A Letter

13th September 2052—about five years ago on Earth, when the red blood Alliance still held strong. It was a cold day, unusual for the warmer ones that marked the late summers of a couple of decades ago, back when Elliot and Ren were still only a plan. On that cold day, Elliot walked around in nothing but a shirt, his body trembling, a thin stream of mucus trickling down his nose. He was only sixteen, just returning home from school. I should've listened to mother, he sighed, shivering as he caught sight of his brother, Ren, leaning against the school's stone wall like always. Unlike Elliot, Ren was wrapped in a long sweater and scarf, having heeded their mother's advice. Despite the chill, Ren's smile warmed Elliot's heart, though he didn't rush to hug him out of joy—Elliot never did. His friends from school might see him, after all.

"And how was school today?" Ren asked, his smile even more radiant, his short blonde hair neatly swept to the side.

"We had economics in math, learning about the Homo Oeconomicus, and we just started the Victorian era in history," Elliot replied as Ren ruffled his hair with a warm hand.

"And what did you manage to learn?" Ren's gentle tone only made Elliot squirm a bit more, batting away his brother's arm. Ren was two years older and a head taller, and Elliot could never quite match his calm, teasing demeanor.

"I wasn't paying much attention. Now stop it already, Ren!" Elliot's voice rose, his brows furrowing in frustration, his teeth gritted in mild annoyance.

"Why do you always have to embarrass me?" Ren chuckled softly, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the laughter threatening to escape.

"Embarrass you? Who's even here to see? I don't see anyone." Ren gestured left and right with a carefree grin, but Elliot flushed with embarrassment, nonetheless.

"It's the principle of it," Elliot muttered, crossing his arms and walking ahead with a huff. Ren's smile remained soft, amused at his younger brother's antics.

Ah, Elliot, Ren mused to himself, still so young, innocent and so naïve. He chuckled inwardly, his hands slipping into his pockets as they continued walking, their conversation shifting to their shared anticipation for dinner. Roast with dumplings—Elliot's favorite, especially their mother's thick, brown gravy that she always made to perfection.

Emma Starfall was her name. She was kind, beautiful, and warm-hearted, just like Ren. Their father, Mark Starfall, on the other hand, was more of a loner. He was impulsive, always yearning to see and know more—curiosity and adventure seemed to run through his veins. And it was those traits that Elliot took after most.

As the two blonde brothers approached their front door, only a few steps apart, Elliot fumbled in his pockets for the house keys, but Ren moved ahead to unlock the door first. Elliot meant to thank him but froze instead—his gaze locked in terror on the hallway inside.

It was not something a sixteen- or eighteen-year-old should ever have to see: a man and a woman, lying side by side, hand in hand, crimson liquid seeping from their bodies, their wide, glassy eyes staring blankly into the distance. It was their parents—Emma and Mark. Their clothes, their blonde hair, their once-blue eyes—everything was soaked in the deep scarlet of their blood. Their eyes remained open, pupils dilated and fading.

Elliot stumbled back, gasping for breath, his lungs burning with each shaky inhale. Ren, on the other hand, stood motionless, staring at their parents' lifeless forms. Seconds ticked by, each one heavier than the last, as Elliot lay on the cold, stony ground, struggling to breathe, while Ren's gaze never wavered. His eyes reflected their parents' vacant expressions, mirroring the horror before him.

From that day onward, Ren was never the same. His emotions faded, the warmth in his smile— the smile that once always brought light to Elliot's heart—disappeared. Ren was no longer the happy, gentle brother. In a single moment, he became someone else, someone colder, devoid of emotion.

...

Lynn Street 16, near the Monument of the Goddess of Night.

Elliot jolted awake, gasping for air. A nightmare—it always started beautifully, only to twist into terror. That dream again. Cold sweat clung to his skin as memories resurfaced—memories that felt more real than dreams had any right to. Maybe because they weren't dreams at all. They were memories of what had truly happened.

"Mother, Father, Ren... how did it all go so wrong?" Elliot murmured to himself, eyes cast downward to the cold, dark stone floor where he had been sleeping. As he pushed himself upright, he clutched at his stomach, still shaken by the memory. But despite the nightmare and the painful recollections it stirred, Elliot forced a smile to his lips. This detective agency was the best decision I ever made. His gaze shifted toward the exit of the storage space he called home—resembling a garage in the modern world—but instead of the bright, blue light of day, all he saw was the shadowed figure of a man. Edwin stood there, looking down at Elliot with disdain, even though they were nearly eye to eye.

Elliot lowered his gaze, bracing himself for the inevitable blow.

"Red blood, where did you get those clothes?" Edwin spat, barely missing Elliot with the spit.

"My job provided them. My old clothes were beyond saving." Elliot stood with his head lowered, his posture tense, but now dressed in clean, sturdy attire. He wore black leather suspenders, a slightly dirty but still crisp white shirt, and smooth, black linen trousers. Even his shoes, though worn, were well-made leather, capable of lasting years more.

Edwin's eyes blazed with fury, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Veins bulged under his skin as he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. With his other hand, he ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair. "A Red blood should always be recognized as one," he sneered, his lips twisting into a vicious grin as he stared down at Elliot, who continued to look at the ground.

Pow! Pow! Pow…

The blows came, fast and hard. Three, five, seven—it didn't stop. Edwin's once-neat hair began to fall out of place as sweat dripped from his face onto the cold floor. Elliot groaned with every hit, curling into himself as he tried to protect his ribs, shoulders, and arms—the main targets of the brutal assault. I just need to survive this, Elliot thought bitterly, trying to endure. His entire body trembled, his muscles tensed painfully as blue and yellow bruises began to form beneath his now-soiled white shirt.

"If you ever take something like that again, I'll kill you, Red blood!" Edwin roared; his fists still clenched as the veins on his blue-skinned forehead pulsed with rage. Spitting one last time, Edwin turned away, leaving Elliot crumpled on the ground. Samantha stood in the distance, giggling behind her black fan as she watched the scene unfold.

As the two of them walked away, Elliot remained on his hands and knees, his legs trembling, his chest heaving with labored breaths. His eyes, burning with rage, stared at the stone floor beneath him. Blue and yellow blood surged beneath the red, hidden in his veins, but he forced himself to stay calm. Muttering under his breath, Elliot swore, "You'll regret this one day."

…

At Fring Street 95, within the Blue Sharks office, Elliot hurried through the doors. His morning routine had been rushed, completed without washing, and finished by half-past six instead of quarter to seven, as was usual. Despite his reluctance, he knew he had to go shopping. One day, he would break free from their contract, but until then, he had to play the obedient dog. Along the way, he ran into Gene, but their conversation was trivial, devoid of meaning.

"Ah, Elliot, how was the warm shower?" William greeted him with a bright smile, pulling Elliot from his foul mood almost instantly. Ren... Elliot returned the smile, though it was forced. The others were always so kind to him, and he couldn't bring himself to make them feel guilty.

"Guys, how does the outfit look on him?" Elton called out, louder than necessary. The others glanced over briefly, nodding their approval before returning to their work. Bill, rubbing the back of his balding head, furrowed his brow as he looked at Elliot.

"Aren't you too warm in that?" Bill asked, eyeing Elliot's long sleeves. The morning was indeed warmer, the mist outside already starting to fade.

"No, actually, I'm a bit cold," Elliot responded, his tone neutral. Bill nodded, satisfied, and resumed his task.

"There are some documents waiting for you—books, to be precise. They cover the basics of ritual magic. You'll understand what I mean once you start reading them," Bill added with his back turned, while Chris clapped Elliot on the shoulder.

"You'll manage," Chris said, his voice filled with a peculiar sympathy, as though it were some kind of ordeal. Elliot only grimaced slightly, blending the expression with a forced smile and a nod. Why only the shoulder? And why does everyone act like it's a nightmare? I'm learning something valuable, aren't I? Elliot thought, keeping his emotions tightly controlled as he walked to his desk.

There, waiting for him, were two thick, leather-bound books. He sighed as he looked them over. "Introduction to the World of Rituals and Expansion of Ritualism," he read aloud, his fingers brushing the covers to wipe away some of the dust on his black pants. At least the bruises and dirt don't show, he thought.

He opened the first book, its pages dense with text written in a script he recognized but couldn't yet read. Below, though, was an English translation. "This book contains the basics of ritual magic and introduces the language of the gods. This language, known as 'German,' allows us to channel the power of those whose golden blood flows through them. Let us first honor these beings before we proceed..."

...

In the adjoining room of the Blue Sharks detective agency, four men and one woman sat, the atmosphere tense as they exchanged glances. "This case is a strange one. No clues, nothing to follow," Bill began, his fingers interlaced as he stared at them with weary, sleepless eyes. "And then a similar case emerged shortly afterward, isn't that right, Elisia, Chris?"

Elisia, smoothing her delicate hands over her deep blue, almost black skirt, nodded. Her dark blonde hair was tied up in a neat bun under a bonnet. "Chris and I were assigned to another case, sent by a woman whose husband's head exploded out of nowhere. He was carrying a sealed letter," she said, glancing toward Chris, who, dressed in a simple beige suit matching his hair, handed the letter to Bill.

The group sat either with their hands resting on their laps or legs crossed, listening as Chris elaborated. "The man's name was Wil Zimmermann, a Blue Blood, working as a supervisor in a manufacturing firm. No children, married to another Blue Blood. Their residence was modest, appropriate for their income. But the strange part—his records only go back six years. He was a migrant, probably from a remote country."

Bill's eyes, along with William's and Elton's, widened slightly at the mention of migration, while Chris continued, "In the letter, it mentioned that 'the time was near,' that 'the mother of the unborn was ready,' and that a 'new era was about to begin.' Wil seemed to be the sender, addressing someone only identified as 'V.'"

William immediately suggested, "There's a connection between this case and the woman who was murdered—both died in the same gruesome way, exploding from the inside. What if we start by looking into migrants who've arrived in the past few years?"

Bill nodded in agreement, sealing the conclusion of the meeting. With a rough, authoritative voice, he gave the next orders: "Elton, William, head to the High Council for Migration and Border Protection—the HCMBP here in Trüben-City. Elisia, Chris, investigate the victim's surroundings and her contacts further. I'll reach out to the public security officials in the Kingdom of Avelor and the A9 intelligence service."

Already on his feet, Bill strode over to Elliot. "You'll be on your own for a while. I trust you, so use this time to study," he said with a warm smile before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Elliot, now alone, returned his focus to the thick book in front of him, flipping the pages as he delved deeper into the text.