Whispers of Existence

Previously

…Alistair shook his head, his gaze fixed on a passage detailing grain shipments from 1742. “The usual. Births, deaths, marriages, crop yields. Nothing that screams ‘ancient prison’ or ‘terrifying entity’.” He sighed, the sound swallowed by the oppressive stillness. He had expected this, of course. Truth, he had learned, was rarely etched in bold letters. It was a mosaic, pieced together from fragments, from the spaces between the words. Clara leaned closer, her sharp eyes scanning the page. “But what about the disappearances? The records are suspiciously… thin. As if people simply vanished without a trace. Not a death certificate, not a mention of migration.” “The founding families