I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Cassandra stared at the room, her voice low but heavy with unease. "What happened here?" she muttered, stepping cautiously over the debris.

The smell of dust and metal hung in the air, mixing with the faint scent of something acrid, something burnt. Mara hesitated at the doorway, her hands gripping the edges of her cloak. "This place looks... wrong," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "Are you sure we're supposed to be here?"

Cassandra glanced back at her, her eyes sharp. "The slime brought us here," she said. "And look at this mess. Someone was here recently—someone who didn't leave quietly."

Mara shivered, glancing around the wreckage. "Maybe we're at the wrong place. Maybe—maybe we should leave before something finds us."

Cassandra's lips thinned. "You saw what those men were doing, how they followed us. They weren't just after us for fun. They know something, Mara. And whatever happened here might be connected to why."

Mara hesitated, her instincts screaming to turn and run. But Cassandra's words held weight. She's right, Mara thought, swallowing hard. The slime wouldn't bring us here unless it meant something.

The two moved quietly through the room, their eyes darting from one corner to another. Shards of broken glass crunched underfoot. They passed an overturned chair, its legs splintered and bent. A shelf lay toppled, its contents—a mixture of books, tools, and what looked like makeshift weapons—strewn across the floor.

Mara wrinkled her nose as she nudged a broken vase with her boot. "Whoever lived here wasn't big on housekeeping," she muttered, trying to lighten the oppressive mood.

Cassandra shot her a glance. "Focus. If there's a clue here, we need to find it."

They pushed farther into the house, stepping through a narrow archway into an even smaller room. It was just as chaotic—clothes were piled in heaps, and strange, claw-like marks gouged the walls.

"This feels... wrong," Mara said, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned to Cassandra, her expression pleading. "We should go. What if those men come back?"

Cassandra ignored her, crouching to sift through the scattered belongings. "The slime brought us here for a reason," she said, more to herself than to Mara. She picked up a dented piece of metal and examined it briefly before tossing it aside. "This place confirms one thing—those men don't mean us any good. If they've been here, they've already done damage."

Minutes passed as they searched, turning over broken furniture and rifling through the mess, but nothing gave them any clues. Finally, Cassandra stood, brushing off her hands. Her expression was grim. "Nothing," she said, frustration creeping into her voice. "Whoever this belonged to, they've either been taken or fled."

Mara glanced toward the door, relief flickering in her eyes. "Then we should go. There's nothing here."

Cassandra hesitated. Her gut told her they were missing something. But the room offered no answers. She sighed, turning toward the door. "Fine. Let's—"

Her words were cut off as the slime in Mara's hand suddenly jerked to life, its glow intensifying.

"Whoa!" Mara gasped, almost dropping it. The slime quivered violently, its tendrils stretching out to point toward the wall behind them.

Cassandra turned sharply, her eyes narrowing. "It's reacting," she said, stepping closer.

Mara frowned, following the slime's direction. "But it's just a wall," she said, confused.

Cassandra approached the wall cautiously, her gaze sweeping over its surface. It was plain, unremarkable—just another cracked, dusty part of the house. But the slime was insistent, its glow pulsing as it strained toward the barrier.

"It's showing us something," Cassandra murmured. Her hand hovered over the wall, brushing lightly against it. "Maybe there's something behind it."

Mara tilted her head. "Like a hidden door?"

"Possibly," Cassandra said, her voice thoughtful. She pressed her palm flat against the wall, feeling for any irregularities. "Or maybe... a compartment."

She began running her hands methodically across the surface, her fingers searching for bumps or seams. She even rapped lightly on the wall in several places, listening for any changes in sound. Nothing.

Mara shifted uneasily behind her, glancing toward the door. "This is taking too long," she muttered.

Cassandra ignored her, her eyes scanning the wall. Something caught her attention—a clock mounted at eye level. It was old and dusty, its hands frozen at 10:15. But something about it seemed... off. She reached out and brushed her fingers against it.

"It's fixed," Cassandra said suddenly.

Mara frowned. "Fixed?"

"It's not hanging," Cassandra clarified. "It's built into the wall."

Mara stepped closer, her curiosity piqued. "So... what does that mean?"

Cassandra's gaze lingered on the clock. "It might be a mechanism," she said slowly. "Something to open the wall."

Mara's eyes lit up with realization. She pointed to a small tab on the side of the clock. "Look! You can turn the hands!"

Cassandra nodded, gripping the tab. She began turning the clock's hands, her movements aimless as she tried to think. 'What are we missing?' she wondered. 'What's the connection here?'

She moved the hands to 12:00. Nothing happened.

"This isn't working," she muttered. She glanced at Mara. "We need something—a clue, a number. Something that ties to whoever lived here."

Mara gestured around the room. "Well, it's not Zafron," she said. "Look at this place. Women's clothes, strange weapons... nothing here screams 'Slime Boy.'"

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Cassandra's brow furrowed. 'She's right. This house doesn't belong to him. But then, who—'

Mara's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait! By the door—didn't you see the sign?"

"What sign?"

"It said, Cat Girl's Den," Mara said. "Doesn't that mean the house belongs to a... cat girl?"

Cassandra's mind raced. She remembered something—a book she'd once read about cats, their symbolism, their myths. A specific detail came to her.

"Nine," she said suddenly.

Mara blinked. "Nine?"

"Cats," Cassandra explained, already turning the clock's hands. "They're said to have nine brains—or nine lives. It's symbolic."

She moved the hands to 9:00.

A low, mechanical rumble filled the room. Both women froze as the wall began to shift, the dust-covered surface sliding back to reveal a narrow, brightly lit pathway.

Mara stared in awe. "You actually did it."

Cassandra gave her a faint smirk. "Always trust your instincts."

They hesitated at the entrance, the glow from the pathway casting strange shadows across their faces.

"It looks... safe," Mara said, though her voice lacked confidence.

"Looks can be deceiving," Cassandra replied. "But we didn't come this far to turn back."

With a deep breath, she stepped inside, Mara following close behind. The air was cooler, cleaner, as if the path led to a different world.

As they moved forward, the wall slid shut behind them with a loud thud.

Mara turned sharply, her eyes wide. "It closed!"

"No going back now," Cassandra said grimly. She glanced ahead, her jaw tightening. "Whatever's in here... we're about to find out."