July 17th, Year 984, 4:31 p.m.
The evening sky was a bruised, heavy purple, not a single sunray able to pierce the impenetrable, rocklike armor of the suffocating clouds. The air was thick with the sharp scent of impending rain– a cold, biting drizzle already dampening the ground and chilling the skin.
On the concrete road snaking down the elevated plateau, a mangled wreck of a car was fully engulfed– the flames hissing stubbornly against the persistent rain. The acrid stench of burning rubber and gasoline cut through the clean scent of the downpour.
A sizable crowd, drawn by the column of black smoke, watched the car erupt as though it were a perverse firework against the grim twilight. They maintained a respectful distance, not only for their own safety but because three children were huddled dangerously close to the wreck– their shrill, desperate screams slicing through the downpour.
A girl in her late teens knelt on the slick, gritty pavement, her arms locked like vices around a 10-year-old girl. Silent, hot tears streamed down the older girl's face, her entire body wracked with violent shudders as she fought back her own sobs, her knuckles white from the strain. The little girl was wailing, a raw, animalistic sound, desperately trying to claw her way towards the inferno, but couldn't break her older sister's iron grip.
Behind them stood a young boy, perhaps a year or two older than the younger girl. He was unnervingly still, a small, rain-soaked statue against the chaos. His mouth was a tight, bloodless line, his pale face dry even as the rain streamed down. His long, wet hair clung to his eyes, a dark curtain he didn't bother to push back.
It was as if seeing clearly no longer mattered.
The morbidly curious crowd eventually dwindled as the rain intensified, leaving behind only the twisted, sizzling metal, a remaining few audience and the three children on the desolate road. The plateau's edge was uninhabited; this road wasn't a street for living, but a stark, functional trail, unlit and unloved. It existed for the sole purpose of getting people down from the highlands and into the main city sprawling below.
After some time, the little girl's wails subsided into quiet, hitched sobs. She no longer needed the older girl to restrain her from jumping into the smoldering catastrophe.
Only the three children and a few adults who were talking between themselves were present when they saw a white van which was probably an ambulance come by.
But what was the point? It was clearly too late.
Behind the van, a gleaming black car with metal encasing its front, looking more like an armored vehicle than a civilian car, followed, flanked by a few blue cars. On the number plate of the lead black car, beneath the bold letters and numbers, was a stark line of red text:
"Special Order for Regulation of Crime"
Policemen from the blue cars began to fight the fire and gently tried to move the children away from the tragedy.
A somber man emerged from the black vehicle.He was tall, and the impeccable cut of his black suit failed to completely hide the sharp, defined lines of a well-toned physique, he was not exactly bulky, but carried the clear conditioning of a professional.
He wore the suit over a crisp white shirt, his neck adorned with a blood-red tie that seemed to drink the meagre light from the gloomy sky. His brown hair was neatly combed, and his beard was short and meticulously maintained.
His hazel eyes were vibrant, making him look younger than his years. In terms of appearance, he did not seem much different from a usual citizen, yet he possessed a presence that could not be ignored.
The policemen were skilled, their movements economical and efficient, pushing the last of the crowd back and securing the perimeter.
The man in the black suit started to approach the girls, but the young boy stepped forward to intercept him. "Please," the boy said, his voice shockingly flat, devoid of any childish intonation, "leave them alone for a moment. I'll answer your questions."
The man in the black suit nodded curtly, his eyes briefly assessing the small, composed figure before him. He turned to a police officer. "Set up a tent. Get these children towels. Start taking witness reports and lock down this road." The officer simply saluted and moved to action.
****
A green makeshift tent was erected near the road, the canvas flapping loudly in the wind. Inside, the space was divided by thin partitions. The sound of the rain drumming on the roof was a constant, dull roar. In one section, the little girl had finally fallen asleep, her head resting in the older girl's lap.
In another partition, the young boy sat on a wooden chair, facing the man in the black suit, who sat with a quiet, imposing patience. They were separated by a simple desk littered with papers. The man in the black suit was the first to speak.
"I am Roland Nostard, District Chief from the SORC. Let me first offer my apologies. I know this is a terrible time and you three are devastated, but unfortunately, their VIP status requires an immediate investigation. I will be as brief as possible. To begin with, please introduce yourself for the record."
The young boy replied blankly, "Leonard Zaskil, age 12, son of Agatha Zaskil and Zack Zaskil. The younger girl you saw is my sister, Maya Zaskil, age 9. The other is my older sister, Dorothy Zaskil, age 18."
Roland noted this down, his pen scratching lightly on the paper. "Did your parents act any different when they were leaving the house? Or did something unnatural happen in the last few days that you noticed?"
Leonard was silent for a few moments, as if weighing the life-altering gravity of his options. Then he suddenly asked, "Mister, how can I trust you?"
Roland looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, a sound of weary patience. He took a smooth, blue spherical crystal from his pocket and put it on the table. He placed his right palm on the crystal and said, "This is a truth seeking crystal. It glows if the person touching it lies. As for whether you can trust me? Yes. You can. As long as this black suit is on my body, I will uphold justice to the best of my ability." Saying this, Roland removed his palm.
Leonard stared at him, his dark, empty eyes searching the man's face for any sign of deceit. Then, he placed his own small hand on the crystal and quietly murmured, "I am a girl." The crystal flared with a bright, immediate blue light. With this, he had confirmed Roland was telling the truth.
He removed his palm and sat quietly for a minute, pondering the abyss he was about to open. "I am willing to tell you everything, on two conditions. First, this is a purely verbal conversation. You are not allowed to write or record anything. Second, my sisters are to know nothing about what I am about to say. You will not make this a public matter, sharing this conversation only with those you trust completely."
Roland scratched his beard for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing. After a long moment, he placed his hand back on the sphere. "I agree to your conditions."
He then nonchalantly crumpled the piece of paper on his desk, threw it aside, stood up, and drew the heavy canvas flap closed, plunging the partition into a more intimate gloom and ensuring no one was within earshot.
Leonard sighed, a profound exhalation, as if relieved of a great burden. His voice was quiet, but unwavering.
"This was 100% a pre-planned murder. My parents did not die in an accident."