Inside an old church, illuminated by the flickering flames of torches, rows of benches were neatly aligned.
Some people sat, deeply absorbed in prayer, while others knelt before faceless angelic sculptures, offering silent supplications.
Curiously, these same angelic figures covered their faces with their hands, as if hiding their shame.
The church's interior was richly decorated, with detailed drawings adorning the walls, golden stained glass windows, and an ornate glass ceiling that revealed the sky beyond.
Next to some images, inscriptions in Vornesca — the ancient language of the ancestors — revealed forgotten prophecies.
Before these images stood a young man who stood out by his height and firm posture.
About 1.78 meters tall, he appeared to be seventeen years old. He wore formal clothes, over which a cloak rested lightly on his shoulders, and he held a cane in his right hand. His medium brown hair fell over one eye, while his attentive and curious brown eyes accompanied a pointed chin that gave him a scholarly air.
He read the inscriptions silently, his eyes tracing the words carved into the stones with a barely audible, reverent whisper:
— Here, in this scripture, they speak of a ritual performed to bring blessings to the continent's inhabitants, though it was a ritual of sacrifices.
He paused briefly, reflecting. Perhaps it referred to the continent he was on, or maybe to another yet to come.
— Upon completing the ritual, all the inhabitants of that small land were touched by shadows — he continued — even women and children suffered their reach. And there is mention of a destined one.
His gaze fixed on a sculpture beside the text: a man crowned by a luminous aura, cloaked, surrounded by followers. With an almost inaudible sigh, he murmured:
— Elvorian.
He continued along the wall where the inscriptions went on, recounting past eras:
— These words speak of cycles. The first savior was sacrificed. The second met the same fate. The whereabouts of the third remain unknown. The fourth vanished like the third. The fifth is yet to be born, until the cycle of destiny completes itself: wars, famines, plagues, prejudices. History repeats itself, as always, while the world continues to expand.
— Many await a savior, while others choose to remain submissive to their rulers, repeating their mistakes over and over.
— We choose to relive the same errors, believing that someone or something external will free us from ourselves.
His fingers traced over an inscription carved in a nearly forgotten language:
— "When the promised one walks among us, light and shadow will meet, and the world will be remade." Light and shadow\... order and chaos, creation and destruction.
Stepping back from the wall, he crossed his arms and the cane in his hands, contemplating the altar that dominated the church's center.
His eyes roamed over the statues and the drawings on the ceiling — floral spirals and intertwined hands.
— Perhaps the destined one is neither man nor god. Perhaps the destined one is the idea that we can be better. And perhaps, just perhaps, that idea must be born within each of us before we can truly live and write a new story.
With one last look at the ancient scriptures, he stepped away.
The church was spacious enough to accommodate a crowd, and the young man walked toward the gates — large, white, and visually imposing.
With ease, he pushed them open and stepped onto the street.
He descended a few steps, and before him unfolded the city: Eldorinna, the golden city.
"Well, unfortunately, only in name," he thought.
After a few steps, he encountered a peculiar scene.
A man lay on the ground, about twenty-five years old, black hair streaked with white at the tips, dressed in a white yukata adorned with blue patterns, and a black shirt underneath.
The young man wore black pants, boots, and a belt from which hung a sword.
— Let me tell you: lying on the ground isn't comfortable; it's bad for human bones. Did you know that? — he said, smiling.
— Meditation is the strength of every human being. Anyway, I've been waiting for you, Lucian.
The man stood and continued:
— It's not pleasant to stay here so long. You took too long.
Lucian thought to himself, 'And you stayed here waiting,' but kept the thought to himself.
— Anyway, thanks, Kiyo. We got what we wanted. Let's go back.
Kiyoshi, the man in the yukata, stood and, walking side by side, asked:
— Any clues or relevant information?
Lucian thought before replying:
— Not exactly. Just the history we already know. But the sculptures I saw inside the church are indeed the same as those from the case.
— We can say it's something religious or the work of a fanatic. That's my thesis.
Kiyoshi absorbed the words silently, and together they walked through the city until they reached its center, the city's tourist spot.
There, a large fountain sprayed crystal-clear water, surrounded by merchant stalls.
It was a common sight, natural in any world ruled by hierarchical and political systems.
The fountain's gleam reflected on the white asphalt streets, lending an almost divine air.
Ignoring constant offers and calls, they moved on until they reached a discreet but notable building.
Three floors, black windows that didn't block the view inside.
A sign read: "Investigation Agency."
Lucian and Kiyoshi entered; Kiyoshi opened the door.
Inside was a medium-sized room with chairs and tables, enough space to accommodate several people.
This was the first floor, the agency's entrance.
Behind a large counter, a young attendant was reading some papers.
— Melissa, how are things going? — Lucian asked with a gentle smile.
Surprised, Melissa diverted her attention from the papers to them and replied:
— Same as always, Luci. Not much new when we only get visitors.
Now it was possible to observe Melissa better: light brown hair, black skirt below the knees, black blazer, and a pearl necklace that enhanced her beauty.
Lucian smiled and continued on.
— I'm off to see the old man. See you later.
He waved, and she returned the gesture.
The first floor was decorated with some paintings on the walls and chairs for waiting in a corner.
Nothing luxurious, but pleasant.
— Ah, I'm hungry, a hunger that feels like it's tearing my stomach apart — Kiyoshi said, holding his belly.
— We can eat together afterward. I'll pay today — he added, smiling broadly.
— I gratefully accept your kindness — Lucian replied, extending his hand in an ironic gesture.
Neither was offended; there was understanding between them.
Facing stairs leading upward, they quickly climbed.
On the second floor, a large table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by chairs.
Trophies and accessories decorated the walls in tones of white and black.
Flowers and plants scattered in the corners added a cozy touch.
Four people were in the room: a young man with white hair sitting in a corner; another man, about thirty, reading a newspaper; and a third repeating romantic verses to a woman who smiled and answered with irony.
— "My star in the sky, grant me the honor of enjoying your company under the stars."
— "Maybe, if you pay your debts, I'll consider it." — she replied with a smile.
The man feigned surprise, then continued his awkward charm.
Lucian looked away from the scene, and as they were noticed, they heard:
— Glad you're here, the boss wants to talk to you — said the man with the newspaper.
— Any ideas, Takeda?
— None — he replied, expressionless.
— What do you think the boss wants? — Lucian asked, shrugging.
— I'll stay here waiting for you — Kiyo said, sitting down.
— Didn't get enough sleep? — Lucian asked.
— There's never too much sleep — Kiyo answered.
Lucian nodded and climbed another floor, picking up his cane.
— Hold this — he said, handing over the cane.
Kiyo accepted without hesitation, showing mutual trust.
On the third floor was a door with a plaque: "President's Room."
Sparse decoration, just a flower in a corner and a window at the far end.
Lucian knocked twice and waited.
The door opened, revealing three people: a woman and two men.
The woman wore a white coat and skirt, star-shaped earrings, snow-white skin, and braided hair.
A tall, bald man in a black kimono and glasses leaned against the window.
Another man sat behind a desk — the president.
Conversation ceased as Lucian entered.
On the desk were a cup of tea, books, and a white cloth.
Lucian bowed and said:
— President, I heard you were looking for me.
The woman said:
— Perfect timing, I need you—
— I refuse — Lucian interrupted, raising his hand.
— You didn't even wait for me to finish! — she protested.
— Ayala, let's ignore minor matters. I'll be brief, Lucian — said the president.
Ayala nodded in agreement.
— I've received an urgent request.
You must go to neighboring cities. Murders similar to those we've been investigating have occurred there.
He paused before continuing:
— There have been four cases in total. Only two remain. If two more occur, they will raise the alert.
Lucian shook his head and asked:
— I imagine there's a deadline or urgency if they're about to raise an alert?
— Indeed — the president confirmed — you still have six months. During this time, you will stay here.
He continued:
— After these months, you will go to Lower Eldorinna. You will be a guest there. If you close the case, you will receive a reward. Unfortunately, that is all I can offer.
He observed and added:
— And when you arrive, you'll meet another detective, a friend of mine. He'll probably give you advice, though he's a bit difficult.
There was sincerity in the president's tone, regretting his limitations.
Still, it was clear there were good opportunities and rewards at stake.
Lucian, however, had another thought.
— If people need help, why wouldn't I help? But of course, the job matters too.
He looked at the president and said:
— We failed the last times. Now, we must finish without allowing any innocent to be harmed.
He smiled, sharing his thought:
— But at the same time, I feel obligated to accept the reward, especially if it's cash. I need the income.
A silly, shy, genuine smile played on his lips.
The three people in the room, imagining such a response, smiled as well.
— I can only wish you to enjoy the time until the appointed day. Sorry again, but I must ask you to solve the current case first.
Lucian shrugged:
— It's my job, after all. I'll take my leave then, president.
Hands still in pockets, he awaited permission to leave.
A gesture from the president allowed it.
He turned his back and closed the door.
— I'm hungry too... I'll need to buy something quickly, or I might die on the way.
The thought passed briefly through his mind as he recalled the six-month deadline.
— Right on my birthday, then...