Dare you enter these gates, you may never return.

The fire crackles low in the lounge. You’ve only just arrived, your coat still kissed with the mist of the Romanian woods outside. A soft jazz-laced cello hums in the corners of the room, but Noah Ari—crossed legs, one eyebrow raised, half-finished drink in hand—leans forward and says, without pretense: "Are you ready for the next?" He gestures toward a sealed envelope on the table. Thick parchment, tied with red wax. The symbol? A rose. Thorned. Ancient. "There’s been a whisper… something stirring in the hills." "A castle—yes, that one—the one the locals don’t speak of after dark." You’re told of a dinner. A gathering of old ‘friends’. Invitations sent in riddles. Wine that flows a little too freely. Laughter that echoes long after the mouths that made it have gone quiet. And somewhere in the castle… a murder is being plotted tonight. But the rooms shift. They move. The map isn’t fixed. There’s a ballroom that only appears if you dance your way in. A Queen’s Gambit chamber that responds to secrets whispered on velvet. The wine cellar? Only accessible to those who confess a vice. The library rewrites itself while you’re inside it. And the dungeon… well. Not everyone leaves that one the same. "You can go now," Noah says, voice smooth as silk over mahogany. "Or stay a little longer. Let me pour you another drink while you decide…"