Vince sighed as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His chest rose and fell heavily as his eyes drifted back to the two bodies lying still on the floor.
"I think I'm going to have nightmares about this," he muttered under his breath.
For a moment, he wanted to collapse and never get back up. But instead, he forced himself to move. Running back to the cracked spot in the wall, he crouched down and stared at it with a bold, determined expression.
It'll take any type of chant, he thought, steadying himself.
Crossing his legs, Vince pressed his hands together in a mock prayer. His lips quivered for just a second before he drew in a deep breath and spoke.
"Please, I plead in the name of Vince. Vince is my holy follower. Please, in the name of Vince, I chant you to open!"
The wall pulsed faintly in response. A dark glow began to seep through the cracks.
"Woah," Vince whispered, his eyes snapping open.
The glow brightened, spilling across the crumbled surface until the wall finally collapsed further, revealing a small hole. Dirt lined the edges, fresh and raw, like the earth itself had only just given way.
The hole was too small for Vince to crawl inside, about the size of a child. But within, resting against the dirt, lay two objects.
The first was a dark wooden shovel. It looked perfectly new, as if it had never been touched, its wood still rich in color, the metal head gleaming faintly in the dim light.
The second object, however, pulled Vince's breath away.
A compass.
It was black, its surface crawling with purple veins that pulsed like living tissue. The veins beat faintly, like the throb of a heart. The compass itself was small enough to fit in his palm, its arrow locked firmly in a single direction, refusing to shift no matter how he tilted it.
The glass covering it was not clear, but a deep, opaque black that shimmered faintly in the glow.
Vince stared at it, transfixed, before carefully reaching in. The moment his fingers brushed it, he flinched.
It was slick. Not cold, not warm, just… slippery, like fish skin.
"Such an odd feeling," he murmured, then pulled it out.
The shovel came next, its polished surface surprisingly light in his grip. Vince studied the compass again, tilting it left, then right. No matter which way he turned, the arrow remained locked on one path, straight in the direction of the backyard.
No matter where I face, it always points that way… leading somewhere outside.
His thoughts raced. What could it be guiding me to?
And then one word burst into his mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.
Magic.
The thought made him want to laugh, to jump, to shout in joy. But the weight of the night pressed down on him, pulling him back to reality. He wasn't a child anymore. He had dreamed of magic in the past, but those dreams had dulled, worn thin.
Still, this was more proof that magic was real.
If I follow this compass, how long will it take? he wondered. If I'm gone for a week, maybe my siblings will notice. Maybe. But probably not.
He shook his head and shoved the compass into his pocket, gripping the shovel in his other hand. His eyes then fell on the revolver lying on the table.
The gun that had shimmered with an eerie glow. The one that had felt alive.
"The owner of this body's already dead," Vince muttered. "So… oh well."
He picked it up, studying the engravings carved into the steel and the faint, pulsing aura it gave off. The gun seemed to pull at him, pressing cold fingers against his heart, but he forced himself to steady his breath and slipped it into his waistband.
With that, he turned back to the bodies. He froze. His throat clenched, bile rising. The urge to vomit returned with force, but he swallowed it down.
Guess I'm still not used to it.
Finally, he opened the basement doors. A gust of cold wind hit him, carrying the scent of night. He glanced down at the compass. Its arrow pointed unwaveringly toward the forest, and beyond that, to the green mountain rising in the distance.
Why so far…? he thought. But he tightened his grip and stepped out into the night.
The darkness wrapped around him like a cloak, hiding his bloodstained robes from sight. Still, unease prickled his thoughts. If Father sees me like this… if anyone does… He pushed the worry away and kept moving.
The compass guided him toward the forest. Step by step, he vanished into the shadows.
—
Four hours later.
Two figures stood in front of the red house. The air around it had changed completely. Lanterns flickered across the lawn, and uniformed policemen moved busily in and out, marking the scene with bright strips of yellow tape to keep outsiders away.
The red house was no longer quiet. It was a crime scene.
The two newcomers stood at the edge of the chaos.
One was a man in his early thirties, tall and striking, though his gray eyes seemed dull and lifeless. His black hair was neatly kept beneath a brown bowler hat. A high-collared cotton shirt clung under a dark wool waistcoat, where a golden pocket watch glinted faintly. Over his shoulders hung an open dark-green frock coat, matched with black trousers tucked into polished brown boots.
A revolver rested at his waist, and in his hand he leaned lightly on a rich wooden cane. From his pocket, the edge of a strange black pen peeked out.
Beside him stood a woman shorter in height, her hazel eyes sharp behind a pair of round spectacles.
Her brown curly hair framed her face in waves. She wore a high-neck white blouse tucked into a long dark-brown skirt, her boots scuffed from travel. In one hand she held a notebook, in the other a pen poised and ready.
She looked at him with a subtle smile.
"Arvin, what's the report for today?" she asked, her tone almost playful.
The man lowered his head slightly, tapping his cane against the ground. His voice was calm but carried weight.
"Some robber broke into this family's home. While inside, he killed both the son and the father. We don't know his intentions yet."
The woman pressed her pen against her lip in thought.
"Could it be connected to the other killer? The one they've been calling the Non-Follower Ripper?"
Arvin's gray eyes sharpened. His reply was flat, harder than before.
"Who knows. I'll have to see the bodies first before I decide."