Gordon, intrigued by Mr. Suhat's hints of a more complex past, decided to tread carefully. "You said you learned to cook out of necessity, while traveling," he began, choosing his words with care. "Where did your travels take you?"

  Mr. Suhat's expression softened, a hint of melancholy touching his eyes. "Many places," he said, his voice distant. "Lands far and wide. I was… searching. For knowledge, for understanding, for… peace."

  He paused, his gaze drifting towards a framed painting on the wall. It depicted a woman with kind eyes and a sweet smile, holding a baby wrapped in a soft blanket. "I wasn't always alone," he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "I had a wife, a beautiful, loving woman. And a son."

  He turned back to Gordon, a sad smile playing on his lips. "My wife… she died shortly after our son was born. It was… a difficult time. I was lost, adrift. I decided to leave the city, to travel, to try and find… something. Anything. To make sense of it all."

  He gestured towards the portrait. "My son, however, he needed stability. He needed a home. So, I brought him here, to Oakhaven. It was a quiet, peaceful village, far from the… chaos of the city. A place where he could grow up safe and happy."

  "And where is he now?" Gordon asked, his voice soft.

  "He's in the capital city," Mr. Suhat replied, his eyes filled with pride. "Studying at the academy. He's a bright young man, with a thirst for knowledge. He wants to be a scholar."

  He paused, a wistful look on his face. "I miss him, of course. But I know he's where he needs to be. And I'm here, in Oakhaven, waiting for him to return."

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Suhat," he said, his voice sincere.

  "Thank you, Gordon," Mr. Suhat said, his smile returning. "But it's in the past now. I have my memories, and I have my son."

  After finishing their lunch, Gordon, feeling a renewed sense of determination, returned to his investigation. He thanked Mr. Suhat for the meal and the insights into his past, then headed back to the library, the room where he had first sensed the strange presence.

  He retraced his steps, meticulously examining every detail, every shadow, every corner. He tried to focus on the faint shimmer he had seen earlier, attempting to recreate the conditions that had triggered its appearance. He even tried to speak aloud, addressing the unseen presence, asking it to reveal itself.

  He moved through the house, his movements slow and deliberate, his senses heightened. He spent time in the study, then wandered the hallways, pausing at each doorway, each window, each painting. He felt a growing sense of frustration, a feeling that he was close, but just out of reach.

  He was sure he was almost getting it. He could feel it, the lingering unease, the subtle vibrations in the air. He could almost see the faint shimmer, the distortion in the light. But it kept slipping away, like a wisp of smoke, just as he was about to grasp it.

  He tried different approaches, different techniques. He tried to visualize the presence, to feel its emotions, to understand its intentions. He tried to use his power, to sense its connection to the house. But nothing worked. The presence remained elusive, a phantom in the shadows.

  As the afternoon wore on, Gordon's frustration grew. He felt a sense of helplessness, a feeling that he was failing Mr. Suhat, failing to solve the mystery that was plaguing his home. He knew he was close, but he didn't know why it kept slipping away. He couldn’t pin down the “why”.

  He decided to take a break, to clear his mind, to try and approach the problem from a different angle. He went to the drawing room, where Mr. Suhat was reading a book by the window. He sat down in a comfortable armchair, his gaze fixed on the garden outside.

  "Any luck, Gordon?" Mr. Suhat asked, his voice soft.

  "Not yet," Gordon replied, his voice laced with frustration. "I can feel something, but I can't… I can't quite grasp it. It's like it's just out of reach."

  "Perhaps it's meant to be," Mr. Suhat said, his voice thoughtful. "Perhaps some mysteries are not meant to be solved."

  Gordon looked at him, his eyes filled with determination. "I don't believe that, Mr. Suhat," he said. "I believe there's always an answer. We just have to find it."

  Two days. Two long, frustrating days. Gordon had spent every waking moment searching Mr. Suhat's house, meticulously examining every room, every corner, every object. He had tried every approach, every technique he could think of, but the mystery remained unsolved. The faint shimmer, the unsettling stillness, the lingering unease—they were all still there, but no closer to being explained.

  A growing suspicion began to form in Gordon's mind. He had a feeling that the key to unlocking the mystery lay in the hours of the night. He suspected that the presence, whatever it was, was more active at night, perhaps even at its strongest at midnight.

  The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He had faced down a cultist and abomination creatures, but the idea of spending the night alone in a haunted house, especially at midnight, filled him with fear. His powers had given him strength, but they hadn't completely erased his timid nature.

  But he knew he had to overcome his fear. He had promised Mr. Suhat he would help, and he couldn't back down now. He had to face it to uncover the truth.

  He decided to wait until midnight, the witching hour, when the night at its peak. He spent the rest of the day preparing, gathering his courage, and sharpening his senses. He even practiced some of breathing techniques that hunter guild had teaching him, trying to strengthen his mental and mind.

  He ate a light dinner, trying to calm his nerves. He then went to the library, the room where he had first sensed the strange presence. He sat in a comfortable armchair, his gaze fixed on the darkened windows.

  He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, his senses heightened. The silence in the house grew heavier, the air thicker. He felt a chill, a coldness that seemed to seep into his bones.

  As the clock chimed midnight, the final resonating gong echoing through the silent house, Gordon's resolve crumbled. The oppressive silence, the chilling atmosphere, the sheer weight of his fear pressing in on him—it was too much.

  He felt a wave of panic wash over him, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. He looked around the darkened library, his eyes wide with fear, imagining unseen eyes watching him from the shadows.

  He needed to get out. He needed to escape the suffocating dread that filled the house. He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready.

  He stood abruptly, knocking over a small side table in his haste. The clatter echoed through the silence, making him jump. He looked around, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, convinced he had alerted some unseen presence

  .

  "I… I need to go," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He turned and fled the library, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallways.

  He found Mr. Suhat in his study, reading a book by the dim light of a lamp. Mr. Suhat looked up, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity.

  "Gordon? Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice soft.

  "I… I have to go," Gordon said, his voice trembling slightly. "Something… something came up. At home. I have to… I have to deal with it."

  He knew his excuse sounded flimsy, ridiculous even, but he couldn't bring himself to admit his fear.

  Mr. Suhat looked at him, his eyes filled with understanding. "Of course, Gordon," he said, his voice calm. "Family matters are always important. But are you sure you are alright?"

  "Yes, yes, I'm fine," Gordon insisted, his voice slightly higher than normal. "I'll… I'll come back tomorrow. I promise. I'll… I'll have more time then."

  He offered a weak smile, then turned and hurried towards the door, his footsteps echoing through the house. He didn’t stop until he was outside, the cool night air a welcome relief against his sweaty skin.

  Gordon rushed back to his cottage, the cool night air doing little to quell the frantic beating of his heart. He slammed the door behind him, leaning against it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt a wave of self-disgust wash over him.

  He had faced down abomination creatures. He had stood against the hag. He had even stared into the abyss of the afterlife and returned. But this… this unseen, unexplained fear, it was different. It was insidious, creeping into his mind, twisting his courage into knots of anxiety.

  He wasn't a coward, he told himself. He had proven his bravery time and again. But he was tired. He was still recovering from his near-death experience, the lingering effects of it still a raw, unsettling memory. He wasn't ready to face another unknown, another terrifying encounter.

  He had faced the abominations because he had no choice. He had been forced to act, to fight, to survive. But this time, he had a choice. He could walk away. He could pretend he had something urgent to attend to, something that required his immediate attention.

  And he had taken that choice. He had chosen to run.

  He knew he was letting Mr. Suhat down. He knew he was letting himself down. He was supposed to be a hunter, brave and strong, someone who faced the danger without flinching. But he was just Gordon, a man still haunted by the shadows of his past, a man who desperately needed a moment to breathe.

  Gordon sat on the floor, the weight of his fear and self-doubt pressing down on him. Lukas's words echoed in his mind, "You're a hero, Gordon." A bitter laugh escaped his lips. A hero? He couldn't even spend a night in a haunted house without running away. He was no braver than Lukas, who, at least, had the good sense to stay away from Mr. Suhat's house altogether.

  He berated himself, replaying the night's events, the fear that had paralyzed him, the flimsy excuse he had given Mr. Suhat. He was a fraud, a coward masquerading as a hunter.

  But amidst the self-recrimination, a spark of an idea flickered in his mind. He couldn't face the darkness alone, but he didn't have to. He knew someone who wouldn't mock his fear, someone who had proven his courage time and again.

  Markus.

  Markus, who had faced the hag's demonic power, who had stood against the high priest, who had never wavered in his determination to protect Oakhaven. Markus, who had awakened some kind of fire power, the very power that had saved Gordon’s life.

  Markus wouldn't judge him. He wouldn't call him a coward. He would understand. And he would help.

  Gordon felt a surge of hope, a flicker of renewed determination. He knew Markus was the only person who could help him face this ghost, to confront the mystery that haunted Mr. Suhat's house.

  He sank back onto his bed and decided he would go to Markus in the morning. He would face his friend with the light of day, when his fear was less overwhelming, when he could speak more clearly.

  He lay in bed, the silence of the night pressing in on him. He replayed the events of the past few days, the unsettling atmosphere of Mr. Suhat's house, the faint shimmer, the lingering unease. He tried to understand it, to find its source, to conquer it.

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  He thought of Markus, his unwavering courage and his strength. He wondered how Markus would handle the situation, how he would face it, how he would find the answers.

  He closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of shadows and whispers, of unseen eyes watching from the darkness. He drifted into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with unsettling visions and lingering dread.

  When morning finally arrived, Gordon woke with a renewed sense of purpose. He prepared a simple breakfast, trying to calm his nerves. He knew he had to face Markus, to ask for his help. He couldn't avoid the truth any longer. He left his cottage and made his way towards Markus's house.

  He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and knocked on the door.

  He heard a muffled sound from inside, and then the door swung open, revealing Markus, his face etched with a mixture of surprise and concern.

  "Gordon? What brings you here so early?" Markus asked, his voice low.

  "I… I need to talk to you," Gordon said, his voice hesitant. "It's about Mr. Suhat's house."

  Markus nodded, stepping aside to allow Gordon to enter. "Come in," he said. "Tell me what's wrong."

  Gordon stepped into the small, sparsely furnished room, his gaze fixed on the floor. He felt a wave of shame wash over him, but he knew he had to be honest.

  "I… I chickened out," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I was supposed to spend the night at Mr. Suhat's house, to investigate the… the presence. But I couldn't do it. I was too afraid."

  He looked up at Markus, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and desperation. "I know I promised to help, but… I just couldn't face it. I'm sorry."

  Markus looked at him, his expression thoughtful. He didn't say anything for a moment, then he placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder.

  "It's alright, Gordon," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Everyone gets scared. There's no shame in admitting it."

  Gordon looked at him, his eyes filled with disbelief. "But… but you're not afraid," he said. "You're a hero."

  Markus smiled faintly. "I'm just a man, Gordon," he said. "And I've been afraid plenty of times. But fear doesn't have to control you. You can choose how you react to it."

  "But I ran," Gordon said, his voice laced with self-disgust. "I ran away."

  "And tomorrow, you can choose to walk back," Markus said. "That's what makes a hero, Gordon. Not the absence of fear, but the courage to face it."

  Gordon nodded, a flicker of hope rekindling within him. "Thank you, Markus," he said, his voice sincere. "I… I don't know what I would do without you."

  "We all need help sometimes," Markus said, offering a reassuring smile. "But about Mr. Suhat's house, I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you."

  Gordon's heart sank. "Oh," he said, his voice laced with disappointment. "I understand. You're busy."

  "It's not that," Markus said, his expression turning serious. "I'm leaving this afternoon. With the Keepers of the Flame."

  Gordon's eyebrows shot up. "Leaving? Where are you going?"

  "To their sanctuary," Markus replied. "It's about this… this fire power. The one that awakened when we fought the hag, they says it's called The Flame of Judgement, it is an ancestral power, passed down from ancestor to descendant. Apparently, it belonged to Valentine Rockback."

  Gordon's eyes widened. "Valentine Rockback? The hero who slew the Black Dragon? The one who ended the Seventh Holy War?"

  "The same," Markus confirmed. "And apparently, I'm one of his descendants."

  Gordon was speechless. He couldn't believe that his friend, was descended from such a legendary hero.

  "But… why are you leaving?" Gordon asked, his voice filled with concern.

  "Because the power is… unstable," Markus said, his voice low. "It's almost burned me and my house several times. They says without proper guidance, it will consume me. They're going to help me learn to control it."

  Gordon's heart sank. He understood. Markus had to go. But he also felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped Markus could help him face his problem, to confront the mystery of Mr. Suhat's house.

  "I understand," Gordon said, his voice quiet. "Be careful, Markus."

  "I will," Markus said, placing a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "And you be careful too, Gordon. You're stronger than you think. You can face it. Just remember what I said."

  Gordon nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I will," he said. "Thank you, Markus."

  Gordon walked back to his cottage, his steps slow and heavy, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and disappointment. He kicked a loose pebble on the path, sending it skittering into the tall grass.

  "Shitty luck," he muttered under his breath, his words laced with a bitter edge. "Just my luck. The one time I need help, the one person who can actually help me, he's off to learn how to play with fire."

  He cursed quietly, a string of muttered complaints about his own incompetence, about the unfairness of the world, about the sheer absurdity of his situation. He had finally found the courage to ask for help, only to be told that help was unavailable.

  "What am I supposed to do now?" he asked himself, his voice laced with exasperation. "Go back to Mr. Suhat's house and pretend I'm not terrified? Try to talk to a ghost? Or whatever it is?"

  He imagined himself back in the darkened hallways of Mr. Suhat's house, the oppressive silence, the chilling atmosphere, the unseen presence watching from the shadows. He shuddered involuntarily.

  "I can't do it alone," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "I'm not strong enough. I'm not brave enough."

  He kicked another pebble, sending it flying into the air. "Damn it, Gordon," he said to himself, his voice filled with self-disgust. "You're pathetic. You're a coward. You're useless."

  He stopped walking, his gaze fixed on the ground. He felt a wave of self-pity wash over him. He was alone, afraid, and completely out of his depth.

  "Maybe I should just give up," he thought, his voice barely a whisper. "Maybe I should just tell Mr. Suhat I can't help him. Maybe I should just go back to… to… whatever I was doing before all this happened."

  But even as he thought it, he knew he couldn't do it. He had made a promise. He had given his word. And he couldn't just walk away.

  He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He knew he had to find a way to face his fears, to solve the mystery of Mr. Suhat's house. He just didn't know how.

  "Think, Gordon," he said to himself, his voice firm. "Think. There has to be another way."

  He started walking again, his steps now more deliberate, his mind focused on the problem at hand. He had to find a solution. He had to find a way to help Mr. Suhat.

  As Gordon walked, head down, muttering to himself, he nearly collided with someone coming the other way. He looked up, startled, and found himself face-to-face with Bertha.

  His heart skipped a beat. He remembered Lukas's ridiculous claims about Bertha secretly harboring feelings for him. He knew Lukas was just teasing, but a flicker of… something… stirred within him.

  Bertha was, undeniably, striking. She possessed a fiery temper, a lioness's spirit, as the villagers often said, but she also had a certain… allure. Her posture was always straight, her gaze sharp, and her movements precise. And, yes, he couldn't deny it, she was beautiful.

  He tried to shake off the perverted thoughts that crept into his mind. He knew they were inappropriate, fueled by Lukas's teasing and his own frustration. But he couldn't help but notice the way her dark hair framed her face, the intensity of her eyes, the… well, the undeniable presence she exuded.

  "Gordon," Bertha said, her voice sharp and direct, as always. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  A wry smile twisted Gordon's lips. "Something like that," he muttered. "I'm just… having a bad day."

  "A bad day?" Bertha asked, her eyebrows slightly raised. "That's a rather vague explanation. Though I suppose, with your new reputation, you have a lot to deal with."

  Gordon frowned, confused. "My reputation?"

  "Don't play coy, Gordon," Bertha said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "The hero of Oakhaven. The slayer of dark creatures. The wielder of magical power. You're quite the celebrity these days."

  Gordon's cheeks flushed. He wasn't comfortable with the attention, and he certainly didn't feel like a hero. "It's not like that," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

  "Oh, come now," Bertha teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "Surely, you're enjoying the attention. All the girls in the village must be throwing themselves at your feet. You could have any one of them."

  Gordon shifted uncomfortably. "It's not like that either," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "I'm not… I'm not looking for that kind of attention."

  "Oh, really?" Bertha asked, her eyebrow raised. "Then what kind of attention are you looking for, Gordon?"

  Gordon stammered, his cheeks burning. "I… I'm not looking for any attention," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just want to… to be left alone."

  "Left alone?" Bertha asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "That's a strange request for a hero."

  "I'm not a hero," Gordon said, his voice firm. "I'm just… Gordon."

  "Just Gordon?" Bertha asked, her tone laced with amusement. "And what does 'just Gordon' do?"

  "He tries to help people," Gordon said, his voice quiet. "And he tries to do the right thing."

  "And is he succeeding?" Bertha asked, her eyes fixed on his.

  Gordon hesitated, then shook his head. "Not today," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration.

  Bertha's expression softened slightly. "Well," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, "everyone has their off days, even a great hero like you." She then turned and walked away, leaving Gordon standing alone on the path, his mind filled with her words.

  "Great hero." Gordon muttered while looking bertha walking away.

  He stood there, alone on the path, the weight of his fear and self-doubt slowly lifting. He looked up at the sky, the sun shining brightly, casting long shadows across the ground. He took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs, clearing his mind.

  "She's right," he muttered to himself, his voice laced with determination. "I can't give up. I won't give up."

  He thought of Mr. Suhat, his kind eyes, his desperation. He thought of the unseen presence in the house, the lingering unease, the feeling of being watched. He thought of Markus, his unwavering courage, his belief in Gordon's ability to overcome this problem.

  "I'm a hero," he said aloud, his voice firm. "Or at least, I'm trying to be."

  He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. "Fuck this ghost," he declared, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Dead or alive, I'm coming, baby!"