The police station smelled faintly of disinfectant and old coffee. Not pleasant, but not terrible. My eyes swept over the crowded desks as I walked in, catching too many familiar faces hunched over case files. With a small exhale, I dropped into the desk they'd set up for me at the back. It was obviously a last-minute arrangement, but at least it let me spread out my notes.
Picking up the thick file from the desk—its edges frayed and lined with a rainbow of sticky notes—I felt my thoughts start to drift. My orders were clear enough: interrogate Tristan Bao, squeeze out whatever he knows about the rogue monster, and flag any other suspicious findings. Mrs. Kerolii had hinted he might be hiding something, but she'd been frustratingly vague about what.
"Ugh…" I exhaled through my teeth, flipping open the first page as if it might give me answers. Under my breath, I muttered, "I just hope he actually has a lead…"
"Detective Ji-Chon!" a voice suddenly called out.
I looked up to see a familiar, friendly face. The young man standing there had short silver hair with a distinctive black stripe curling across his forehead like a stray brushstroke. As always, a clipboard was clutched tightly in his hand—Jin Sao never seemed to be without it.
Then my gaze slid to the person beside him — a stranger. Blonde hair framed a face lit by bright eyes, and his whole posture practically buzzed with energy. There was a flicker of nerves there too, the kind that comes from standing in front of someone you've only heard about.
Before I could say anything, the blonde man thrusted out his hand, practically bouncing on his toes. "Hey! You're Megara Ji-Chon, right? One of the only S-rankers?! The Sky Dancer! Oh my Goddess…!!!"
I sighed again, more deeply this time, and nodded. With a slight shake of the hand, I ask, "And you are?"
"Oh! Um- Kelvin Doji, Miss!" He gulped, taking back his hand, "But you can call me Kel! I prefer Kel." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Hearing his name, I vaguely remembered him—he was the one who first reported the rogue monster crime scene and has been looking for Tristan. Maybe this guy can give me some leads…
"Kel Doji," I acknowledged him, keeping my tone neutral. "You're looking for Tristan Bao, correct?"
Kel actually bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes wide. "Yes—wait—do you know where he is?" His voice cracked with sudden relief. For a heartbeat, I glimpsed the boy behind the bravado, the one who'd been chasing ghosts for days, running on hope and little else. In that look, I saw a mirror of my own search — desperate for a lead, even a thin one.
"I do," I said firmly, folding my arms. "But we have to follow protocol. He's still in a tower raid. Once that's finished, he'll be questioned. After that… we'll see where things go."
Kel let out a long, dramatic exhale, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah… I get it. I just… he's alive! I can't believe it!" His grin flickered, a mix of relief and excitement, and for a moment, I noticed a few tears welling in his eyes.
From the look of it, Kel and Tristan seem to have quite a bond together… I wonder if this is as simple as him just disappearing and reappearing or if he is more connected to the monster than Kel expects.
My thoughts drifted back to Tristan's file, the two images—past and present—burning in my mind like a puzzle I couldn't yet solve. The differences were distinct and too strange to ignore. Maybe my theory was correct… or perhaps it was worse than I imagined. Either way, I had to wait, had to see for myself. But I couldn't leave Kel in the dark completely; he deserved a warning, even if it was vague.
I leveled a measured look at him, letting my eyes linger for a moment longer than necessary. "I know," I said, my voice low, careful, softened just enough to hint at the gravity of what I wasn't saying. A faint crease formed between my brows. "However… It's not as simple as it sounds. Tristan—he might not look like you expect."
Kel blinked, his expression shifting from relief to confusion. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Before I could answer, a young officer came barreling down the hallway, sweat soaking the collar of their uniform, gripping a tablet like it was a lifeline. They leaned against Jin Sao for a moment, gasping between words. "M-Miss Ji-Chon! H-Huh… you need to come—hah—found something! Hah… latest victim's scene…"
I cast a swift glance at Kel, letting my gaze convey urgency. "I don't have time to explain. I'll contact you soon."
Without waiting for his reply, I pivoted sharply, the hem of my coat flaring behind me as I strode toward the exit. Jin Sao and the panting officer scrambled to keep pace, their footsteps echoing in the sterile hallway.
Kel froze where he stood, eyes wide, the confusion and hope warring on his face, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. For a heartbeat, he simply stared, the space between us charged with everything unsaid.
Time passed in a blur, measured by the hollow echo of my boots striking wet pavement. The city's streetlights flickered weakly, their glow devoured by the fog curling through the alleyways. My stride itched to outpace the others; however, I pressed my aura tight around myself to subtly slow my movements to match the team's pace. Around us, flashlights cut ragged swaths through the darkness, throwing fractured light across puddles, shattered glass, and the wreckage of lives long since abandoned.
At the end of the road, beside a break in the treeline, a building hunched in the dark. An old tenement gone to rot, windows canted with grime and half-boarded, graffiti curling across its brick like warning veins. No one came here by choice; even the hooligans who slipped into the woods learned to cross the street to avoid it. Up close, the smell hit: stale urine, damp plaster, and a sweet, sour tang of old smoke bleeding from some infested, ancient chimney. Rats skittered in the gutters and under a collapsed porch frame, their beady eyes flashing in the flashlight rays. As I stepped closer, I caught the little traces of lives that had once filled this place, now flattened by neglect. The wooden floorboards inside sighed and bowed under our weight, swollen with damp and age.
Ahead, the crime scene came into view, and my stomach tightened. The body was sprawled unnaturally across the weathered wooden flooring, the signs of struggle clear and brutal. A deep slit ran across the throat, clothing torn as if in a desperate fight. But the most grotesque detail made the air thicken with dread: the heart had been ripped from the chest, nowhere to be seen.
I knelt slightly, my fingers brushing the cold, damp ground as I took in the scene, the familiar churn of unease twisting in my stomach. Another copycat killing—but some details didn't add up. Why remove the heart? Before, I didn't understand it much either. If the killer was just mimicking the rogue monster, wouldn't a simple puncture of the neck have sufficed? I realized that perhaps this was their way of copying the puncture wounds. However, that doesn't explain the removal of the heart here. Unless… they weren't merely copying, but trying to send a message? But why? And to who? Or… what? My thoughts drifted, circling my mind for an explanation.
A sound of hurried footsteps scraped against the warped floorboards behind me, dragging me back to the present. A young officer approached, shifting nervously from foot to foot, his flashlight wavering slightly in his hand. "Detective Ji-Chon… uh… we think you'll want to see this," he said, voice low, almost hesitant. He gestured toward a narrow corridor branching off the main scene. "It's… well, no one knows what kind of language it is."
Slowly, I brushed off the dust from my knees and straightened my shoulders. I took a deep breath, trying not to let my curiosity overstep my sense of caution. "Show me," I said, my tone calm but carrying an edge that made him hesitate less. I could sense the tension radiating from the team; they probably understand how strange this exactly is.
The officer led me down the hallway, his steps hesitant, flashlight cutting jagged paths across the cracked plaster and scattered debris. The air smelled of mildew and charred wood, and the faint scurrying of unseen rats echoed in the distance. As we rounded the corner, the hallway opened into a large, cavernous room, and my pulse quickened. The markings sprawled across the wooden walls were unmistakable— Ancient Tōkaigo. A script found only in the treasure chests of Tower ruins, preserved through magical scrolls and painstakingly studied by a handful of scholars. I had devoted years to mastering it, from my early days as a rising S-ranker in the Lotus Fang to countless hours deciphering glyphs with the researchers. Few could read it, and fewer still could understand its subtleties. And now, here it was, scrawled in blood.
"Here," the officer whispered, pointing to the symbols. "We… we don't understand it. But we thought… maybe you could."
I crouched in front of the wall, letting my eyes trace the flowing, deliberate strokes of blood, my stomach tightening with each line. My pulse picked up. Whoever had written this knew exactly what they were doing. As I read the words, the air seemed to thrum with quiet menace:
"From heaven's path a star will stray,
Neither man nor monster, yet both the same.
To the faithful, light it lays,
To the proud, a storm of flame."
My skin crawled with a cold, electric chill. This… this wasn't merely a message—it was something far older, far darker—a prophecy, carved in blood and intent. My mind raced. What is this "Star"? Who—or what—did it refer to? Whoever wrote this seemed to believe it held power, protection, perhaps even dominion. But from what? And for who?
The realization gnawed at me: whoever could write in Ancient Tōkaigo with such precision was no ordinary person. This wasn't a child playing with symbols or a petty criminal showing off. This was someone educated, someone influential, someone who understood the weight of what they were putting into the world. And if they were capable of this… could this be a cult? A secret following, hidden in plain sight? The thought left a tight, icy weight pressing on my chest.
I swallowed, breathing deeply, forcing myself to return to the present. The knot in my throat tightened as I stepped closer, each footfall tentative on the warped, damp floor. Around a small altar, candles had burned down to stubby nubs, their wax pooled and cracked into patterns that seemed almost deliberate, ritualistic.
On the altar rested what looked like a charred heart—blackened, brittle, the faint acrid scent of smoke and iron lingering in the cold air. My stomach twisted. This… this was no ordinary killing.
I gestured sharply to the officer beside me, prompting him to tilt his flashlight toward the altar. While the light was unsteady, I could read the jagged letters sprawled across its surface easily. However, the handwriting appeared more rushed and fanatical, as if madness or fear had taken over the writer. The writing read:
"We know your truth, we will be faithful, our lives are for you, the Almighty Star."
The words pressed into me, their intent heavy, almost reverent. A shiver ran down my spine as the implications settled in—this wasn't just a killing. Whoever had done this had performed a ritual, a sacrifice meant to honor… or perhaps empower… this so-called Star. My theory crystallized with chilling clarity: this is a cult, and its devotion is literal, fanatical, and dangerous.
I felt the weight of the room press against my chest, a whisper of caution gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. Whoever had done this… they weren't just leaving a corpse. They were leaving a message, carved into flesh, fire, and blood. And I have a feeling that this message wasn't for us, but this so-called Star.
And beneath it all, a sinking certainty settled in my bones: we hadn't even glimpsed the worst of it yet.