Howard Leyman's face was covered with a black veil as the transport vehicle entered Laterano, the holy city of the Sankta, its streets lined with white stone buildings and golden spires that gleamed under the morning sun.
The air was filled with the faint chime of bells, a sacred melody that echoed through the city, a stark contrast to the tension within the vehicle.
As they arrived at the Grand Basilica, the heart of Laterano's religious and political power, the vehicle stopped, and Howard was escorted out, still immobilized by the temporal arts that bound him.
Several Legatus Sankta—high-ranking officials adorned in ceremonial white robes, their halos glowing brightly, their wings folded neatly—approached, their voices low as they discussed among themselves.
"Is this the one we requested to be brought?" one Legatus asked, his tone skeptical, his golden eyes narrowing as he studied Howard's veiled form.
The blue-haired Sankta woman with horns and a flickering halo, her staff still glowing faintly, nodded in confirmation.
"It's him," she said, her voice calm but firm. The legatus exchanged glances, then provided her with instructions, their words clipped and formal, directing her to bring Howard inside the basilica for an audience with the Pope.
The woman and the white-haired Sankta executor—his golden eyes unyielding, his pristine wings tucked against his dark coat—moved alongside the Legatus, guiding Howard's floating, immobilized body into the church.
The Grand Basilica's interior was a marvel of architecture, its vaulted ceilings adorned with frescoes of Sankta history, its stained-glass windows casting a kaleidoscope of light across the marble floors.
They laid Howard on one of the church's wooden chairs, the pews polished to a shine, and removed the black veil from his face.
Howard remained unmoving, still under the woman's temporal arts, his eyes wide but frozen.
The blue-haired woman waved her staff, the glow dimming as she undid the Art, releasing Howard from its grip.
He gasped, taking a huge breath, his chest heaving as if he'd just emerged from underwater, the sensation of freedom overwhelming after hours of stasis.
He blinked rapidly, his vision clearing as he looked around, taking in the basilica's grandeur and the figures surrounding him—Sankta officials, the woman who'd kidnapped him, and the stoic executor.
Disbelief washed over him as he recognized the woman—of all people, it was her, the fallen Sankta with the staff, who had taken him from Lungmen.
As his breathing steadied, Howard's voice came out sharp, edged with frustration.
"You better have a good reason for kidnapping me," he said, his gaze flicking between the woman and the others, his mind still reeling from the sudden turn of events.
A new presence entered the room, his arrival marked by the soft clink of ceremonial armor and the faint glow of a halo brighter than any other in the basilica.
He was an elderly Sankta, his white hair long and flowing, framing a face etched with wisdom and sorrow, his golden eyes warm yet piercing.
His halo shone with a steady, radiant light, and his wings, though aged, were a pristine white, their feathers shimmering with an ethereal glow.
He wore the ornate robes of Laterano's highest authority, gold and white fabric adorned with sacred symbols, a staff in his hand topped with a cross that gleamed with Originium inlays—the Pope of Laterano, a figure of immense reverence.
The Pope greeted Howard, his voice gentle but resonant, carrying the weight of his position.
"Welcome, Howard Leyman. I am deeply sorry for the manner of your arrival."
The blue-haired woman bowed her head slightly, her tone softer as she added,
"I apologize as well. It wasn't our intent to bring you here like this."
The Pope continued, his expression one of regret.
"It was not our intention to welcome you in such a way, but due to the urgency of our situation, we had no choice. We weren't certain you would accept our request, given the… sensitive nature of the matter."
Howard sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he glanced down at his clothes—rumpled sleepwear, a loose shirt, and pants he'd been wearing when he was taken.
"Can I at least get a better pair of clothes?" He asked, his tone dry, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"I don't exactly like staying in these. They're meant for sleep, not… whatever this is."
The Pope nodded, his golden eyes understanding, and gestured to one of the Legatus.
"Please, fetch him something suitable." The Legatus bowed and left to retrieve the clothes, leaving Howard to face the Pope.
"Now, explain," Howard said, his voice firm, his gaze steady despite the absurdity of the situation.
The Pope's expression grew grave, his voice lowering as he began.
"Recently, there has been a large disappearance of Sankta happening here in Laterano. We launched an investigation, and our Apostolic Knights managed to identify the person behind the kidnappings—a shadowy figure with ties to the black market."
"But he evaded capture, slipping through our grasp."
He paused, his golden eyes darkening with concern.
"Not only that, but he escaped with 40 more Sankta, adding to the nearly 100 citizens we've already lost—children among them."
"The unrest in Laterano is growing; our people are afraid, and faith in our ability to protect them is wavering."
Howard leaned forward, his brow furrowing as he processed the information.
"And how exactly am I supposed to help with this?"
The Pope's gaze was steady, his voice resolute.
"You are one of the best detectives we have heard of or known. Our only hope was to ask for your assistance."
"We've been unable to find him—his routes, his methods, they're untraceable. The loss of so many Sankta, especially children, has caused a crisis. If we don't find them soon, the stability of Laterano itself is at risk."
The blue-haired woman chimed in, her voice carrying a quiet confidence.
"We can't trace his movements at all. If we don't act quickly, things will spiral out of control for Laterano—unrest, fear, maybe worse."
Howard sighed again, rubbing his temples as he muttered to himself, They should have just asked normally. He looked up, his expression resigned but determined.
"I'll take the case," he said, his voice steady.
"But next time, please—ask me properly."
At that moment, the Legatus returned, carrying a neatly folded set of clothes—a simple but well-made Laterano-style outfit, a white shirt with gold trim, dark trousers, and a lightweight coat.
Howard took them, nodding in thanks, and glanced around.
"Is there a place I can change?" he asked, and the Legatus offered to guide him, leading him toward a small side room off the main hall.
As Howard and the Legatus moved away, the Pope watched them go, his golden eyes thoughtful. He turned to the blue-haired woman, his voice soft with uncertainty.
"Can that man truly find our people?"
The woman smirked, her blue eyes glinting with confidence.
"There isn't a better detective I've ever seen than Howard. If anyone can find them, it's him."
***
Howard Leyman adjusted the cuffs of his new attire—a double-breasted waistcoat custom-made in Laterano, its white fabric adorned with subtle gold embroidery, paired with a black overcoat that draped over his shoulders and a red tie that added a splash of color against the somber ensemble.
The clothes, provided by the Legatus, fit him well, giving him the air of a Laterano official, though his sharp detective's mind remained unchanged.
He stood at the entrance of a modest house on the outskirts of Laterano, its white stone exterior unremarkable, blending seamlessly with the city's architecture.
Mostima and Executor flanked him, their halos casting a faint glow in the dim light of the evening.
Mostima's blue hair swayed as she moved, her staff at the ready, while Executor's grey eyes scanned the surroundings, his white wings folded tightly against his dark coat.
They entered the house, the door creaking softly as they stepped inside.
The interior was sparse, almost too clean, with wooden floors polished to a shine, a small living area with a single couch, and a kitchen that looked barely used.
Mostima began sharing the information they had on the suspect as they moved through the space, her voice steady and precise.
"His name is Gavriel Sanctus, a religious Sankta with a clean record for most of his life. He became a doctor at Pagus Stevonus Central Hospital here in Laterano and was regarded as one of their best—dedicated, skilled, a pillar of the community."
She paused, her blue eyes narrowing as she continued.
"But things changed five years ago. One day, Gavriel disappeared without a trace. His parents and friends reported him as a missing person, and no one heard from him—until this year, when things started getting strange."
Executor chimed in, his voice cold and factual, his golden eyes fixed on Howard.
"That's when the disappearances began."
"At first, the victims were identified as kids who'd stayed at the hospital—Gavriel's former patients. We speculated the first ones might have been his close friends and family as well, since they too vanished from Laterano."
Mostima nodded, her staff tapping lightly against the floor.
"As more children began to disappear, we analyzed the patterns. Most of the missing were his patients or had some connection to him through the hospital."
"By the time we discovered Gavriel was behind it, he was one step ahead—he vanished completely, taking 40 more Sankta with him."
Howard nodded, absorbing the information as he surveyed the house.
"Did you recover anything here?" He asked, his tone measured, his eyes scanning the room for any detail that might stand out.
"Nothing," Executor replied, his voice clipped.
"No unusual materials, no hidden gaps in the house. It's as if he erased every trace of himself."
Howard moved through the house with a detective's precision, his senses sharp despite the apparent lack of evidence.
He checked the kitchen drawers, finding only a few utensils, all spotless.
He ran his fingers along the edges of the couch, searching for hidden compartments, but found nothing.
He examined the walls for any signs of tampering—hollow spaces, false panels—but they were solid.
The bedroom was equally unremarkable, with a simple bed, a nightstand, and a wardrobe that held a few plain Sankta robes, their white fabric pristine.
The house felt staged, too perfect, as if Gavriel had anticipated scrutiny and left nothing behind.
Just as Howard was about to concede that there might be nothing to find, his gaze landed on a small fish aquarium in the corner of the living room.
The tank was modest, filled with clear water, a few colorful fish darting between artificial plants.
But something caught his eye—a glittering piece of gold, half-buried in the gravel at the bottom, its shine unusually bright under the water.
Mostima and Executor, standing behind him, exchanged a glance as they noticed his sudden focus on the fish tank, his posture tense with concentration.
Howard pulled a pair of gloves from his coat pocket, slipping them on with a practiced ease.
He removed the tank's lid, the faint smell of water and fish wafting up, and plunged his hand into the cool liquid, retrieving the piece of shining metal.
It was an unusual piece of gold, small but heavy, its surface unmarred, its luster undimmed despite being submerged.
He held it up, the light catching its edges, and approached Mostima and Executor, his expression thoughtful.
"Look at this," he said, his voice steady as he began to explain.
"Normally, depending on the type of gold, when left in water for a long time, it loses its shine and color. Gold is one of the least reactive metals, so it's rare for it to look like this—perfectly pristine."
"Since this piece hasn't lost any of its shine, it's fair to assume it's 14k to 24k pure gold, high quality, not something you'd find casually in Laterano."
He pocketed the gold piece and moved toward Gavriel's bedroom, his mind racing with possibilities.
He opened the wardrobe again, this time focusing on the clothes with a new perspective.
He leaned in, inhaling deeply, and caught a faint but distinct scent—a unique sea smell, like fish and saltwater, clinging to one of the coats.
The fabric, a heavy white overcoat, had small holes scattered across it, the threads loosened as if it had been exposed to water for an extended period, the damage subtle but telling.
Mostima stepped closer, her blue eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"What does this mean, Howard?"
Howard turned to her, his expression grim but certain.
"I know where Gavriel is. The sea smell, the holes in the coat, the high-purity gold—it points to a connection with the ocean. One might assume he's in Iberia, with its coastal cities and maritime culture."
"But there's one place where Laterano and Iberia intersect, a city with ties to both nations."
Executor's grey eyes flickered with realization, his voice steady as he answered.
"Sanctilaminium Ambrosii.