I hurried over to Kumo to understand what was making him so sad.

“Kumo, are you okay? Is it because of the dandelions I blew?” I asked, fearing I’d made a mistake.

Without realizing it, I had blown away nearly all the dandelions in the field, their softness carried away by the wind.

“Oh, no, not at all! Everything’s fine, nya!” he replied with sudden enthusiasm, as if he was trying to reassure me while hiding his true feelings.

Even though he said he was fine, I could tell he wanted to say something else, but he preferred to change the subject.

“Nya, look at all these flower grenades!” he exclaimed, picking up a few floral spheres that had fallen to the ground, examining them with curiosity.

I picked up one of these “flower grenades,” little spheres covered in delicate petals, giving them the appearance of small flowers bursting with color. They were enchanting, and I thought they might come in handy later.

“I’ll keep a few; they’re really beautiful,” I murmured, gently placing the grenades in my pocket, their petals gleaming slightly under the sun.

I cast one last look over the field I had unintentionally stripped bare.

“What are we going to do with the remaining objects? I hope I won’t get in trouble for… damaging this place,” I said with slight worry, searching for the right word, still unsure of the gravity of my little mistake.

Kumo shook his head.

“The dandelions will grow back quickly; don’t worry, nya. Besides, the field doesn’t belong to anyone—everyone comes and goes as they please,” Kumo replied, with a reassuring smile.

As we exchanged a few words, the blue butterfly with crystalline, luminous wings floated gently between us before drifting away slowly. It flew gracefully in a specific direction, then stopped, hovering as if waiting for us.

We exchanged intrigued glances before taking a few steps in its direction. To our surprise, the butterfly resumed flying as soon as we approached but stopped again as soon as we paused. It clearly seemed to be guiding us somewhere.

Without further hesitation, we decided to follow the butterfly.

The further we went, the darker the path became. The trees around us stood like giant shadows, their gnarled branches forming eerie arches above our heads. Sunlight grew scarce, barely filtering through the dense foliage, and a light mist rose from the ground, making the atmosphere increasingly gloomy.

We walked in silence, accompanied only by the rustling of leaves in the wind and the steady beating of the butterfly’s wings.

Soon, the vegetation cleared, and before us stood a dark, massive citadel made of black stone and ancient rocks, covered in ivy. The walls seemed to absorb the light, and the whole structure exuded an aura of mystery and sadness. Shadows danced around its walls, making the place even more ominous.

“Nyaa! The Castle of Whispers! They say this place is haunted… No one dares to enter or even get close to it,” murmured Kumo, visibly frightened, his fur bristling with apprehension.

My heart tightened. I shared his fear, a shiver running down my spine, but an invisible force pushed me to move forward, as if something was irresistibly drawing me to this place. Or someone calling me.

We continued following the butterfly, which led us straight to the large doors of the citadel. The closer we got, the more the air seemed filled with melancholy and ancient memories. The black stones of the castle were covered in moss, and brambles intertwined around the columns as if to prevent anyone from entering.

The journey, though short, felt like an eternity. Each step echoed in the oppressive silence surrounding us.

Finally, we found ourselves in front of the imposing doors of the castle, made of wood so dark it seemed to absorb all light. To my surprise, the doors slowly opened by themselves with a sinister creak.

Inside was plunged in darkness—a darkness so deep it felt as if light had abandoned this place for centuries. Only a few spectral glimmers escaped from cracks in the walls.

“It’s so dark... How are we going to see anything?” I asked, uncertain, my voice trembling.

“Nyehe, tadaaa!” Kumo exclaimed with a glint in his eyes, pulling out a small flower of light he had found in the field.

The flower glowed with a soft golden light, casting a comforting glow around us and gradually revealing the details of the grand hall we had just entered.

“You’re amazing, Kumo!” I exclaimed, impressed by his find and relieved at the same time.

We cautiously advanced into the manor, illuminated by Kumo’s flower. The walls were bare, made of cold stone, and the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, as if no one had stepped here for decades.

Old rugs, eaten away by time, lay scattered on the floor, and cobwebs hung in the corners of the vaulted ceilings. Each step raised a cloud of dust, and the air smelled of dampness and old stone.

Ancient portraits with faces erased by time watched us with empty eyes. The manor seemed frozen in time, as if life had left it centuries ago.

Soon, we reached the base of a spiral staircase, its wood creaking under our steps. As we slowly climbed the stairs, whispers echoed, seeming to come from the upper floor. They were faint, barely audible, but carried a palpable, almost oppressive sadness.

“NYAAA! It’s the spirit haunting this place, I’m sure! We have to leave, quick!” Kumo cried, his voice trembling with terror, curling up in fear.

Kumo desperately tugged on my sleeve, urging me to leave.

But my body refused to move. Those whispers irresistibly drew me, like a call I couldn’t ignore. Each word seemed filled with immense sorrow, like a distant echo of painful memories.

“I’m going to see what’s going on upstairs,” I declared, my voice trembling but determined.

“NYAA, are you crazy?!” protested Kumo, horrified, his fur completely bristled in fear.

“Wait here then; I’ll be back,” I added, trying to reassure him.

“Hmpf, who said I was planning to follow you?” he grumbled, feigning bravery.

But as soon as I took a few steps up, he quickly joined me.

“Nya, don’t leave me alone here!” he whimpered.

The spiral staircase seemed endless. Each step creaked under our weight. The higher we went, the clearer the whispers became, their sadness growing more intense.

My heart was pounding wildly, torn between fear and curiosity. I felt an odd fascination with these voices.

I could feel Kumo trembling behind me, his fear almost palpable.

Finally, we reached the upper floor. The place was shrouded in an even heavier darkness. A large room spread out before us, the windows blocked by thick, dusty curtains, letting in barely a ray of light.

All around us, the floor was littered with scattered leaves covered in scribbles and unfinished sketches.

Crumpled drawings were strewn everywhere, testifying to numerous desperate attempts to capture a distant memory.

In the center of the room stood a large cat with gray, worn fur, his eyes fixed on a drawing before him. He murmured endlessly, as if he was trying to remember something—or rather, someone. He seemed lost in his memories.