Dante Reyes never expected his first year at Diliman University to spiral into a dark, supernatural mystery. What begins as an ordinary first day turns sinister when a mysterious mark appears on his hand, slowly revealing its true nature-he is conne...
Dante woke to the pale morning light filtering through his curtains, casting faint, ghostly shadows on the walls. His room felt colder than usual, the kind of chill that settled deep, refusing to let go. The warmth of his birthmark had faded during the night, but a tingling sensation remained, as if a faint current pulsed beneath his skin.
He rubbed his eyes, memories of the previous night swirling in his mind—the hidden chamber, the strange symbols, Clara's warnings. Even now, her words lingered, an unsettling echo: "Freedom Hall has its secrets, and it's watching you, Dante. Be cautious."
He sat up, stretching stiffly, the events of last night feeling both vivid and dreamlike. But as his eyes adjusted to the room's dimness, his gaze caught on something that made his heart skip a beat.
There, sitting on his desk, was a small black case.
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Dante froze, his breath catching in his throat. I didn't put that there. He couldn't recall ever seeing it before, and yet, there it was—sleek, dark, and out of place among his scattered notebooks and pens. It was the kind of case that demanded attention, its dark surface absorbing the weak morning light as though it were alive.
A flicker of warmth surged through his birthmark, the tingling intensifying as he stared at the case. He pressed his palm against his thigh, trying to shake off the sensation, but his mark pulsed again, steady and insistent.
Cautiously, he swung his legs off the bed, moving toward the desk, the quiet of the room amplifying each creak of the floor beneath him. The case seemed almost to call to him, a faint pull urging him closer. Why does it feel like it's waiting for me?
His fingers hovered just above the cool, metallic surface when he hesitated, a voice in his head whispering, Not yet.
The memory of Clara's warnings was sharp in his mind, the weight of her cautionary tone anchoring him to the spot. She'd warned him about the pull his birthmark might have on things that didn't belong to this world, about Freedom Hall's secrets that weren't meant to be disturbed.
Dante drew his hand back, the tingling warmth in his mark settling to a faint hum. He forced himself to turn away, telling himself he'd investigate later—maybe with Clara or Alex. For now, he had to get out of the room, to shake off the unsettling sensation that clung to him.
As he gathered his things, he kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting the case to disappear, as if it were a figment of his imagination. But it remained, unmoving, as though it knew he'd be back.
***
The morning air was crisp, with the scent of dew clinging to the grass as Dante wandered across campus, his steps slow and unsteady, as if he were moving through a fog. Students were everywhere, their laughter and voices filling the air, their carefree energy a stark contrast to the heaviness clouding his mind. The image of the black case lingered sharply in his thoughts, and his birthmark pulsed faintly, like a memory trying to push its way through. A faint, haunting whisper echoed in his mind—"Dante... tulungan mo kami..."—its origin unclear but unsettling, as though it had woven itself into his thoughts, pulling him deeper into a daze he couldn't shake.
