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The Shadow in the Mansion

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Synopsis
He lived under their roof. Ate at their table. Walked past them every day. And they never saw him. Elias Kael was the third son of the powerful and prestigious Kael family. But unlike his celebrated brothers, Elias was quiet, unwanted—an afterthought. After a heated clash with Caspian, the family's prized second son, he was emotionally cast out, abandoned in everything but name. They didn’t throw him out. They simply stopped acknowledging he existed. For months, Elias became a ghost in his own home. No eye contact. No conversation. No presence. And no one cared—until the day he vanished. No note. No sign. No farewell. Just gone. Only then did they look back. Only then did they wonder what he was doing all that time. Only then did they question the strange noises, the flickering lights, the cold spots in the halls. And by then… It was far too late. Because Elias wasn’t just forgotten. He had become something else. The mansion buried him. Now the mansion remembers.
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Chapter 1 - Dinner Without a Name

The chandelier above the Kael family dining hall sparkled like it always did—cold, calculated, expensive. Every inch of the room screamed wealth. From the dark oak table that could seat twenty, to the imported marble floors, to the long line of portraits watching from the walls like forgotten royalty.

Elias Kael sat at the far end of the table, silent.

He always sat at the end. Not because anyone told him to, but because everyone else simply filled in from the top, leaving him to drift down, like a shadow too faint to notice.

Tonight was no different.

"Caspian closed the deal in five minutes," Vivienne Kael said, beaming across the table at her second son. "Five. I told them you'd be the one to carry the name."

Caspian flashed that practiced smile—the one that melted business partners and blinded critics. "I only did what I had to. The numbers were easy. Their nerves were the real problem."

Silas Kael, their father, gave a sharp nod. "That's what a real Kael does. Not just numbers, but command. Presence."

No one looked at Elias.

Not Vivienne. Not Silas. Not even Caspian, who once couldn't go an hour without mocking him.

It had been six months since the fight.

One push. One punch. One broken arm. That was all it took.

They never acknowledged him again.

He hadn't been punished, suspended, or expelled from the mansion. There was no dramatic disownment, no exile. That would have made headlines. No—what they did was quieter.

Colder.

They simply stopped talking to him.

No eye contact. No "good morning." No mention of his name.

He ate meals like a ghost, slept in his wing of the house like an unspoken secret. The maids didn't clean his room. His phone line was cut. His birthday had passed without a word.

He had become the invisible son. The one they didn't need.

He stabbed a piece of overcooked lamb with his fork and chewed in silence, his eyes drifting across the table, watching the play unfold.

Caspian's laugh echoed too loud in the tall chamber.

Damien, the eldest brother, sat two seats from the top—calm, emotionless, sipping wine like a bored statue. Elias often wondered if Damien noticed what was happening, or if he had long since chosen indifference.

The staff came and went without so much as a glance at him.

This was his world now.

A museum of opulence, filled with people who pretended he didn't exist.

Until tonight.

Until something changed.

His fingers brushed the underside of the table as he leaned forward, and he felt it—something etched into the wood. A shape. A curve. A symbol. He ran his thumb along it slowly, and for a brief second, everything went quiet.

Completely quiet.

No voices. No breathing. No clinking of glasses.

Then—

"You're still here, Elias."

His heart froze.

He looked up.

No one was looking at him. Caspian was still talking, Vivienne still nodding, Silas still praising.

But the words hadn't come from anyone at the table.

They came from beneath.

The mansion.

The voice was soft, genderless, whispering just behind his ear—and yet nowhere at all.

He blinked rapidly, trying to shake it off. Maybe he was losing it. Maybe six months of being ignored had finally broken something loose.

But then he looked up—and the chandelier flickered.

Just once. Just enough to notice.

He set down his fork and stared at the silver, polished plate in front of him. His reflection stared back: pale, tired, eyes too old for sixteen.

"You've been watching, Elias.They've forgotten.But the house hasn't."

His hand trembled.

He stood slowly, pushing his chair back. It screeched slightly.

Still, no one looked.

Vivienne laughed.

Caspian bragged.

Damien swirled wine.

Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

He stepped away from the table, backing out of the hall. His footsteps echoed. No one turned. He could've screamed—and they would've just kept talking.

He left the room without a word.

And the mansion swallowed him whole.

The hallway was colder than it should've been.

Elias walked with one hand brushing the walls, letting his fingers feel the subtle imperfections—cracks beneath perfect paint, small scars the eye couldn't see.

He had always noticed them.

This house, for all its glory, was old. Older than most knew. It had been passed down for generations. Political blood. Economic dynasty. A legacy of power.

But not everything in the mansion obeyed.

Elias had heard whispers before. Felt shifts in temperature when no window was open. Once, he found a door in the west wing that led to a staircase, only for it to be gone the next day.

He had thought it was stress. Imagination.

But now…

"They buried you while you still breathed."

He stopped.

His feet were in front of the east parlor—an unused section of the estate. Locked doors, dusty furniture, forgotten paintings.

But tonight, the door was open.

Just slightly.

And from inside, something pulled.

Elias hesitated. The rational part of him screamed to turn back. That this was madness.

But the silence had become unbearable.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was dark, save for one shaft of moonlight piercing through cracked shutters. Dust danced in the beam like ash.

In the center of the room stood a single, covered mirror.

He approached slowly.

The cloth was heavy, old. His hand reached up and pulled it off.

The mirror was not a mirror.

It didn't reflect him.

Instead, it showed them.

His family—back at the table. Still laughing. Still blind.

And then, the image twisted.

Their eyes darkened.

Their mouths disappeared.

And one by one, they turned toward the mirror. Toward him.

Frozen.

Staring.

Seeing.

And behind him in the reflection, something rose.

A shape. A shadow.

His shadow.

But taller. Broader. Alive.

It leaned forward and whispered again.

"Now they'll remember you."

Elias stumbled back.

The cloth dropped. The image vanished.

His heart pounded as he backed out of the room, slamming the door shut. His breath was ragged. He pressed his back to the wall and slid down to the floor.

What was happening?

Was he losing his mind?

Or was this the first time he was finally… waking up?

For the first time in months, Elias felt something he hadn't felt in years:

Presence.

Not just in the house. In himself.

He stood up slowly.

He wasn't sure what the mansion was hiding.

He wasn't sure what he had become.

But one thing was clear now.

They had ignored him for too long.

And he wouldn't stay invisible much longer.