Diego stepped through the threshold of Kuwait Mansion, and immediately, the air changed. It was thick, oppressive, like wading through a pool of ancient, congealed blood. The walls seemed to breathe, their dark wood creaking as though alive. Every inch of the place was familiar, yet entirely alien at the same time. This was where it all began, but the house no longer felt like a house—it felt like a tomb. No, not just a tomb—a nightmare.
The door slammed shut behind him with a thunderous boom, making Diego flinch. His heart pounded in his chest as he glanced around, the suffocating silence pressing down on him. Stallion, his ever-loyal companion, stood beside him, eyes wide and ears twitching nervously.
"Do you feel it?" Diego whispered, his voice barely audible. He didn't want to speak too loudly, as though his words might wake something slumbering just beneath the surface.
Stallion nodded, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow. "Yeah... it's like the walls are watching us. Like the house itself knows we're here."
Diego swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Why did I come back here? What the hell am I looking for?"
"Answers," Stallion said, his voice strangely calm despite the fear in his eyes. "You're looking for answers, Diego. Whether you realize it or not, this house has always held them. You just weren't ready to face them before."
Diego's eyes scanned the grand foyer—dust-covered portraits of his ancestors lined the walls, their faces twisted in grotesque expressions that seemed to follow him wherever he moved. The staircase in front of him spiraled upward into the darkness, its bannister twisted and warped, as if it had been melted and reshaped by some unseen force.
"This place... it's wrong," Diego muttered. "It feels like it's decaying, like the world outside doesn't exist anymore."
Stallion's voice was low, almost mournful. "That's because it doesn't, Diego. Not here. In this house, time doesn't move forward. It circles back on itself, trapping everything that enters. This is a place where the past never dies. It just rots."
Diego's fists clenched at his sides. "Amir... he did this. He built this prison, didn't he?"
Stallion shook his head slowly. "No, Diego. You did."
Diego froze, the words hitting him like a slap across the face. He stared at Stallion, his mind racing. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Stallion sighed deeply, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth. "This house, this power... it's not Amir's creation. It never was. The power of Creation runs through your veins, not his. He tried to control it, tried to bend it to his will, but it never belonged to him. It's always been yours."
Diego took a step back, his eyes wide with disbelief. "No... no, that can't be right. He was the one who had the power. He—he used it to control everything. To dominate everything."
Stallion's gaze was cold, unflinching. "He stole it, Diego. He stole it from you before you were even born. The moment you took your first breath, he took what was rightfully yours. And that's why you've been running, why you've been haunted by this place—because deep down, you always knew the truth."
Diego's legs felt weak, his head spinning as the weight of Stallion's words settled over him. Everything he had known, everything he had believed—it was all a lie. Amir wasn't the god he had made him out to be. He was a thief, a pretender.
The mansion groaned around them, the walls trembling as if they were angry—angry that the truth had finally been spoken. Diego could feel the darkness within the house stirring, waking. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the fear gnawed at him, creeping up from the pit of his stomach.
