Chapter 4 – The Seventh Toll

The seventh toll rattled through the walls, vibrating in her chest like a second heartbeat. Anya pressed back against the stone, every nerve raw, waiting for the shadows to surge around the corner.

But nothing came.

The sound died, leaving the corridor heavy and still.

Elias lowered his hand from the wall, though his eyes remained fixed on the hallway behind them. His shoulders were tense, like a hunter waiting for prey to reveal itself.

“Why did it stop?” Anya whispered.

“It doesn’t need to chase you. Not yet.” His reply was flat, matter-of-fact, as if he’d seen this before.

Anya’s stomach twisted. “You talk like you know it. What is it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned and started walking, motioning for her to follow. His steps were swift, purposeful, as if lingering in this wing even a second longer was too dangerous.

“Hey—” She stumbled after him, voice rising. “You can’t just—”

“Not here.” His tone snapped sharp, though not cruel. “This place listens.”

The words sent a fresh chill down her spine. She followed in silence, though questions churned inside her like a storm.

They moved deeper into the school, through unfamiliar corridors where the walls seemed narrower, the windows higher, their stained glass blotting out the moonlight. Anya realized she didn’t recognize this part of Ravenswood at all.

Finally, Elias stopped before an old wooden door tucked beneath a staircase. Unlike the rest of the academy’s polished entrances, this one was battered, paint flaking, hinges rusted. He pushed it open without hesitation.

Inside was a cramped storage room. Dust choked the air, cobwebs veiled the shelves stacked with forgotten books and cracked lanterns. It smelled of damp stone and paper rot.

Elias closed the door behind them. For the first time since the tower, he exhaled.

Anya hugged herself. “What was that back there?”

His gaze flicked to her, unreadable. “You really don’t know what kind of place this is, do you?”

She bristled. “It’s a school. A cursed one, apparently. Everyone whispers about it, but no one says anything real.”

“That’s because saying it makes it worse.”

Anya swallowed. “Then tell me. I saw the door. I heard… voices.” Her own words trembled, sounding fragile in the dark room. “I need to know if I’m losing my mind.”

Elias studied her for a long moment, as though weighing something. At last, he spoke.

“The doors aren’t doors. They’re… mouths. The school opens them when it wants something. If you hear your name, it means it’s already found you.”

Her throat tightened. “Found me for what?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he moved toward a shelf and pulled a dusty book from the pile. Its leather binding was cracked, pages yellowed with age. He set it down on a small crate, flipping it open to reveal sketches of Ravenswood’s floor plan.

Her breath caught. The map wasn’t right.

“This wing,” Elias said, tracing a finger along the page, “doesn’t exist anymore. It was sealed after the first disappearances. But the building doesn’t forget. Sometimes it still opens itself… just to remind you.”

Anya stared at the sketch, her pulse roaring in her ears. The tower. The door. The whispers.

“You sound like you’ve been through this before,” she said quietly.

Elias didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve seen enough.”

She waited for more, but he snapped the book shut, dust spiraling into the air. The conversation was over.

Silence settled between them.

Only then did she notice the subtle details about him: the faint cut on his hand, as though from broken glass. The way his gaze never lingered too long on the shadows, as if wary of what they might form into. The exhaustion beneath his sharpness, like someone carrying a weight too heavy to name.

For a flicker of a moment, he didn’t look frightening at all. He looked lonely.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

The quiet shattered with a sound outside the door.

A faint scuff. Slow. Deliberate.

Both of them froze.

Elias pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes narrowing, before moving silently to the door. He leaned close, listening.

The sound came again—like bare feet dragging against stone.

Anya’s breath hitched.

Suddenly, a knock.

Three times. Slow.

Her skin crawled.

She remembered last night. The same sound outside her dorm. The same deliberate rhythm.

This time, however, a voice followed.

Not her name.

His.

“Eliassss…”

The whisper slithered under the door, seeping into the room like smoke.

Her eyes snapped to Elias. His face had gone pale, jaw clenched, but he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The voice came again, softer, closer, as if the speaker’s lips pressed against the wood.

“Elias… open the door…”

Anya’s entire body shook. Whoever—whatever—it was, it knew him.

Elias turned suddenly, grabbing her wrist again. “Don’t listen. Don’t answer.” His voice was a low hiss, urgent. “It’s not me it wants tonight. It’s you.”

Her heart lurched painfully. “Then why—why is it saying your name?”

His grip tightened. Shadows flickered in his eyes.

“Because it remembers.”

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