing up the rear, my hand gripping the handle of the hunting knife. I feel the Rugter screaming now, a chorus of terror that threatens to overwhelm me. I fight it back, focusing on the task at hand, on the image of Lottie and Tomas, on the need to find them, to save them.

After what feels like hours of walking, we reach a clearing. And there it is. The house. It sits in the center of the clearing, bathed in the pale light of the moon, a grotesque parody of a normal home. It´s larger than any house I´ve ever seen, its walls twisted and distorted, its windows like empty sockets staring out into the night. The roof sags at unnatural angles, and the chimney belches a thick, black smoke that smells of decay and rot. The house seems to pulse with an unseen energy, a palpable sense of wrongness that makes my skin crawl. There´s no sign of Lottie or Tomas, but I know they are inside. I can feel it in my bones. Marta gasps, her eyes wide with fear. ´This… this can´t be real,´ she whispers. Elias stares at the house, his face pale and drawn. ´It´s even worse than I imagined,´ he says.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I see the front door ajar, a beckoning invitation. ´Okay,´ I say, my voice trembling slightly. ´Let´s go.´ My friends look at me. I know they are scared. I am too. But there is no turning back. As I cross the edge of the clearing, my boots sink into the soft earth. The silence is broken by a low creaking from the house, as if it´s stretching, awakening. The unsettling feeling increases. We walk, closer and closer. I can feel my heart racing.

The front door looms before us, a maw leading into the unknown. I raise the lantern, its light flickering across the warped wooden surface. The air around the doorway is thick with the same cloying smell I detected at Hemlock's shack, intensified now to an almost unbearable degree. I glance at Elias and Marta, their faces pale in the lantern light. They nod, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and resolve. I push the door open, and it creaks inward, revealing a dark and cavernous hallway. The air inside is cold and still, a stark contrast to the humid night air outside. The smell is overpowering here, a nauseating blend of rot, mildew, and something else… something indefinably alien. The hallway stretches before us, disappearing into the shadows.

The walls are lined with portraits, but their faces are obscured by grime and shadows. I take a step inside, then another, my boots crunching on something brittle and unseen beneath my feet. Elias and Marta follow close behind, their breaths ragged and uneven. As we move deeper into the house, the silence is broken by a faint whisper, a sound that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The whisper grows louder, coalescing into words, though I can't quite make out what they are saying. The Rugter in my mind is screaming now, a deafening roar that threatens to drown out all other sounds. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to regain control. I tell myself to ignore it. I pull my eyes open again and turn back to my friends.

Elias is shaking, and Marta seems to be on the verge of tears. Despite that, they are walking forward, following me. ´Did you hear that?´ Marta whispers, her voice trembling. ´The… the whispering?´ I nod, my throat too tight to speak. ´What is it saying?´ she asks. I shake my head. ´I don´t know,´ I say finally. ´But it´s not good.´ We continue down the hallway, the whispering growing louder with each step. The portraits on the walls seem to shift and writhe in the shadows, their obscured faces twisting into grotesque expressions.

Suddenly, a door slams shut somewhere in the house, the sound echoing through the stillness. Marta screams, grabbing my arm, and I jump. The house is alive. I know we're not alone. But where are Lottie and Tomas? Why the hell are the Roosvakts not showing themselves? The floorboards beneath us groan.

Panic flares in my chest, but I fight it down. "Stay calm," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "We need to stick together." I raise the lantern higher, trying to pierce the gloom. The hallway seems to stretch on forever, the whispering voices swirling around us, like a malevolent chorus. The portraits are definitely moving now. I swear I see eyes glinting from the shadows, mouths twisting into silent screams.

"Maybe we should go back," Elias stutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "This place… it doesn't feel right."

"We can't," Marta says, her voice surprisingly firm. "Lottie and Tomas are in here somewhere. We can't just leave them."

I nod, steeling my resolve. "Marta's right. We came here to find them, and that's what we're going to do."

I take a deep breath and continue down the hallway, Elias and Marta close behind. The whispering intensifies, and I can almost make out the words now, though they seem to be in a language I don't understand. It’s like a dirge, a lament filled with sorrow and despair. The portraits become more animated, their faces contorting into nightmarish visages. One of them—a woman with long, flowing hair—seems to be staring directly at me, her eyes filled with an unfathomable sadness. My Rugter is roaring again, urging me to turn back, to flee this accursed place. But I push it down, focusing on the task at hand. Lottie and Tomas are depending on me.

Suddenly, the hallway opens into a large, circular room. The walls are lined with bookshelves, filled with ancient tomes and strange artifacts. A massive fireplace dominates one wall, though the hearth is cold and empty. In the center of the room, a table stands covered with a thick layer of dust. Upon the table lies an open book. As I approach it, I see its pages are filled with intricate drawings and indecipherable writing. A gust of wind sweeps through the room, extinguishing the lantern, and plunging us into darkness. I hear Marta scream again, and then… silence. A cold, heavy silence, broken only by the frantic hammering of my own heart. I am rooted to the spot, trembling with fear. Then, a faint light flickers to life in the corner of the room. It is not the warm glow of a flame, but a cold, ethereal luminescence that seems to emanate from the very walls themselves. And in that light, I see them. The Roosvakts.

My breath hitches in my throat. The Roosvakts stand before us, bathed in that unearthly light. They are exactly as Hemlock described – faces devoid of features, just smooth, blank skin stretched over bone, marred by a permanent grimace of something I can’t quite name. Not sadness, not anger, not anything human. Just… emptiness. There are three of them, tall and gaunt, their bodies clad in tattered, antique clothes. They don't seem to register our presence. They are simply… there. One of them reaches out a long, skeletal hand and runs it along the spine of a book on the shelf. The gesture is slow, deliberate, and utterly devoid of emotion. I feel a wave of nausea wash over me, and the Rugter in my mind is screaming, begging me to run, to hide, to do anything but stand here and face these… things. But I can't move. I am frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. Elias whimpers beside me, and I feel Marta's hand grip my arm so tightly that her nails dig into my skin. But neither of them speaks.

We just stand there, watching the Roosvakts, waiting for something to happen. After what feels like an eternity, one of the Roosvakts turns its head towards us. Or at least, I think it does. It's impossible to tell, since it has no eyes. But I feel its gaze upon me, a cold, penetrating force that seems to bore into my very soul. The Roosvakt tilts its head slightly, as if it's trying to get a better look at us. Then, it speaks. Its voice is a low, guttural rasp, like the sound of stones grinding together. The words are incomprehensible, but the tone is unmistakable: curiosity. It is curious about us. Another Roosvakt turns towards us, then the third. Now, all three of them are looking at us, their blank faces filled with that same unsettling curiosity. They begin to move towards us, their long, skeletal limbs gliding across the floor with an unnatural grace. I know we have to do something. We can't just stand here and let them… what?

I don't even know what they want. But I know it can't be good. I glance at Elias and Marta, their faces pale and drawn. They are looking at me, their eyes pleading for guidance. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I reach into my pocket and pull out the hunting knife. It feels small and insignificant in my hand, a pathetic weapon against these… creatures. But it's all I have. I step forward, placing myself between the Roosvakts and my friends. I raise the knife, my hand trembling slightly. ´Stay back,´ I say, my voice barely a whisper. ´Stay away from us.´ The Roosvakts stop, their heads tilting in unison. They seem to be considering my words, or perhaps they are simply studying me, trying to understand what I am. Then, one of them lets out a low, mournful wail. The sound echoes through the room, vibrating in my bones.

It is a sound of such profound sorrow and despair that it makes my heart ache. And in that moment, I realize that the Roosvakts are not monsters. They are victims. Victims of whatever force twisted them into these empty shells. And they are trapped here, in this decaying house, forever haunted by their own lost humanity. The wail continues, growing louder, more intense. The other Roosvakts join in, creating a chorus of anguish that fills the room. The ethereal light flickers and dims, casting long, grotesque shadows on the walls. I feel a tear roll down my cheek, and I lower the knife. I can't fight them. I can't hurt them. All I can do is listen to their pain. And try to understand.

The keening rises to a fever pitch, a symphony of despair that threatens to shatter my sanity. Elias is sobbing openly now, and even Marta seems shaken, her face pale and tear-streaked. The Rugter in my mind has fallen silent, replaced by a profound sense of empathy, a deep understanding of the Roosvakts' suffering. They are not evil, not malevolent, just… lost. Trapped in a nightmare of their own making, or rather, the making of Rallher. As the wailing reaches its crescendo, the room begins to tremble. The bookshelves rattle, the portraits on the walls shake, and the floor beneath our feet vibrates with an unsettling energy. I grab Marta and Elias, pulling them closer to me. I can feel the power of the house swirling around us, a vortex of sorrow and despair that threatens to consume us all. Suddenly, the light intensifies, blinding us with its ethereal glow. The wailing stops abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. I squint, trying to make out what is happening. The Roosvakts are no longer moving towards us. They are standing perfectly still, their blank faces turned towards the center of the room.

And in the center of the room, a swirling vortex of light is forming, growing larger and brighter with each passing second. I realize what is happening. The house is responding to the Roosvakts' pain, amplifying their sorrow and despair, and turning it into something… else. Something dangerous. The vortex of light expands, engulfing the table and the book upon it. The pages of the book begin to flutter, the drawings and writing swirling together into an incomprehensible mess. Then, with a deafening roar, the vortex explodes, sending shards of light and energy ricocheting through the room. I throw my arms up to shield my face, bracing for the impact. But the impact never comes. Instead, I feel a strange sensation, a tingling in my skin, as if I am being bathed in warm, gentle light. I lower my arms and open my eyes. The room is no longer the same. The bookshelves are gone, the portraits have vanished, and the fireplace has crumbled into dust. The circular room has transformed into a vast, open space, filled with swirling mists and ethereal light.

The Roosvakts are still there, but they are different now. Their bodies are no longer gaunt and skeletal. They are… luminous, radiating a soft, gentle glow. Their faces are still blank, but the grimace of despair has been replaced by something else. Something… peaceful. They turn towards us, their luminous eyes filled with a quiet understanding. Then, one by one, they begin to fade, their bodies dissolving into the swirling mists until they are gone completely. The light begins to fade as well, the ethereal glow diminishing until the room is plunged into a soft, gentle darkness. The silence returns, but it is not the eerie, oppressive silence of before. It is a peaceful silence, a silence of closure and resolution. I look at Elias and Marta, their faces pale but calm. They seem to be as stunned and bewildered as I am. We are alive. The Roosvakts are gone.

And something has changed. Something within the house, and perhaps, something within ourselves. Then, I hear a faint sound, a small voice calling out from the distance. "Rallver? Elias? Marta? Is that you?" I recognize the voice instantly. It is Lottie Gabrie. And she sounds… scared, but unharmed. The relief is overwhelming. They are alive.

Chapter 3

A wave of warmth washes over me as I hear Lottie's voice. Alive. Both she and Tomas are alive. "Lottie! We're here! Where are you?" I shout, my voice echoing slightly in the transformed space. The swirling mists begin to dissipate, revealing a long, winding corridor ahead. It’s crafted from a pale, almost translucent stone, pulsating with a soft, inner light. The air feels clean, pure, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere we endured moments ago.

Marta, ever practical, is already moving, her hand resting on the hilt of her hunting knife. "Let's not get complacent," she says, her voice firm despite the relief etched on her face. "We still don't know what we're dealing with, or where they are." Elias nods, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He fumbles for his map, but it’s useless now. The house, or whatever this place is, bears no resemblance to the crude drawing he made.

We proceed cautiously down the corridor, the silence broken only by the soft padding of our boots on the stone floor. As we walk, I notice intricate carvings lining the walls. They depict scenes of a village nestled in a valley, surrounded by towering mountains. Figures, resembling the Roosvakts, are shown tending to gardens, playing with children, living a peaceful, harmonious life. Then, the carvings shift. Dark clouds gather above the village, and strange, twisted figures emerge from the shadows. The Roosvakts are depicted fighting these creatures, their faces etched with sorrow and desperation.

The carvings seem to tell a story, a story of a happy community torn apart by something sinister, something that twisted and corrupted everything it touched. Rallher. It must be Rallher.

We reach a large, arched doorway at the end of the corridor. Beyond the doorway, I see a small chamber bathed in a soft, golden light. Lottie and Tomas are huddled in the center of the room, their faces pale but unharmed. Lottie rushes towards us, throwing her arms around me in a tight embrace. "Rallver! You came! Thank you!" she cries, her voice choked with emotion. Tomas clings to Marta's leg, his eyes wide and frightened. "It was horrible," Lottie whispers, pulling away from me. "We were walking in the woods, and then… everything went dark. We woke up here, in this… place." She shudders, looking around the chamber with wide eyes. The room is sparsely furnished, with only a few cushions scattered on the floor and a small table in the corner. But the walls are covered in intricate tapestries, depicting scenes similar to the carvings in the corridor.

"What happened to the Roosvakts?" Lottie asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where did they go?" I exchange a look with Marta and Elias. "They're gone," I say, my voice calm and reassuring. "They're at peace now." I do not tell her about the vortex and the light. Some things are better left unsaid. I do not know if the children would be able to understand it.

The air in the chamber feels heavy, laden with unspoken questions and unresolved emotions. Despite the relief of finding Lottie and Tomas alive, I can't shake the feeling that our journey is far from over. The house, or whatever this place is, still holds many secrets. And I have a feeling that we are only just beginning to uncover them. I need to better understand what happened here, and what Rallher really is.