The temple, now a devastated religious property, stood with its stone walls painted with unrecognizable symbols. The front doors were shattered, mere remnants of the violent attack. In the middle of the main hall, the statue of Hirako remained untouched, a lone sentinel amid the chaos. Everything else was barely recognizable. Benches, shelves, beds, wardrobes, chests, and chairs lay in splinters. Only a day had passed since the attack, but already items were missing, likely stolen by street thieves or beggars scavenging the ruins.
Frost made his way to the chamber where he had left the surviving priestess. It didn't stand out from the other chambers, save for the fact that it had once held the precious journal. The nightstand, where he had last glimpsed the journal, was now empty. Panic rising, he searched the chamber frantically, flipping the nightstand, tearing apart the bed, pillows, and duvet, and even examining behind the wardrobe and inside the chest. Despite his efforts, the journal was gone. The chamber, now turned upside down, was in even worse disarray than before.
Time passed, but the diary remained elusive. Suspecting it had been taken or stolen, Frost resigned himself to report back to Astra, dreading the conversation to come. He departed the ruined temple, his mind racing with thoughts of what the journal might have contained and who could have taken it.
As Bang and Astra proceeded toward the funeral parlor, they maintained a contemplative silence, letting the sights and sounds of Kar-Ah fill the gap between them. The city, vibrant and alive, was a testament to its inhabitants' resilience and creativity. In the second tier, most buildings were constructed from stone, bricks, and wood, endowing the area with a rustic yet sturdy appearance. The cobblestone streets, though uneven and hard on boots, added to the charm of the place.
Temples with towering spires, barracks with their imposing structures, and other civil service buildings built primarily from stone contrasted with the more modest wooden taverns and entertainment hubs that dotted the landscape. The roads closer to the third tier were unpaved, making them a challenge to navigate, but the sight of children playing and merchants peddling their wares brought a sense of normalcy and liveliness to the area.
Finally reaching the funeral parlor, Astra and Bang stepped inside, immediately enveloped by a somber atmosphere. The parlor was dimly lit, with heavy drapes shielding the interior from the harsh daylight. The air was thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the faint odor of flowers placed around in an attempt to mask the inevitable smell of death.
They were greeted by a young nekomata woman, her feline ears twitching nervously. She wore a long brown dress with a crisp white apron, white gloves that reached her elbows, and a mask that concealed much of her face. Her tail, peeking out from behind her dress, swayed anxiously. The presence of such formidable figures as Astra and Bang had clearly unsettled her, and she struggled to find her voice.
"We're here to examine the body of Maria, the head priestess of Hirako Temple," Astra stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.
The girl, visibly flustered and disorganized, attempted to gather her wits. She began to question their purpose more precisely, glancing around frantically for her supervisor and trying to recall any information about the deceased head priestess. Bang, noticing her distress, offered a reassuring smile.
"Can you fetch the one in charge here? We'll wait," he said kindly, before settling himself upon a nearby bench close to the window. The sunlight streaming through cast a warm glow upon his features, momentarily softening the lines of worry etched into his face.
Astra joined him, her gaze fixed upon the young assistant as she scurried from one chamber to another in search of help. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and concerns.
"Poor soul," Bang whispered to Astra, his voice tinged with empathy. He had always been the more compassionate of the two, his heart going out to those caught in the crossfire of their duties.
Astra, however, remained silent. Her patience was wearing thin, her leg bobbing restlessly as she awaited the arrival of someone more competent to assist them. Her mind raced with thoughts of the investigation, the urgency of their task pressing down upon her shoulders like a physical weight. Every moment spent waiting felt like a moment wasted, and the memory of Maria's lifeless body only fueled her determination to find answers.
The funeral parlor, with its dark wood furnishings and solemn decor, was a stark reminder of the inevitability of death. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting serene landscapes, meant to offer comfort to the grieving.
As Bang and Astra waited in silence, an elderly nekomata woman in a white toga with a matching apron and gloves passed by the front door. Her hair was a soft grey, and her tail moved gracefully behind her. She noticed Astra and Bang immediately, her keen eyes missing nothing.
"Captain, Vice Captain, how can this elderly woman help you?" she asked, her voice calm and steady.
"We've come here to examine the body of Maria," Astra began.
"The head priestess from yesterday. Yes, I knew her personally," the elderly nekomata replied, a hint of sadness in her eyes.
The young nekomata assistant approached them, tears starting to stream down her cheeks as she felt overwhelmed and compromised. The elderly woman shook her head gently, perceiving the girl's distress.
"My, my," she murmured, disapproving of her employee's state.
Astra and Bang followed the elderly nekomata through a dimly lit corridor lined with heavy wooden doors. The air was cool, and the faint scent of incense hung in the atmosphere, mingling with the earthy smell of stone. They entered a chamber where several bodies lay prepared for burial, each in an open coffin.
The supervisor led them to one particular coffin, and upon opening it, they beheld Maria lying peacefully in her robe, her eyes closed and hands folded over her chest. Astra reached out and touched Maria's hands gently.
"Oh, Granny," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.
Bang stepped closer to the supervisor. "Did you check her belongings before you placed her in the casket?" he asked.
"Of course we did. We had to change her garments; they were soiled with blood and torn by a sword," the elderly nekomata said confidently. She paused, holding her chin thoughtfully. "But I don't recall discovering anything that could be of use to you."
"We are seeking papers or notes that she might have stored in her pockets," Astra explained.
The elderly nekomata turned to the assistant. "Helen, didn't we discover anything like that?"
Helen approached, her hands folded nervously. She answered hesitantly, "No. There were no such things. She had a piece of cloth, but there wasn't anything engraved upon it."
Astra pressed on, her investigative instincts activating. "Did you search carefully? She might have had secret pockets in her robe that you could have overlooked."
"I checked. There wasn't anything," Helen replied, now on the verge of tears from Astra's relentless questioning.
"Leave her be," Bang whispered to Astra, sensing Helen's mounting anxiety.
Sighing, Astra acquiesced. They both thanked the staff for their time and apologized for interrupting their work before departing the funeral parlor.
The door closed softly behind them, and in the distance, they glimpsed Frost approaching, a cigarette already lit between his lips. Meeting him halfway, Astra extended her hand expectantly.
"Give me the diary," she demanded.
"I didn't find it," Frost replied simply, exhaling a plume of smoke.
Astra, shocked, regarded Bang, who remained unsurprised. "How didn't you find it? You said it was there."
"Key word: was. I turned the chamber upside down searching for it. It's gone," Frost answered, unbothered.
The three of them stood there in the middle of the street, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they realized the diary, and perhaps crucial evidence, had vanished.
Astra felt as though the entire world had collapsed upon her shoulders. Grinding her teeth, she scratched her scarlet, fluffy ears with her iron gauntlets. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind: her mother's disappointment, failing her sister in pursuing the thugs who attacked her, and her father's legacy as the greatest city guard and Theocracy's warrior. She was a whirlwind of emotions, teetering on the edge of bursting into tears like a child who had lost a chess match. But the heavy arm of Bang upon her shoulder brought her back to her senses. Without a tear escaping her eyes, she regarded the elderly man. He simply smiled.
"Well then, it appears the priestess you saved—the witness, I mean—is our only hope for now."
Astra's gaze drifted away, focusing upon the cobblestone street beneath her boots. The city's main square buzzed around them, filled with the noise of merchants hawking their wares, children playing in the streets, and the distant hum of a blacksmith's hammer striking metal. She inhaled deeply, the familiar scents of baked bread and fresh herbs mixing with the acrid smell of smoke from Frost's cigarette.
Frost exhaled another plume of smoke. "Yes, she's all we've got." His questioning gaze settled upon his captain, who remained on the verge of admitting defeat. He had never witnessed this side of her; after all, she was a woman who attempted to lock her heart in armor and the heir of Asurian, to whom no one could be called equal. His own features were sharp and angular, his short sky-blue hair slicked back, making his piercing blue eyes stand out even more. "Did you question your sister about it?"
Astra shook her head, her long, wavy crimson hair cascading around her shoulders. "Not yet. I will when the time is appropriate. I don't want to overwhelm her and resurrect those memories too quickly." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor hidden beneath the surface, one only those closest to her could detect.
Bang nodded, his aged face framed by a greying beard that contrasted with his still-muscular build. His eyes, though kind, held the wisdom and weariness of countless battles. "Indeed, that's the best you can do for your sister. Let her process it on her own."
Astra was lost in contemplation momentarily, but then her sharp gaze returned, and her motivation shone as brightly as before. "Frost, go find Doyle. Tell him to arrange a hearing for the afternoon."
Frost inhaled his cigarette one final time, then threw it onto the paved road and crushed it with his iron boot. Sighing, he said, "I despise that fellow. There's something about him I don't trust."
Doyle possessed a long and difficult history, one that only after Astra and Bang saved him, he could claim he experienced peace. Hearing her subordinate speak ill of someone she cared for like a brother made Astra grind her teeth, her ears standing upright and the hairs upon her tail ruffling all at once. Again, Bang's heavy hand upon her shoulder brought her back to her senses, but she said nothing.
"You might not agree with me," Frost continued, his sharp eyes rivaling those of Astra, "but there's something amiss about his aura." He turned and proceeded toward the barracks, leaving Bang and Astra alone.
"He'll do something we'll all regret, I know it," Frost said, a few paces away from them. These were his final words before disappearing into the crowd, his silhouette blending with the bustling life of the city around them.
As Frost vanished, Astra allowed herself a brief moment to glance at the vibrant marketplace. Stalls overflowed with colorful fruits and vegetables, vibrant fabrics fluttered in the wind, and the aroma of various street foods wafted through the air. She envied the normalcy of the civilians' lives, even as she knew she could never be one of them.
Bang's presence beside her was a comforting anchor. He had been a friend to her father and now to her, a steady rock in the turbulent sea of her life. His calm demeanor and reassuring smile made her believe that they could navigate through this storm. She couldn't afford to break down, not now. The weight of her father's legacy, her mother's expectations, and her sister's trauma was immense, but she would bear it. She had to. For her family, for the city, and for herself.
Astra drew a deep breath, steeling herself. "Let's proceed," she said to Bang, her voice strong.
They turned together, leaving the bustling square behind as they headed toward the barracks, ready to face whatever came next.
At Rosviel's mansion, Ari and Mia enjoyed warm green tea in the cozy living room, their conversation punctuated by bouts of laughter. The afternoon sun bathed the chamber in soft, golden light, casting long shadows that danced upon the wooden floor. Despite the pleasant company and the serene atmosphere, Ari felt a restlessness she couldn't shake.
The mansion, an elegant structure perched upon a hill, offered various distractions. Ari could lose herself in the library's vast collection of books or wander the bustling city streets. Yet, something within her urged her outside. Excusing herself, she descended the staircase, its polished bannister smooth beneath her fingers, and headed toward the garden.
The shortest path to the garden was through the basement, a dimly lit passage with stone walls that exuded a cool, earthy scent. Ari moved quickly, the quiet echo of her footsteps the only sound. Emerging into the garden, she was greeted by the vibrant colors and sweet fragrances of blooming flowers. She drew a deep breath, the fresh air filling her lungs, and allowed herself a moment of calm.
Ari meandered along the garden paths, the gravel crunching softly underfoot. She bent to inhale the scent of roses, their petals soft and delicate, and trimmed a few stems with the small shears she carried. Finally, she settled upon a wooden bench, its surface warm from the sun. Tilting her head back, she gazed upward at the sky, observing the clouds drift lazily by.
As she sat, memories of the previous day's horrors surfaced. She replayed the events in her mind, the fear and chaos vivid and raw. Ari knew that Astra would soon come to question her about what she had witnessed. The thought of reliving those moments again was daunting, yet necessary. She needed to recount everything accurately, not only to help Astra but also to fortify her own resolve.
Determined, Ari focused upon the peaceful scene before her. The garden, with its vibrant blooms and gentle rustling leaves, became a sanctuary where she could gather her strength. She reminded herself why it was crucial to confront these memories head-on: to prevent such horrors from repeating and to honor those affected by them.
With each breath, she felt her courage grow, solidifying her determination to support Astra and contribute to their shared mission. The sun continued its slow descent, casting a warm glow over the garden, as Ari prepared herself for the challenges ahead.
"You failed." A slender male figure emerged from a swirling dark cloud, his appearance sudden and unsettling. He wore a dark, slim suit, festooned with an array of knives around his waist, and a mysterious white mask bearing an enigmatic smile concealed his face.
"I gave you every piece of information you could need. I told you about everyone involved, I outlined what needed to be done, and yet you still failed."
The young man sitting at the edge of the rooftop didn't respond. Instead, he picked up small pebbles and threw them aimlessly onto the street below, observing as the people beneath him moved about like ants. A mighty wind rose, blowing back his hood and revealing his scarred face and dark hair. His expression remained blank as he gazed toward the distant third tier of the city, far beyond his current reach.
The masked figure approached him, the movement almost leisurely. "You? I wouldn't have guessed."
The boy growled, rising to his feet and facing the masked man. "Just tell me where Ash is, and I will bring you this cursed ring, demon."
The demon laughed, a chilling sound that echoed off the nearby buildings. "Of course you will, after I eliminate this little girl so she stops distracting you."
"She who?" The boy shook his head in frustration. "Do what you want, it doesn't matter to me at all. Now tell me where the ring is!"
"On its way to Eagle Castle."
Upon hearing this, the young man leaped off the roof, plummeting many meters before disappearing into thin air. The demon turned his gaze toward Rosviel Mansion, then looked upward at the sky and clouds, his voice filled with twisted admiration.
"Truly… just as You have foreseen."
With that, he vanished into the same black fog from which he had emerged, leaving only a lingering sense of dread in his wake.
It was late afternoon in the barracks. Frost stood leaning against the cold, unyielding stone wall of the main hallway, his silhouette cast long by the waning light streaming through the narrow windows. The air was thick with tension and the lingering scent of sweat and iron. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, the paper crinkling softly in his hands, but after a moment's contemplation, he sighed deeply and slipped them back into his pocket. His mind was a tempest of thoughts, and he needed clarity, not a clouded mind.
A heavy oak door creaked open, revealing a young priestess. Her face was pale and drawn, etched with exhaustion rather than fear. Tears welled in her reddened, raw cheeks, tracing glistening paths through the soot that streaked her once-sacred robes. Her hands trembled as a guard, his face grim, escorted her away, a stack of parchment clutched tightly beneath his arm. The stark whiteness of the papers seemed to mock the priestess's despair.
Next came a civil servant, an elegant woman in a tight, meticulously tailored blue dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her glasses perched delicately upon her nose, and she carried an air of professionalism that was slightly marred by her shaken composure. As she caught sight of Frost, a shy smile flickered across her face, a momentary reprieve in the grim scene unfolding before them, before averting her gaze and hurrying away, her heels clicking a rapid staccato upon the stone floor.
Finally, Doyle emerged. He was a young guard, saved by Astra and Bang years ago. He adjusted his brown hair with a nonchalant flick and scratched his cheek. Taller but less muscular than Frost, Doyle's presence was both familiar and unwelcome. His eyes, usually downcast, now regarded Frost directly, a silent challenge hanging in the air. Everyone knew of the deep-seated animosity between them, a simmering tension that was palpable.
"Well?" Frost's voice was a low growl, laced with repressed urgency.
"In summary, when the attack began, she hid in the basement. She couldn't recall what they were after, but one name stuck with her," Doyle began, his tone carrying the weight of the interview's gravity. Frost straightened, his muscles tensing in anticipation.
"Ash Blackfrost," Doyle finished, his voice strained. The name sent a jolt through Frost. It was a name he didn't recognize, yet it sparked a flicker of unease deep within him. A nagging suspicion pricked at the back of his mind, a sense of something forgotten, something crucial. He frowned, furrowing his brow in concentration as he attempted to grasp at the elusive memory.
Frost exhaled slowly, his expression hardening like stone. "Anything else?"
Doyle shook his head, his nervous energy radiating like a palpable wave. He rattled off a list of mundane details, but Frost barely registered them. His focus had narrowed to the single name, a chilling whisper in the back of his mind. Frost turned and departed without another word.
"Damn it!" Frost cursed under his breath as he navigated the bustling marketplace. The cobblestone streets were alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and children laughing. "The Captain won't be pleased hearing this." The scent of fresh bread mingled with the acrid tang of sweat and dust, a chaotic symphony of the city's daily life. He fumbled for his cigarettes again, the familiar comfort a tempting escape from the churning thoughts in his head. With a grimace, he shoved them back into his pocket.
"Ash Blackfrost," he muttered under his breath, the name a mantra echoing in the cavernous emptiness of his mind. He attempted to dredge up a memory, a face, anything to connect to that name, but his past remained stubbornly opaque.
A soft voice cut through his internal battle. "Excuse me."
"Excuse me," the voice repeated, more insistent this time. Frost, his brow furrowed in concentration, continued his unwavering pace through the bustling marketplace. The weight of the investigation pressed down upon him, the name "Ash Blackfrost" echoing in the cavernous emptiness of his mind.
"Mr. Guardsman, stop, please!" Finally, a breathless voice cut through his thoughts. He halted and turned, his gaze landing upon the civil servant from the barracks. Her cheeks flushed a rosy hue, and her chest rose and fell rapidly from her exertions. For a moment, he was captivated by the sight of her heaving chest, but he quickly refocused.
"What do you want?" Frost's voice was gruff, laced with a hint of impatience he couldn't quite mask. The encounter was unexpected, a distraction he didn't need right now.
The woman straightened, revealing her striking beauty. Her long, straight black hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, and her brown eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, sparkled with determination. Her soft, alabaster skin glowed in the afternoon sunlight, exuding a sweet, natural aroma that momentarily distracted Frost. Her simple dress couldn't hide the elegance of her movements, a quiet strength simmering beneath the surface.
"I wanted to ask you something," she stammered, her voice slightly breathless. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red with every word.
In the silence that followed, Frost took in every detail of her, admiring her grace and beauty. Her elegant dress accentuated her curves, and the way she held herself spoke of quiet strength and vulnerability that was captivating.
"Would you like to—I mean, would you be interested in going to the tavern?" she stammered, her voice tripping over itself.
"I'm busy," Frost replied tersely, taking a few steps away. Duty gnawed at him, but there was something about this woman that sparked a flicker of intrigue. He perceived a hint of vulnerability beneath her confident facade, a vulnerability that resonated with something deep within him. But then Frost paused and turned back.
A rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Evening, then," he conceded, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We can go for a drink."
"I will wait," she called out, her voice filled with renewed joy. She bounced upon her toes, unable to contain her excitement. As Frost turned and strode away, a single thought echoed in his mind: "Ash Blackfrost." What secrets did that name hold? Seeing him walk further away, she wanted to run after him but was too winded from her earlier efforts.
"Gilded Griffin! My name is…" The rest of her words were drowned out by the cacophony of the marketplace. Merchants haggled loudly over their wares, children laughed and played, and the general bustle of the late afternoon filled the air with a symphony of noise. Frost continued his purposeful stride toward the first tier, intent upon meeting his captain and sharing what he had learned.
As he proceeded, his mind wandered back to the encounter. "What an attractive girl," he thought, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the cobblestone streets, painting the city in hues of gold and amber. The smells of street food mingled with the scents of fresh flowers, creating a rich tapestry of sensory experiences.
The closer he approached the first tier, the more the atmosphere changed. The bustling marketplace gave way to quieter, more orderly streets lined with well-kept houses and stately buildings.
Upon arriving at the first tier, Frost encountered his comrades, who questioned him about his visit to the restricted area. After explaining his purpose, they allowed him through. He found himself standing in the middle of a paved square dominated by a mature oak tree, its leaves lazily drifting in the wind, branches creaking, bearing the marks of age. Surrounding the tree were various flowers and bushes, creating a vibrant and serene atmosphere. He stole a glance at the grand houses surrounding it—the Bishop's residence, austere and imposing, Fiora's mansion with its extravagant gardens.
From this square, roads led to the bishop's and Fiora's mansions. Ari's home stood out, but another mansion caught his attention—distinct in size and build, layered with brick. This was the residence of Elara Windrake. Though not particularly large or ostentatious, the mansion reflected the family's past glories. Elara's ancestors had been prominent in the military and mineral extraction, but their golden age had long since faded.
As Frost admired his surroundings, he drew more and more attention. Onlookers wondered what a guard was doing there. To dispel any doubts and avoid gossip, he headed straight for the Rosviel mansion. Standing before the majestic, intricately carved wooden walls and lush, green surroundings, he couldn't help but compare it to his modest flat, which paled in comparison. With a sigh, he reached for the iron-handled door.
Knocking upon the door with an iron handle, he caused a flurry of activity inside. He heard footsteps upon the polished wood approaching. The door opened slightly, and Mia peeked out.
"Who's there?" she asked, her voice tinged with caution.
Frost smiled inwardly at the oddity of the situation—being questioned in the most secure place in the city, perhaps even the theocracy, by a cautious maid. "I have come to visit Captain Astra and give her a brief report about the hearing. My name is Frost..."
"She is waiting for you. I will inform her of your arrival," Mia replied.
By mistake, Mia opened the door slightly wider. Perceiving this as an invitation, Frost stepped closer, but the door suddenly closed in his face. Inside, Mia swiftly moved her tiny feet upon the polished wooden floor she had recently cleaned. She passed Ari, who was ascending the stairs leading from the basement, but Mia did not notice her.
Mia reached Astra's chamber and, after a moment to compose herself and clear her throat, knocked upon the door. "Come," was the response.
Inside, Astra sat bathed in the glow of a dim light, surrounded by a mass of papers and documents. Her iron gauntlets were left near the door. She still wore her cuirass and boots, and her favorite sword was within easy reach, even at home. Asurian had taught her that for a warrior, a sword is an extension of the arm—something you simply don't put away. So, it stayed with her always.
Adjusting her crimson fringe, Astra regarded Mia with questioning eyes. "A guard with the hearing report has come. His name was Mrost, he said."
Raising her eyebrows and shaking her head slightly, Astra said, "Bring him here."
Ari had been eavesdropping the entire time. Upon hearing Frost's name, she knew her guardian from yesterday had come. Ari rushed to the door, gliding upon the polished floor, and grasped the door handle. She slowly opened the door, revealing herself to Frost with a smile, eager to impress him. But reality was more disappointing than her dream. Frost wasn't in the mood for flirting or jesting. With a blank expression and a polite smile, he showed no reaction to Ari's welcome.
"Hello, Frost," she said.
With a forced smile, he answered, "Hello, Miss. I hope you're feeling better today."
Mia joined them and didn't allow Ari to engage in small talk with the guard. "Ms. Astra is waiting for you. Please come inside."
Ari stepped aside, letting Mia take the lead. She waited in the living chamber, laying upon the couch and observing. Frost hesitated before taking his first step into Fiora's mansion. He glanced at his dirty, rusty iron boots with mild disgust upon his face, then met the maid's eyes.
"Leave them inside," Mia said. She wasn't about to let him in with those filthy boots, not after recently cleaning the floor.
Inside, Frost gazed around, increasingly admiring the beauty of the household. He didn't consider himself a man who appreciated aesthetics, but here he was. His attention moved to his armor and gloves, also dirty and rusty. His thoughts were disrupted by Mia, who appeared behind him unexpectedly, pushing him further inside.
"Go. Go. Go. She is waiting."
Hastened by this little woman, Frost moved on. He met eyes with Ari, who remained lying upon the couch, observing his entire journey. His gaze, eager to satisfy his appreciation for beauty and composition, rapidly moved all around, attempting to admire as much as he could in this short walk. Standing before the half-open door leading to his captain's private solitude, he knocked and said, "Captain, it's Frost. I'm entering."
The door revealed a dimly lit chamber, with silk curtains and wooden carved furniture. A king-size bed with fresh bedding, an empty armor stand in the corner, a bookshelf with military texts, and a shelf with gems and statues of soldiers and warriors. Upon the desk was a marble statue of Hirako, the kitsune goddess, gently stroked by Astra, who was clearly lost in thought. Perceiving her in this circumstance, Frost truly glimpsed the attractive woman in her, with her long crimson hair, fluffy ears now floppy, and her tail peacefully sweeping the floor.
Sighing, Astra regarded the door. Upon perceiving him standing and peering at her, she turned red. A heavy silence hung between them. Clearing her throat, Astra started:
"Erm… So, what is the report?" Astra's voice broke through Frost's wandering thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He shook his head, attempting to refocus.
"Not much..." He scratched his ear, feeling the weight of the information he had to share. "Doyle said that the only valid information was the name of a person who might be the leader of the attack."
"Doyle said that?" Astra's eyebrow arched in surprise. She turned her entire body to face Frost, crossing her arms over her chest. "You weren't with them?" Her tone was incredulous, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him.
"No. I was late. He obtained the civil servant, the scribe, and the witness quicker than he said he would," Frost admitted, his frustration barely contained. He despised being outpaced by Doyle, especially regarding such an important matter.
Astra lowered her chin, her gaze shifting toward the curtains that allowed a straight beam of light into the chamber. The soft afternoon light illuminated the chamber, casting intricate shadows upon the wooden floor. She rose and approached the window, opening the curtains further to allow the light to flood in. The warm glow accentuated the elegant furnishings, from the finely carved wooden furniture to the rich tapestries adorning the walls.
"I will have to speak with him about that. Your behavior toward each other is... unacceptable," Astra said, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment. The tension between Frost and Doyle had been a recurring issue, one that she could no longer ignore.
Frost crossed his arms over his chest, his face a mask of neutrality. "I will meet the civil servant who was at the hearing this evening. I need to ask her some questions."
Intrigued, Astra turned to face him fully. Her sharp eyes studied his, noticing how he avoided her gaze. She approached closer, her presence commanding and unyielding. "Why will you see her in the evening?"
"It's a private matter," Frost responded, his tone guarded. He wasn't ready to share the details of his personal intentions.
Astra smiled and patted his shoulder. It was unlike the shoulders of her siblings, her touch registering the distinct difference. This shoulder was thick and strong, his muscles like rock stuffed inside his skin, and his armor only compounded this effect.
"I won't delve into this." Stepping back, she placed her hands upon her hips, her posture exuding authority. "So, what was this only valid information?"
"Oh yes..." Frost, momentarily confused, gathered his thoughts. "A name the priestess heard was... Ash Blackfrost."
Astra's eyes narrowed, her mind racing to place the name. "Ash Blackfrost... never heard of him. Did the priestess provide any more context?"
"No, Captain. She was too shaken to remember much else. She only mentioned that name amidst the chaos," Frost explained, feeling the weight of the uncertainty in the chamber.
Astra proceeded to her desk, her fingers drumming rhythmically upon the wooden surface. The marble statue of Hirako, the kitsune goddess, seemed to watch over her, its serene expression contrasting starkly with the turmoil within her. The chamber was filled with the scent of aged wood and parchment, a testament to the countless hours she spent immersed in her duties.
"This complicates things," she muttered to herself, her thoughts racing. Her hands became motionless as silence grew. Holding her chin again, she approached a bookshelf and scanned the titles stored there. The books were a mixture of military texts, historical accounts, and religious scriptures, each one meticulously organized. "This name tells me nothing. I have much work to do here. Go now, we will speak tomorrow and remind me to tell this to Mike."
"Yes." Frost took a few paces back, his mind still processing the interaction. As he grasped the door handle to close the door, he heard, "Or you can tell him when you meet him by any chance."
"I will. Good day, Captain."
Frost closed the door and was immediately met by the intrigued maid who had been observing him closely. Her eyes followed his every move, curiosity evident in her gaze.
"I'm departing," he said brusquely, feeling a mixture of relief and tension as he left the chamber.
Frost proceeded down the elegant hallway, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floor. He instinctively glanced at the plush couch in the living chamber where Ari had been lounging earlier, but now she was nowhere to be seen. The intricate designs upon the walls and the lavish decorations of the Rosviel mansion surrounded him, a stark contrast to the utilitarian decor of the barracks he was accustomed to.
"And you?" A mature, commanding female voice echoed through the household, breaking the silence.
Frost halted immediately, bowing deeply, his body rigid with respect and a touch of nervousness. He dared not move an inch, sensing the presence of someone important.
Fiora, the matron of the mansion and High Priestess, appeared before him. She was a vision of grace and authority, her red dress clinging sensuously to her figure, highlighting her elegance and undeniable allure. The dress cascaded down her form, accentuating her curves, while a delicate cloak covered her bosom and legs, adding an air of mystery to her appearance. Her dark hair was impeccably styled, and her eyes, sharp and knowing, seemed to pierce through him.
"Oh right. We have met before…" Fiora's voice trailed off as she regarded Frost. Her presence was magnetic, and despite the cloak, her sensuality and poise were palpable.
"Yes, it was me and my friend and guard, Samuel," Frost replied, his voice steady but imbued with respect.
"Thank you for that, I appreciate it," Fiora said, her tone softer yet still regal.
"Don't mention it, ma'am," Frost said, bowing again, sweat forming upon his cheeks. Clenching his hands, he spoke earnestly, "It's an honor to serve beneath you. Don't thank me for anything."
Fiora smiled, a gesture that illuminated her face, adding warmth to her otherwise imposing presence. She turned gracefully and ascended the grand staircase to her chamber, her movements fluid and elegant, leaving Frost alone with Mia. The maid, ever vigilant, was already behind him, ready to usher him out.
He donned his boots, each step feeling heavy with the weight of his dirty, rusty iron footwear. He glanced around the opulent foyer one final time, taking in the richness of the surroundings—the carved wooden furniture, the gleaming floors, and the luxurious tapestries that adorned the walls. With two paces out, the door was immediately closed behind him, the sound resonating like a final punctuation to his visit.
Feeling like an intruder not only in the Rosviel mansion but in the entire first tier, Frost hastened his movements to depart this place as quickly as possible. The sense of being out of place gnawed at him, a stark reminder of the divide between his world and the opulence he had just left behind. As he proceeded away, the crisp afternoon air filled his lungs, and the familiar roughness of the marketplace began to envelop him once more. The scents of baked goods and fresh produce mingled in the air, grounding him back to reality.