As Lorian Vale, Lead Investigator of the Order of Inquest, settled into his seat across from Sylas Thornfield, he observed the former apprentice with a discerning eye. Sylas, a man of wiry build with an intense gaze, didn’t seem eager to be there. His eyes flickered with a hint of resentment, though he managed to keep his expression mostly impassive, a practiced neutrality that only partially masked his disdain.
The silence stretched between them, the weight of Lorian’s unyielding scrutiny pressing down like a held breath. Sylas sat with his arms folded across his chest, his fingers tapping a slow, irregular rhythm on his forearm. When he finally spoke, his tone was carefully modulated, measured.
"Lead Investigator, I don’t know what more you think I can tell you. My association with Guardian Valance ended over a year ago. If I had a part to play in her death, surely I’d be far from Goldmere by now, not lingering in some library, poring over ancient scrolls." He offered a faint, sardonic smile, eyes glinting with something unspoken.
Lorian tilted his head, watching Sylas’s every word and gesture. He caught the way Sylas’s gaze drifted, not meeting his directly, landing instead somewhere over his shoulder as if remembering something else—something private, or painful. Lorian waited, letting the silence settle again, hoping to draw Sylas out with patience.
Sylas exhaled sharply, perhaps realizing that his evasiveness would only encourage Lorian to press further. He leaned forward, the careful mask slipping to reveal a flash of bitterness.
"She was…calculating. You know that, don’t you? Guardian Valance had her own way of doing things, and it didn’t allow for...other opinions. Not mine, anyway." He clenched his jaw, then shrugged as if brushing it off. "If anything, I was a threat to her order. A threat she couldn’t tolerate. Perhaps, Lead Investigator, that is why you’re here questioning me, because you know how much she despised anything—or anyone—she couldn’t control."
The investigator noted the faint trembling of Sylas’s hand, the way his voice strained ever so slightly when he spoke of Elysia. The resentful edge was clear, and so too was the tension hiding just beneath it—some depth of feeling that Sylas couldn’t entirely shake, even after their falling-out.
He straightened in his chair, pulling the mask of calm over himself once more. His eyes met Lorian’s, coldly defiant.
"So, ask your questions, Investigator. And let’s dispense with the idea that I was ever close enough to the Guardian to…play a part in whatever happened to her."
Lorian looked at Sylas and suddenly smiled unervingly.
"You were sighted at the night of murder near the base of the tower, Sylas."
Sylas’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he managed to regain his composure. He leaned back, crossing his arms tightly, but his fingers betrayed him with a small, tense twitch.
For a moment, Sylas’s face was a perfect mask, his lips pressed into a hard line. Then he forced a laugh, though it came out strained and hollow. "So that’s what this is? A few drunken witnesses, seeing shadows and whispering tales?" He paused, his expression darkening. "I was there, yes. But not for the reason you think."
"Then perhaps you’d enlighten me." Lorian’s tone was unyielding, leaving no room for evasion.
Sylas looked away, his eyes tracing an invisible path across the cold stone wall before he spoke. "I came to the tower that night to… retrieve some personal belongings. She''d kept a few items from my apprenticeship—old notes, mostly—under the pretense of ''studying'' them. I thought I''d take them back, no one the wiser." He scoffed softly, more to himself than to Lorian. "Perhaps foolish, but not murder, Investigator."
Lorian studied him in silence, his eyes catching the subtle tremor in Sylas’s hands, the flicker of something close to regret in his expression.
"Convenient," Lorian replied, a thin edge of skepticism in his voice. "A Guardian murdered, the tower’s defenses undone…and you, her former apprentice, just happened to be there in the dead of night?"
Sylas’s eyes flashed with anger, the carefully maintained facade slipping. "I didn’t kill her," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "You think I could''ve managed to bring down the tower’s defenses? That’s old magic—powerful, far beyond anything I know."
He paused, his expression briefly vulnerable, almost haunted. "I may have had my…differences with her, but I would never do this. Not to her. You must see that."
Lorian let few seconds of silence take place, before asking Sylas to tell all that happened as he entered the tower.
Sylas’s mouth tightened, a flicker of nervousness crossing his face before he spoke, his voice lower than before.
"It was late. I made sure of that. Didn''t want anyone noticing me near the tower—not after I''d left her service. So, I waited until the streets were empty and crept to the entrance. Everything was so quiet… almost too quiet. Usually, the tower gives off a sort of… presence, you know? But that night, it felt empty. Hollow."
Lorian narrowed his eyes. "You went up the main stairwell?"
Sylas hesitated, eyes darting away, and then nodded. "Yes, but there’s something I need to clarify. There isn’t just the one room in the tower. Guardians have access to… hidden rooms. Ones that can’t be seen or accessed without specific keys."
Lorian blinked, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp. "Hidden rooms? I thought there was only the main chamber."
Sylas gave a dry, uneasy laugh. "That’s by design. Most people don’t know about the rooms that lie behind enchanted walls. Almost all of those keys have been lost to time, locked away or scattered, and even Guardians didn’t always know about them. But... I had a copy of the key to my old quarters. Managed to keep it after my apprenticeship ended."
"So you were in one of these hidden rooms when you came back?"
Sylas nodded, glancing back toward the tower with a hint of apprehension. "Yes. My room was tucked away near the archives, an artifact hidden in the stone that makes it… invisible, essentially. I thought I’d just go in, take back what was mine, and leave. Nothing more."
He swallowed, his hands fidgeting nervously. "When I got to my room, I heard… something. A dull thud, and then… silence. I froze. And then this smell hit me. Thick and metallic. Blood. It’s… hard to mistake."
"Why didn’t you check on her?" Lorian asked, his tone cool but pressing.
Sylas’s face paled slightly. "The feeling in the air… it was wrong. It felt like… something was watching me from the dark. I barely made it back down the stairs. I didn’t look back until I’d reached the streets. I swear, I wasn’t there to harm her."
Lorian gave a hesitating nod. "...Why don''t you hand over that key to me, Sylas? I don''t think you will ever be going back to that tower."
Sylas stiffened at Lorian’s words, the tension in the room suddenly thickening. For a moment, he said nothing, just staring at Lorian with a mix of disbelief and something darker flickering behind his eyes. Then, with a slow, almost imperceptible movement, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, intricately crafted key. The metal shimmered faintly, old and worn but unmistakable in its design.
He placed it on the table between them, the sound of it clinking softly against the wood, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that followed.
“I didn’t expect you to ask for it, but…” Sylas paused, his voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. “I figured you’d want it eventually. There’s no use in keeping it now.”
Lorian studied the key, his fingers hovering just above it but not touching it yet. He hadn’t expected Sylas to hand it over so easily—there was something in his demeanor that made Lorian feel as though the act was more than just submission. It was almost as though the key was an admission, not just of guilt but of something far more personal.
"You know," Lorian said quietly, his eyes lifting to meet Sylas''s, "this could be used to open more than just your room. It’s a key to a secret within the tower—an access to places not meant for the likes of you or me."
Sylas’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. "I know. I never wanted to use it like that. But that room… it’s the only place I could go after everything fell apart. The only place that felt… safe."
Lorian picked up the key, turning it over in his hand, his gaze never leaving Sylas. "Safe from what?"
"From the tower itself," Sylas replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "From what it’s become. The walls... they’re not what they were before." He looked down, as though the words themselves were hard to say. "I think they’re changing, somehow. Something inside the tower is… moving. And I didn’t want to be part of it."
Lorian’s grip on the key tightened. The air between them grew heavier, as if the weight of their shared silence was pulling them both deeper into a web of unspoken truths.
"This key’s going to be part of the investigation now, Sylas," Lorian said, his voice firm. "I’ll make sure it leads us to the answers we need."
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Sylas gave a short, bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe it will. Or maybe it’ll only show you how far we’ve all fallen."
Lorian pocketed the key, his expression hardening. "You’ll find out soon enough."
With that the interview with Sylas was over. He was escorted by a Sentinel gaurd. Lorian could not really be sure that Sylas was sane. He was balbaring nonsense half the time.
But, an insane person with vendetta might just be the killer here.
Lorian looked at the key Sylas had handed over. The key shimmered quietly. Lorian believed the part about key. The part about him not being involved in murder? That he was not sure of yet.
Lorian had already ordered that few guards be stationed near the house of people of interest. He was inclined to increase the number of Sentinel gaurds for Sylas. Either for his safety or for the safety of others around him.
Sentinel gaurd returned with another person of interest. It was Nessa Belvoir, rumoured to be the lover of late guardian.
Lorian leaned back in his chair, watching as Nessa Belvoir was escorted into the room. Her presence was almost palpable, the air around her tight and composed, betraying none of the nervousness that should have accompanied a woman called in for questioning about the murder of her lover. As she entered, the faintest trace of perfume lingered behind her, adding a subtle sweetness to the otherwise sterile room.
Her gaze met his with a sharpness that didn’t waver. She wasn’t intimidated—she wasn’t afraid. In fact, if Lorian had to guess, she was far more controlled than most people would be in her position.
“Miss Belvoir,” Lorian began, leaning forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. “I appreciate you coming in today. I’m sure you know why you’ve been asked to speak with me.”
Nessa didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to study him for a moment. Her eyes were dark and focused, as if assessing him just as much as he was studying her.
“Yes, I understand,” she replied finally, her voice even, though there was a tightness to it. “I am well aware of the circumstances.”
Lorian didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You were close to Elysia Valance, weren’t you?” His voice was neutral, but there was an edge to it, a slight tension that indicated he was already moving toward the heart of the matter.
Nessa’s lips quirked into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, but her eyes remained steady. “Yes, we were… close,” she replied. “But you already know that. We’ve been through this before, haven’t we?”
Lorian frowned slightly. “I’m not here to make you relive your personal life, Miss Belvoir. I’m here to find out what happened the night of the murder.”
Her gaze didn’t shift, though there was a flicker of something in her expression. “You think I had something to do with it, don’t you?” she asked, her tone lightly mocking, though there was a sharpness behind it.
Lorian met her gaze without flinching. “I think it’s my job to look at every possibility,” he said. “And your proximity to Elysia places you at the center of this case. I need to know what happened the night she was murdered.”
Nessa took a breath, the silence stretching just long enough to make it feel like she was choosing her words carefully. Finally, she spoke.
“I was at my apartment that night. Alone.” She paused, as though she expected him to doubt her, and then continued. “I didn’t see her after the afternoon. We spoke earlier, but not after that.”
Lorian kept his face impassive, though he was already processing the answer. “You didn’t visit her at the Tower that evening?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did you have any contact with her after that afternoon?”
“No,” Nessa answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. “She left to do… whatever she did at the Tower. I was at home. I have no more to add.”
Lorian’s gaze narrowed slightly. He studied her carefully, watching for any hint of hesitation, but her face remained unreadable. It was almost as if she had rehearsed her answers, each one coming with precision, without a single slip-up.
“The night she was killed, the Tower’s magical defenses were down,” Lorian pressed. “The very thing that should have kept the murder from happening. Were you aware of that?”
Nessa’s posture didn’t shift, though something flickered in her eyes—brief, but noticeable. “No. I wasn’t aware.”
Lorian leaned forward, studying her face. “Then how do you explain the fact that you were the last person seen with Elysia before her death, and yet you claim you had no contact with her after that afternoon? Could you have—” he paused, “—perhaps been hiding something?”
Nessa stiffened, her eyes flashing for the first time with something real—anger, perhaps? But it was quickly gone, replaced by a cool facade. “I don’t appreciate the insinuation,” she said, her voice colder now. “But I have told you the truth. I had nothing to do with her death.”
Lorian let the silence sit between them for a moment, feeling the weight of her words—and the weight of her obvious attempt to hide something. He wasn’t sure what it was yet, but he knew there was more beneath the surface.
“Alright, Miss Belvoir,” he said, straightening up. “I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions. For now, you’re free to go.”
Nessa stood up, still composed, though Lorian could see the subtle tension in her movements as she turned toward the door.
Before she left, she paused and looked over her shoulder at Lorian. “I don’t know what you’re hoping to find, Investigator Vale. But whatever it is… you won’t find it with me.”
Lorian watched her leave, his mind already turning the pieces over. Something was off with her story, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. She was hiding something—he just needed to figure out what it was.
The interview had left him with more questions than answers, but one thing was certain: Nessa Belvoir’s involvement in this case wasn’t over.
Lorian sat back in his chair as the door clicked softly shut behind Nessa, the sound lingering in the quiet room. He studied the woman’s departure, noting the stiff set of her shoulders, the deliberate way she held herself. It was a mask—a mask she was wearing too well. Something didn’t sit right about her story, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly what.
He had seen enough to know that guilt wasn’t always written on a person’s face. Sometimes, the most guilty were the ones who hid behind composure, those who knew how to keep their emotions in check. Nessa had done just that.
The next person of interest was Lady Verena Dorne.
Lady Verena Dorne entered the room with a quiet grace that seemed to fill the space. The door creaked slightly as it closed behind her, and for a moment, there was only the soft rustle of her gown as she moved to take a seat. Her appearance was immaculate, her dark hair elegantly styled and pinned up, and the faintest touch of makeup accentuating her sharp features. She wore the expression of someone who was accustomed to power, to attention.
Her gaze was steady as she settled into the chair across from Lorian, her eyes assessing him in return. A slight, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but it was too controlled to be called friendly.
Lorian didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Lady Dorne,” he said, his voice even but direct, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I’m sure you’re aware of the reason why you’ve been called here.”
She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the truth in his words. “I am, Investigator Vale,” she replied, her tone smooth, but there was an edge to it. “I can only imagine the difficulty of your task. A murder in Goldmere, of all places. It’s… unsettling, to say the least.”
Let us hope for your sake that you truly do not know the true extent of my difficulty.
“Indeed,” Lorian responded, watching her closely. “You were in Goldmere during the night of the murder?”
Lady Dorne didn’t falter. “Yes. I was at the estate I own just outside the city. It’s not far from the Tower.” She paused, her gaze flicking briefly to the side before meeting his eyes again. “I understand the investigation is quite complicated, but I assure you, I had no involvement in the tragedy.”
Lorian studied her carefully, the faint tension in her voice not lost on him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “I’m sure you understand that everyone in close proximity to the deceased is a potential point of interest. You were acquainted with Guardian Elysia Valance, weren’t you?”
Lady Dorne’s expression softened just a fraction, but only for a moment. “Yes, I knew her,” she said. “We were both part of the same social circles, though our interactions were more… formal than personal. Elysia was a Guardian, after all—her duties kept her busy, as did mine.”
Lorian’s mind was already piecing together the dynamics between her and Elysia. There was something in the way she spoke that made it clear their relationship had been more distant than she was willing to admit. “You wouldn’t say you were close then?”
A brief flicker of something crossed Lady Dorne’s face, but it was gone before Lorian could pinpoint it. “No. We were not close, Investigator. But I respected her. The Guardians hold a high place in our world, especially in Goldmere. I’ve had dealings with them before.”
“Dealing with them in what way?” Lorian pressed. “Any business or personal relations?”
Lady Dorne’s eyes remained steady, but Lorian caught the faintest tightening of her jaw. “I’ve supported the Guardians in various ways,” she said, her tone just a shade colder. “Donations, some charitable work, as many others of our station have. But I never interfered with their internal matters.”
Lorian narrowed his eyes. There was something about her answer that didn’t sit right. He could tell she was being careful with her words. “You didn’t visit the Tower the night of the murder?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “As I said, I was at my estate. Alone.”
Lorian let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing her words to settle before he asked the next question. “Do you know anyone who would have wanted to harm Elysia?”
Lady Dorne’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but she quickly masked it with a composed expression. “Harm her? No, not at all. I can’t imagine who would wish to harm one of the Guardians. They hold a position of great respect.”
“Yet it seems someone did,” Lorian replied coolly. “A brutal murder in the very heart of Goldmere, and the defenses of the Tower have somehow been rendered useless. That’s quite a feat.”
Lady Dorne remained silent for a long moment, her gaze flicking to the side as though lost in thought. Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “The magic of the Tower has always been its greatest strength. If someone managed to breach that, it would be…” Her words trailed off, and she seemed to catch herself before saying more.
Lorian leaned in, sensing a shift. “You seem to know quite a bit about the magic of the Tower, Lady Dorne. More than most.”
Her eyes snapped back to his, narrowing slightly. “I know enough, Investigator. The Towers have always been a part of our history. Goldmere, in particular, relies on its protections.”
“Do you believe that the defenses of the Tower could simply ‘fail’?” Lorian asked. “Could someone disable them?”
Lady Dorne’s lips tightened. “I would have thought it impossible,” she said. “But in times of great desperation or malice, even the most unshakable systems can be undone. If someone truly knew how… maybe it could be done.”
Lorian studied her, noting the hint of unease in her posture. “I see,” he said. “One last question, Lady Dorne. Where were you in the days leading up to the murder?”
“I was here in Goldmere, preparing for a gathering,” she answered without hesitation. “The usual social duties. But I assure you, I was not involved in Elysia’s death.”
Lorian didn’t believe her yet, but he wasn’t sure why. There was a glimmer of something in her words, a flicker of hesitation that hinted at a deeper connection to the events surrounding the murder.
“Thank you, Lady Dorne,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “I may need to speak with you again. For now, you’re free to go.”
She rose, her movements smooth and elegant as she turned toward the door. But before leaving, she paused and glanced over her shoulder at him.
“If you find anything—anything at all—that might help uncover the truth, Investigator, I trust you’ll come to the right conclusions,” she said, her tone colder now, but still measured.
“I will,” Lorian replied, watching her leave with a thoughtful expression.
Lady Dorne’s departure left an uneasy tension in the air, as if her presence had cast a shadow over the room. She had been the most composed and willing to talk, but something about everything she said had felt off to Lorian. There was a certain falseness in her words, a layer of politeness that barely masked the subtle defensiveness beneath.
Though she had been one of the lesser priorities among the people of interest, Lorian now felt an increasing need to dig deeper into her background. Her polished demeanor and carefully chosen words had only raised more questions. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Lady Dorne than met the eye.
Lorian turned his attention to the final person of interest—the boy sitting quietly in the corner of his thoughts: Toran Wyle. Toran was a 17-year-old trainee in the Order of Inquest, currently in his final year of training to become a full member. He hadn’t been brought in for questioning about the murder, but something about the boy kept Lorian’s attention fixed on him.
Toran was at the very bottom of Lorian’s list of suspects, even beneath Lady Dorne. But Lorian had his own reasons for calling him in. He had already reviewed Toran’s record, and it was excellent—outstanding even. No marks of scandal, no flaws to speak of. His training within the Order of Inquest had been exemplary, and he had demonstrated the kind of discipline and integrity that Lorian respected. The boy had shown promise, and Lorian had already decided to make him his apprentice. Toran was an orphan, with no powerful family ties, and that made him the perfect candidate for Lorian’s trust.
“Tell Captain Mira to bring Toran in,” Lorian ordered the sentinel guard, his voice calm but decisive.
Though he had arranged for a few of Toran’s classmates to be brought in for the sake of appearing fair and had got Captain Mira to conduct an interview.
Moments later, the door opened, and Toran Wyle entered, trailed by Captain Mira.
Toran was tall for his age, lean with a wiry frame that suggested agility over brute strength. His dark hair, cropped close, framed sharp, intelligent eyes that scanned the room with a subtle spark of excitement. Lorian couldn’t help but smile at the young man’s energy.
"Is this my new apprentice, Captain?"
"Yes." Mira’s tone was curt, ignoring any pretense Lorian had intended.
How suspicious is she of me, I wonder?
"I''ll send over the transcript of the interview soon. Also, assign a few more Sentinels to Sylas, and start digging into Lady Dorne''s background."
Mira gave a stiff nod before leaving, her unreadable gaze lingering a moment too long. Lorian turned his attention back to Toran, who was watching him with curious intensity. With a small, knowing smile, Lorian extended his hand.
"I am Lorian Vale, a lead investigator of the Order of Inquest—and now, your mentor. I’m 33 years old. Here’s to a successful apprenticeship for both of us."
Toran took the offered hand, his words tumbling out quickly. "I’m Toran Wyle, sir. I’m 17. Looking forward to learning everything I can, sir."
Lorian gestured to the chair across from him. "Let’s get you started, then. You know I''m here investigating Guardian Elysia Valance’s murder, yes? Take a seat."
He set a stack of blank pages and an ink pot in front of Toran. "I’ve conducted one-on-one interviews with the people of interest. I’ll recount everything they said, and you’ll record it. Understand?"
Toran looked a bit taken aback, glancing at the pages and ink, but he nodded. "Understood, sir."
Lorian began to recount each interview word-for-word, his memory sharp as always. He never needed to take notes, but written records were mandatory, and now, it seemed, Toran’s responsibility.
"And that’s it. Now, make two more copies."
Toran nodded and got to work, though his shoulders slumped slightly under the repetitive task. Lorian watched him with a hint of a smile.
I wonder how hard it will be to uncover all that you know, Toran. For both our sakes, I hope it won’t be too difficult.