Chapter 111
Time passed unnoticed inside the dark and damp Kapeleion.
Arya did not realize at all that outside, the eastern sky had begun to change color—from pitch black to bluish gray—a sign that dawn was approaching, that the night would soon surrender its throne to the morning.
He was far too focused on the torrents of data streaming before his eyes, on the shadows that kept repeating themselves, on a fact that was becoming clearer yet increasingly puzzling: all the evidence, from six different locations, from six different suspects, pointed to the same person.
One person with the same posture.
With the same movements.
With the same habits.
One person who should not have been able to be in six places at nearly the same time.
One person who—Arya exhaled deeply, very deeply, like someone who had just finished a grueling task that drained all of his strength and thoughts.
He closed his eyes, removed the holographic glasses, and felt immense relief as the burden of data stopped flowing into his brain.
One, two, three, four… he counted silently to ten, letting his mind calm down, allowing all the information he had just absorbed to settle, crystallize, and form a conclusion he could no longer avoid.
Then he opened his eyes and looked at Nirma with an extremely sharp, piercing gaze—like the edge of a sword that had just been freshly sharpened.
Nirma still wore the same faint smile, unchanged from before.
"Arya," she greeted softly, her voice sounding like music within the suffocating silence, "was my guess correct? Is Megas Domestikos Adrianos Komnenos truly the strongest suspect in this murder case?"
Arya lowered his head for a moment. His jaw tightened, and the muscles in his neck tensed like a rope pulled too tightly.
He looked reluctant—very reluctant—like someone forced to admit a painful truth, a truth that contradicted everything he wished for.
But in the end, with a heavy motion, very heavy, he nodded.
A small nod, almost imperceptible, yet enough to answer Nirma's question.
"Yes," he whispered, his voice hoarse and deep, like the voice of someone who had just lost something precious.
"Through the scene-by-scene visualizations shown by these glasses, the tendency is very clear. The four primary pieces of evidence implicating Adrianos Komnenos—the golden thread stained with bluish-purple dye within its fibers, the shattered small crystal, the ring with a fine crack on its inner side, and the authorization note whose origin he never explained—all four show direct contact with the victim shortly before his death.
I saw it, Nirma. I saw how that golden thread caught on Étienne's robe when they met somewhere—perhaps at Mangana Palace. I saw how the crystal shattered when Adrianos pushed Étienne against the wall. I saw how his ring cracked when his fist struck the victim's face. I saw how that authorization note changed hands—from Adrianos's pocket to Étienne's pocket—perhaps as proof that they were conducting some kind of illicit transaction."
Nirma nodded slowly.
Her faint smile widened slightly, yet her eyes remained serious, vigilant, calculating every possibility that might unfold.
Arya continued, his voice growing heavier and deeper, like a river flowing through the depths of a canyon.
"Meanwhile, the other sixteen pieces of evidence—those implicating the other suspects besides Adrianos—only show indirect interactions. Interactions that happened hours, even days, before the murder.
They're all safe, Nirma.
They only show that those individuals were once near the crime scenes, that they had contact with the victim, but none of them were directly involved in the murder itself. They are like spectators in a play—present at the scene, witnessing what happened, but not holding the leading role."
Arya paused for a moment, swallowing with difficulty before adding in a tone that sounded almost apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Nirma. I know you were hoping it would be Adrianos. I was hoping the same. But evidence never lies. And these glasses…"
He lifted the holographic glasses in his hand.
"…these glasses show what truly happened, not what we want to see."
"Fufufu."
Nirma's characteristic laugh escaped softly, almost like the sigh of wind slipping through the cracks of a door, yet clear enough for Arya to hear as he stood only a few steps away from her.
Nirma stepped closer—very close—until her face was only a few inches from Arya's.
And beneath the pale light of dawn creeping through the gaps in the Kapeleion's roof, her single eye gleamed with excitement—the excitement of a hunter who had finally seen her prey trapped inside a carefully prepared snare.
"Arya," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation she had long held back, "is this the moment? The moment for us to capture the Abnormal we've been searching for all this time? The one connected to the Muddy Land of Central Anatolia?"
Her smile widened, nearly reaching her ears, and for a brief moment she looked like a child about to receive the most cherished gift she had ever dreamed of.
But Arya did not return the smile.
He stood silent and still, his face turning into a mask that was difficult to read—not anger, not disappointment, but something far more complex, deeper, and more unsettling.
Slowly—very slowly—he shook his head.
Once.
Twice.
His head moved from left to right with a heavy motion, like someone resisting the powerful current of a river.
Nirma frowned, her excitement instantly fading, replaced by confusion and concern.
"Arya? What's wrong? Why are you shaking your head? Haven't all the clues pointed to Adrianos? Didn't you just say that the four main pieces of evidence showed direct contact with the victim?"
Arya did not answer immediately.
He lowered his head, drew a long breath, then raised his face again with a different expression—firmer, more certain, yet also more somber, like someone about to deliver bad news he wished he did not have to say.
"Nirma," he finally said, his voice quiet but steady, "there's an inconsistency. Something isn't right. And I need to show it to you before we act any further."
He lifted the holographic glasses again, pressed several buttons on the temple frame, and instantly a large display floated between them—a hologram showing the recordings he had just analyzed.
"Look," he said, pointing toward the faint shadows moving within the hologram.
"I know we can't see the culprit's face because these glasses require a DNA sample to identify individuals specifically. But that doesn't mean we can't see other things. Look carefully, Nirma. Look at the movements. Look at the posture. Look at the way he stands, the way he walks, the way he holds objects."
Nirma focused her single eye on the hologram, observing every detail with terrifying precision.
Arya continued, his voice growing faster and more excited, like someone who had just uncovered a truth long hidden.
"Now look at this. This comes from the evidence implicating Leontios. See that shadow? Look at the way he stands. Weight on the left foot. Elbow slightly bent. Walking on the tips of his toes. Now look at this."
He pressed another button, displaying a scene taken from the evidence implicating Adrianos.
"Exactly the same. Weight on the left foot. Elbow slightly bent. Walking on the tips of his toes. There's no difference. Not even the slightest."
He pressed another button again, displaying scene after scene from the other sixteen pieces of evidence—and every single one was the same.
The same posture.
The same movements.
The same habits.
As if one person were playing six different roles in the same performance.
To be continued…