Chapter 1

Nyle was taking a shower. The warm water that was coming out of the showerhead was being heated thanks to an arcane diagram that had been sculpted behind the wall by a fire arcanist, an expert in fire diagrams. It was a desperate attempt to mitigate the giant hangover he was sure to get in a couple of hours.

When he stepped out of the shower, he briefly stared at his reflection on the small mirror that was right over the sink. A couple of hazel eyes stared back at him.

Even though his head was still spinning like crazy, he didn't take long to reach a conclusion that seemed quite obvious: he looked like shit. The long raven hair that were cascading perfectly over his shoulders were sticking to his face in a sodden mess, dripping water over the red carpet. His breath smelled terrible of the cheap stuff he had gulped down during the night. And the heavy dark circles under his eyes made him look ill.

Sighing heavily, as he exactly understood that he couldn't have expected better, he quickly dried himself with a white towel and put on some clean underwear. Then, by going in his bedroom, that honestly didn't look that much in a better condition compared to the living room, he grabbed his badge, some clean clothes and his armor, put them on, and marched outside.

Waiting for him, there was a black carriage on which it had been painted the coat of arms of the Civil Order, the same one he belonged to. It was the order, between the many that existed in the imperium, tasked with resolving all the disputes, preventing crimes, and like in that case, resolving it.

 "Are you ready, sir?" asked the same man that had knocked on his door. Now that he could, at least better than before, look at him, he noticed the total lack of drowsiness, which, combined with the skin completely free of any imperfections, could only mean one thing. He was a rookie fresh out from the academy. Just great.

Now he didn't just have a colossal headache and a murder case to solve. He also had to babysit a rookie.

Nyle looked up to dark morning sky. If a good beginning bodes well, like he had heard many times in his life, then the day ahead was going to be horrible.

 "…Sir?" repeated the rookie, looking as he was unsure on how to approach the subject.

 "Yes. I heard you." replied Nyle massaging his temples. 

 "Oh! Good. Now, about the murder…"

 "…Really?"

 "What?" asked the rookie. A look of evident confusion was plastered on his face.

 "Agh! Nothing, let's talk inside the carriage. Where there are no possible eavesdropper…?" Nyle hinted, frustration evident in his voice. He left the last remark incomplete, hoping that the rookie would pick up the problem. Needless to say, he didn't catch any of that.

Not wanting to deal with any of that idiocy at such a time in the day, and most importantly, in those conditions, Nyle sighed and just marched inside the open door of the carriage. He immediately sat down on the comfortable leather seat, the one near the back axle. He was convinced that was the area of the carriage least susceptible to jolts due to road conditions, and that it would be wise to avoid subjecting his stomach and his head, already upside down by a bad decision, to a further beating. A decision that would soon prove to be futile.

In any case, while Nyle was starting to question his decision-making choices, the rookie also entered, slammed the door shut with such force the hinges rattled, and sat down on the opposite side. Now that he had a little time, and above all quiet, Nyle observed him as best as he could. The perfect skin he had already noticed led him to assume he was a guy in his twenties, with short, dishevelled brown hair and a pair of sky-blue eyes. In terms of height, he was certainly not a giant, but he was also not below the norm, at least by human standards. But then, when Nyle's gaze lingered on a pair of black spots that he presumed to be dried ink, the recruit caught his attention.

 "…ir? Sir? Did you hear me?"

Nyle's eyelids opened and closed in rapid succession, as his focus turned to the young man in front of him. To hide the inspection he had just subjected him to, he apologized while briefly massaging his eyelids, saying he was lost in thoughts and asking him to repeat himself.

The rookie, which surprisingly showed an abnormal quantity of patience and self-control, simply nodded before starting again. "As I was saying, the body has been found around an hour ago inside St. Octavious church. By what they told me, it doesn't appear to be moved."

 "Wait. They who?"

The rookie didn't seem to register immediately the question Nyle had asked. "…Excuse me?"

 "Who? Who are talking about?"

 "Oh!" he said as realization finally hit him. "The others who arrived on site first. The have already isolated the crime scene and set up a search area to collect potential evidence. In addition, Magister Barail and Magister Gideon should be arriving soon, if they aren't already on the crime scene."

When Nyle registered the names of those Magisters, his mind almost seemed to pause in confusion. He could certainly understand calling Gideon, who was the magister responsible for that district. But Barail? He jurisdiction was on the other side of the capital, the one near the northern gate. There was no point calling him. Unless…

 "The victim is elven, isn't it?" suddenly blurted out Nyle.

 "Yes. I was getting to that…sorry." said the rookie looking sincerely apologetic.

Nyle put his hands over his face and slightly squeezed as he slowly exhaled. Now that was going to complicate matters. An elven victim was a case of different importance than a human one. The resonance it would have in the city, whose tension was already palpable due to ongoing war with the neighbouring kingdom of Zirak, would have been potentially catastrophic. It was necessary to prevent a leak of information at all costs. If nothing else, at least until they had found a possible culprit.

As he was clearly picturing a long morning that would prove to be extenuating, the rookie reclaimed his attention by coughing lightly. "What is it?" asked Nyle. His tone was the perfect indicator of the anger and resignation to the inevitable he was feeling inside.

 "…Inquisitor, there is one last thing. The senior officer on site, a certain Captain Villamor, has requested the aid of a scrying arcanist. They should be already on site by the time we arrive there."

There Nyle lost it, and vented out all his frustration in a single, but utterly effective, sentence: "You must be fucking kidding me!"

The rookie was left astonished. He couldn't believe, even if it was clear that the inquisitor wasn't in the best shape, he just heard these words came out of the detective's mouth. But perhaps there was a reason he ignored for such fouled reaction. A reason he wanted to know. "If I might ask, inquisitor, do you have something against scrying arcanists?"

Nyle exhaled, trying his best to regain his composure. The sudden outburst didn't help him in sobering up. "…I don't believe you ever had to deal with them, right?"

The rookie nodded. "Exactly, sir."

 "Alright. Then let me explain. Scrying is very complex art to perform, especially in a place where the natural balance has been disrupted, like in this case. It's not mere coincidence that those type of arcanists will never use their art on a battlefield. There are numerous accounts of arcanists that have gone completely mad after they had tried to perform in those conditions. In its essence, without going into too much detail, scrying allows an arcanist to catch a glimp of an exact moment in time, be it past or future. The problem is that each arcanist will have a different vision, that obviously needs to be interpreted. You can clearly see where the problem lies."

The rookie, who was attentively listening, nodded in understanding. But one question seemed to come up anyway. "I beg pardon, but if that's the case, why did the captain feel it necessary to call one?"

Nyle sighed, as he envisioned the giant mess he was going to explain. He didn't feel like it, with all the headache and the gigantic war that was going on inside his stomach. Yet, he proceeded anyway. "…In the past, there have been cases where it had been possible to solve them thanks to scrying. But, and this is not my belief but an actual fact, for every case solved, a hundred got even more complicated. The only reason Villamor called one those arcanist is because some asshole had the bright idea to propose such an accurate art to the Ministry of War, which obviously did not even hesitate a moment to request their services. I also heard some…whispers that even the emperor is relying on their…art."

 "Wait. What does the Ministry of War have to do with us? Don't we answer to the Ministry of Surveillance, under the Civil Orde-"

Nyle stopped him. "During a peaceful time, that would be the case. In a war one, every violent crime committed must be reported to the Ministry of War. And if you involve that Ministry, you also involve the scrying arcanists. So, however you view it, it's a pain in the ass."

The next few minutes passed in simple conversation, but nothing of real note. There was some tension in the air, perhaps due to the gravity of the whole situation, and a quick discussion on how long it was going to take to reach the church.

After that, there was nothing left to do but wait in silence, as the carriage slowly progressed on the roads.

 //////

The moon, with its cold, white rays, illuminated the old religious architecture, giving life to the statues and spires carved in worn marble. To reach it, the carriage that was transporting Nyle, who had his eyes closed, and the rookie, who stared wide eyed at the whole scene, had to show the id to the guards posted as roadblocks, who quickly let them pass.

From there, it didn't take long for them reach the real roadblock, where they had to climb out of the carriage to keep on going. The flurry of activity that greeted them as soon as they stepped down the carriage was something that was more reminiscent of chaos, than an actual organized search. Fellow members of the Civil Order, who clearly would have liked nothing more than punch who was in front of them, were trying their best to stop the few onlookers that tried to drunkenly argue with them to let them pass. Given the very early hour, and the close proximity of the taverns, it wasn't anything unusual. It still complicated operations more than necessary.

In the moments after a crime occurred, especially in the case of a bloody one such as that, it was necessary to act calmy but with a firm hand. Nyle knew that otherwise, the evidence, and the subsequent investigation, would take a turn for the worse. Too many times he had been forced to give up because something had gone wrong in the preliminary stages, or because he had been ordered to do so from his superiors. This time, however, perhaps because of the altered state of mind he was in, he would not allow it. This time he would bring closure to this mess.

 "Guys, are there any problems?" asked Nyle.

The drunkest of them all, a man that had such a foul breath that could even knock out a dwarf, mocked addressed Nyle with words that almost made no sense. He tried to mock how Nyle looked; how his clothes were so out place. But Nyle had none of it."

 "Now listen here, assholes. You can fuck off right now, going back where the hell you came from, or you can quietly stay here. In any case, for those of you who will be creating problems, a cold and tight cell is what awaits your ass."

 "Sa…Saysss…whoooo?" asked a drunk elf.

 "I say it. Now choose. I ain't got time to waste."

The same drunkard that had insulted him before, now approached Nyle with violent intentions. Even if he was in no shape to fight, with his upper body that didn't seem to match the lower's movement, the man still advanced while shouting made up words.

After he was near Nyle, the man tried to hit him with his right punch. But everything that could go wrong about that attempt, went wrong. His footing, the most important thing in a fistfight was pretty much non-existent. His balance was…well, there wasn't.

Nyle simply sidestepped the punch, if one could call that pitiful attempt as such, while putting his right foot behind the man's left leg. Then he simply pulled.

The man crashed backwards in loud thump that knocked him out cold in an instant.

 "Are you all right, Inquisitor?" asked the rookie, who was holding the service knife in his hand.

 "Yeah…just groggy."

 "Should we take him away?" asked the guard who had rushed in.

 "No. Just leave him there."

After that, with a quick exchange of a nod, Nyle resumed walking side by side with the rookie towards the church.

Walking the last few steps, ignoring the beautiful exterior of the architecture, he went inside to have a look at the crime scene.

The first thing that he noticed, opening the giant wooden door with creaking hinges, was the abnormal darkness that was reigning in the church.

Of all the candles, or braziers placed under the statues of the saints who were overlooking the nave, none were lit. Not even the central one, the one dedicated to the All Mother, the supreme deity, was burning. And that was very, very strange.

Nyle wasn't for sure a dedicated faithful. In all honesty, he simply didn't even bother to try. And who could blame him?

With all the suffering and death he had witnessed since he had been appointed as a proud inquisitor of the imperium, faith was something that he had completely set aside. But of one thing, although it had been years since he had set foot in a church, he was sure. The central braziers of every church, monastery, cathedral, or place of worship, was powered by an intricate arcane diagram that never let the flames extinguish. To be able to destroy, or even only interfere with that kind of advanced arcanism was something that was reputed to be impossible. So how exactly did flames die? 

Nyle let out a heavy sigh. He was for certainly the furthest person from that sphere of competence, even if had some base level of knowledge on everything arcane.

Even if it wasn't exactly required to men in his position to possess that kind of expertise, Nyle had noticed that the vast majority of the forces sure possessed it. And he never believed in coincidences. So, to achieve his goal of becoming a hero of justice (that's how he initially perceived himself) he had forced himself to study the subject. But that mystery was impossible for him to solve.

The second thing he noticed was the absence of the important people he was already expecting to be on site. No matter where he looked, he didn't find them. Perhaps there was still time for a brief investigation. 

Walking towards the nearest brazier, the one under the statue of St. Barandir, an elven hero that had died to protect the coasts over a century before, Nyle couldn't help but recount the memories of his arcane studies. And with them, the displeasure he had felt when he was forced to deal with them.

After hurling a few curses, completely disregarding the sanctity of the place he was currently in, Nyle closed the distance, only to look intensely at the extinguished embers. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he shoved his hand inside, causing the onlookers to shoot up their eyebrows in sudden surprise. 

 "Inquisitor!" silently screamed the rookie, who sticked close to him like a shadow for all the time. "Don't touch that with bare hands. The embers might still be hot even if they don't look like it."

Nyle didn't even bother to respond. Instead, he pushed the hand further in, until it was completely covered in that black and dusty remnants that fire had left behind. "…Rookie, what's your name?" asked suddenly as his mind was elaborating hypothesis after hypothesis.

 "…Avron, sir." responded the rookie after the initial shock had passed. Why was the detective asking for his name now? He had had plenty of time to do it before they had reached the crime scene.

 "Alright, Avron. Answer this question."

 "Yes!" the trepidation was evident in his voice.

 "Do you note something strange? Anything that stand out in front of your eyes?"

 "Well, you have your hand inside a brazier."

 "Yes, and…"

 "…and you're not screaming in pain."

 "So that means…" Nyle encouraged him to finish.

 "That means the ashes are completely cold."

 "Good!" replied Nyle in a mock compliment. "Now, don't you find it strange?"

Avron stopped to think for a second. But no matter how much he tried to come up with something to impress the inquisitor, his mind didn't reach a satisfactory conclusion. "I…I can't think of anything out of ordinary. Any fireplace, if left untended, will eventually die out. Most probably the Order of the Flame just forgot about it."

The Order of the Flame, or as everyone called its members, the fire maniacs, was the religious order responsible for tending and maintaining the flames of all the braziers dedicated to the saints, especially those dedicated to the martyrs. Its members were, for the vast majority, ex members of the military forces that had abandoned the fighting lifestyle to commemorate those they had lost their lives. In a way, it was their sort of way to atone for a sin they felt they had committed. Or perhaps, for the less faithful among them, it was a way to quiet the voices of guilt that constantly tormented them in their own personal hell.

That's why the people called them fire maniacs. Their devotion to that doctrine was such that they would have rather inflicted themselves grave injuries rather than having them extinguished. But if they were so devoted to that cause, how did the braziers go out in the first place?

Nyle, who still had his hand immersed in the brazier, grabbed a piece of charred wood and by pulling it out, examined it. Beyond the black patina and soot that completely covered it, its solidity was the thing that immediately stood out. And its dryness. To achieve that, he was convinced that somehow the culprit managed to extinguish the flames in an instant.

Could the culprit had used water, or some kind of object infused with water arcanism? Impossible. Nyle remembered, thanks to his studies, that the member of the Order of the Flame who was on duty made his maintenance rounds at the stroke of each hour. This left the culprit with such a limited amount of time that, if he had used water, he would have left the brazier soaked. Or at least damp.

Instead, the piece that Nyle was holding was completely dry and dusty.

Could the culprit had chocked the fire with some kind of air arcanism? Unlikely. Unless the culprit managed to draw the diagrams without a solid base, which was a very rare talent.

This mystery was quickly shaping itself in a form that Nyle clearly despised: The arcane ones.

Quickly discarding the charred piece he was holding in his hand, Nyle cleaned himself as best as he could. Then he walked towards the actual crime scene where the murder victim was laid.

 //////

Placed in the middle of the central nave, exactly perpendicular to the vastly decorated dome, there was a white cloth that looked as soft as snow. Underneath it, the lifeless body of the victim laid still in perpetual rest.

The body, or better, everything around it, was a flurry of activities.

Nyle saw a man, dressed in what seemed like a pair of reinforced black trousers and shiny leather boots, stand near the body and direct the operations with crisp, clear orders that left no room from interpretation. He smiled, looking at the commanding man with a mix of emotions. He was Captain Villamor, a man with whom he had some history with. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. "Well, well. Look who has arrived." said Captain Villamor, looking at Nyle with a mock smile plastered on his face. "Sound the trumpets and open the gates wide. The cavalry has arrived."

Nyle scoffed as his head suddenly pulsed violently. "Drop it, Villamor. I'm not in the mood."

 "I can see that. I can also see that you have a new puppet following you. Sucks to be you, I'm su…" Captain Villamor flinched as his nose picked up the strong odor of liquor that was emitting from Nyle's mouth. "Damn…You sure had it rough, ah? You could spit fire with that breath of yours."

 "As I've just said…" Nyle repeated as he closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I'm not in the mood. It has been…a long night."

 "Yeah, that's for sure."

As an awkward silence threatened to fall on them, Nyle skilfully changed the subject to the victim, opening his eyes to stare right at the white fabric placed over it. In truth, even if the church was, for the most part, shrouded in darkness, the lighting source that was placed near the corpse reflected its brightness on the white fabric, making his eyes hurt in the process. He would have never admitted it, but he found really difficult to stare at such bright display.

 "So…" said Nyle, trying his best to suppress the discomfort. "What do we have here?"

Captain Villamor cleared his throat as he took out a small leather booklet he had placed inside the pocket of his armor. The black hooded cape he was wearing over it, with a distinctive sewn patch on which three towers were depicted, was the official uniform that only the officers who served the Civil Order could wear. As for Nyle, who was also an officer of the same Order, he only wore it when he absolutely had to, such as in a formal occasion. And that day wasn't any different.

Only the badge he took with him, hiding it inside the leather armor he was wearing, could really testify his identity. The rest of his attire didn't give any indication on the rank he had attained. And that's how he liked it.

 "Alright. We know the victim is an elven man, to the registry Nyvor Grellyn, aged 137, unmarried but with a family: woman and son."

Nyle bit his lip. He had never hated the elven folk, and he never would. But he still couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy over the long lifespan they were gifted with. 137 years old? He would for sure be dead and gone by then.

The captain ignored his reaction and continued on. "I have made sure to immediately notify the family and have them taken to the Main Headquarters. They should be waiting for us once we are done here."

 "You have sent our men to inform the family? An elven one? Are you-"

 "What?" asked confused Captain Villamor, already understanding where he was going with it. "Of course not! I have sent our men to inform the Elven department of the appropriate jurisdiction. Who do you take me for? A fool?"

Nyle visibly relaxed. "I'm sorry. Please continue."

The captain sighed frustrated by such a pointless and utter mad accusation, returning to reading his notes after he glared at Nyle on last time. "…As I was saying, the family has been notified and taken to Main Headquarters. Given the nature of the crime, I doubt they'll be able to provide us with valid information. Still, it's worth a shot."

At that point, he turned the page with a flick of his index finger, signalling to the younger agent, a man barely twenty, to remove the white fabric who was covering the body. "Now, to the grim part."

As soon as the fabric was carefully removed, the grim reality of what had happed to the poor elven man became visible to all, causing the young rookie who followed Nyle to turn his head as he gasped for air. So great was the shock caused by the scene that was in front of him that the young man was clearly on the verge of either throwing up, or fainting on the cold surface like a sack of potatoes.

 "…Detective…I…d…I…shou…" said the rookie through ragged breaths. His face had taken on dangerously shade of white.

Nyle clenched his teeth. That's why he hated working with rookies. They didn't have the experience, nor the stomach to face this type of crimes. This barbary needed men that could face the harsh reality head on, not cower in the face of it. But maybe he was too harsh. At his age even he had not been ready.

In a show of empathy that would have even surprised him, were it not for his sorry state, he made the rookie go outside to catch some fresh air and recompose himself.

Then he returned to look at the scene, avoiding the look of moderate surprise that Captain Villamor was throwing at him.

 "…I don't think I have ever-"

 "Don't. Just…don't." Nyle protested as he throw him a look that clearly made his intention very clear. He would not, under any circumstances, have that conversation. Not now, not ever.

 "…Have it your way." the captain said uninterestedly, turning his attention back at the corpse.

The twisted display of what the killer, or the killers, had done was on full display, illuminated by the near light source. A series of wounds that left no doubt about the culprit's intention donned the rough skin, which had taken on a pallid tone. "Judging by the corpse temperature and the colouration of his skin, we assume he was killed very recently. How recently, I cannot say. The lack of blood sputters makes me think that he was already dead when he was brought here."

 "Ah…. Have you found any-"

 "No." answered resolutely the captain. "Whoever moved the body evidently took care not to leave a trace. Also, the priest who has found the body has said that he didn't notice anything, or anyone, strange."

 "That's impossible. No one can vanish into thin air."

Now the captain seemed to be angered. "And yet, it's like that. Or are you saying that we-"

 "I'm not saying anything." said Nyle looking him straight in the eyes. Now he was the one getting angry. "But you must admit that's very strange. I mean, unless they could fly, they should have left something behind."

 "I know!" answered him frustrated. A bunch of people turned their heads at them, but quickly resumed what they were doing when they saw who had just screamed. "Don't you believe I can't explain this? But no point wasting time on it now. The corpse is speaking more than anything in this church. Even the main testimony is almost useless in comparison."

Closing the booklet, and placing it back in the pocket from which he had taken it out, Captain Villamor knelt by the corpse, as he pointed out some strange wounds that had been inflicted all over his chest. Nyle quickly knelt on the other side, observing silently.

 "These wounds have been inflicted after death. Probably with a knife, or some kind of portable shard object. They look like letters, runes, or numbers perhaps. I don't know. No one in this church has been able to recognize them. Maybe will discover more later. And there's more."

By placing his hands under the body, he lifted it just enough that his back was visible. On it, Nyle saw a strange circular looking diagram that left him speechless. The complexity of the carving was the thing that he immediately noticed.

 "This thing has been applied with a precision that had left me astounded for quite some time. I have never seen before such careful and precise use of a blade. It is no easy feat, you know? I'm no master, but I sure recognize the ability needed to carve that…"

 "So whoever etched the skin isn't a novice?"

 "Absolutely." he remarked, nodding his head. "Take for example the depth of those incisions. As far as I can tell, to the naked eye, they are all the same. One must apply the correct amount of pressure to achieve that. Do you know how hard that is?"

Nyle gazed intently at those strange symbols as if they had the ability to narrate their dark secrets. He was certain that those…things, could shed some light on the story that the killer wanted to tell. As far as he remembered, such extensive manipulation of the body, and in such peculiar way, had only happened once in his career. A deranged man, convinced that he could prolong his life by sacrificing other people to an imaginary being that his twisted mind had conceived, had used a knife to mutilate his victims. Yet, although he saw some similarities, there was something that did not convince him.

 "Do you remember the Blood Pool case?" asked Nyle as he continued inspecting the body.

 "…Yes?"

 "Don't you find it similar?"

The captain paused for a brief moment. "…Well, I can't say I don't. But that nutcase has been put to death more than a decade before. If this killer was a copycat, we would have noticed it."

 "…Dammit! You're right."

 "At this point we can only hope that the scrying arcanist can provide as some answers."

At the mention of the arcanist, Nyle visibly became enraged. "Why are you relying on those bastards again and again? They will make this case impossible to solve with their assumptions and their sketchy summaries."

 "What's that got to do with me? You know we're obliged to forward them. Especially those days. Or have you forgotten his majesty's fascination with them? The Ministry will never allow you to exclude them."

 "For fuck's sake. You know how unreliable and complex is scrying. In a case like this we must-"

 "Inquisitor." called out the rookie from behind him.

 "Yes?!" Nyle shouted.

 "We…have visit-"

 "Good morning." said one of the two men who had suddenly appeared from behind.

Nyle rose from his uncomfortable position as a heavy thud in his chest made its way inside him. He immediately understood who those visitors were. "…shit."

The Magisters had arrived.