Day of Chronos, 20 September 744 After Discovery.
As noon approached, the sky over the Columbus Capital never seemed to truly clear. Creydon Borough lay across the Sanore River, and the grey fog from industrial combustion remained, creeping and hanging over the horizon.
Inside the W-Division headquarters on Wellstone Street in Creydon Borough, the long corridor, lit by gas lamps, hummed softly. A young clerk stepped hurriedly, clutching a stack of parchment. His footsteps halted before a thick, sturdy, old oak door. He swallowed hard, staring straight at the engraved brass plaque that reflected the dim light in the center of the door. Above the plaque, black letters in the Westerian script were carved
DIVISIONAL DETECTIVE INSPECTOR
L. A. BERTILLON
The clerk knocked twice, then turned the doorknob. The office felt warm and orderly. Grey light from the window framed the silhouette of a man sitting behind a large wooden desk. Inspector Leon looked up, his sharp blue eyes fixed directly on the young clerk, causing the clerk to automatically stand straighter.
"The final weekly recap report for submission to the center, sir," the clerk said, placing the stack of parchment on the corner of the desk carefully.
"Thank you," Leon replied briefly, his voice heavy and flat.
The clerk nodded stiffly, bowed briefly, then rushed out, closing the door softly, eager to escape the oppressive aura of the Inspector.
Once the door was closed, Leon reached for his dip pen. He glanced over the lines of the report before affixing his firm signature. After finishing, Leon straightened the parchments and slipped them into his black leather briefcase.
Leon leaned back for a moment, his eyes fixed on the round oak wall clock above his office door. The black hands pointed to 11:36 in the morning, signaling that he had to leave soon.
Leon rose from his wooden chair, moving away from the warmth of the fireplace. He reached for his dark grey long coat from the rack near the door, put it on his sturdy frame, and turned up the collar to anticipate the cold air that always blew from the river. He grabbed his black top hat from the rack, carried the leather briefcase in his left hand, then turned the knob and opened the office door.
Leon's office was on the third floor, an area dedicated to the detective division. As he stepped out, the sound of his footsteps echoed on the floorboards, illuminated by the humming gas lamps. He walked down the long corridor, passing rooms, until he reached the wrought-iron spiral staircase. He descended past the second floor, filled with the characteristic sound of hundreds of pens scratching on paper and stamps striking documents, until he finally arrived on the ground floor.
The reception area on the ground floor was crowded with petitioners. Leon waded through the crowd until he reached the heavy oak double doors that served as the main exit of the W-Division headquarters. Just before his hand pushed the iron plate of the door, he put on his black top hat, pulled the brim slightly forward, then pushed the double doors and stepped out to meet the grey sky and cold air of the capital.
He walked quickly toward the mouth of the Wellstone underground station. On the busy cobblestone corner, a street vendor stood behind his portable oven, which puffed out the aroma of charcoal and burnt butter.
"One baked potato, please," Leon said briefly, placing a fifty-cent silver coin—a Half-Mark—on the edge of the cart.
"Only five cents, sir," the seller replied. The man deftly took a large potato that had just been lifted from the fireplace, split the center quickly to insert butter and a sprinkle of coarse pepper, then wrapped it in thick wax paper. He handed over the hot package and gave back forty-five cents change—a silver 'Quarter' and four 'Nick' coins—into Leon's hand.
Leon accepted it with his right hand, took the change with his left, and slipped the coins into his pocket. He then continued to carry his black leather briefcase and walked down the street, eating as he went. The heat wafting from the soft baked potato combined with the savory butter was a delicious meal in the middle of the grey weather. Leon finished it just before descending the damp stone steps of the station. Before passing through the ticket gate, he threw the crumpled wax paper wrapping into the perforated iron trash bin available at the corner of the station.
In the noisy area, the shrill voice of a young newsboy cut through the crowd of commuters. The boy, wearing a dull flat cap, waved newly printed newspapers at the passing passengers, trying to attract attention amidst the hustle and bustle of the station.
"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!" the boy shouted with an enthusiasm that contrasted with the tired faces of the workers.
Leon stepped closer. He reached into his pocket and, finding he didn't have a one-cent copper coin, handed a five-cent 'Nick' to the boy. The boy deftly accepted it, then handed over a folded newspaper along with four 'penny' copper coins as change. Leon accepted the copper coins, put them in his pocket, then grasped The People's Gazette in his right hand before continuing past the ticket gate.
At the ticket counter, Leon reached into his pocket and placed a twenty-five-cent 'Quarter' silver coin to buy a second-class round-trip ticket for fifteen cents, which came in the form of a thick pink cardboard strip. After receiving the ticket and his change, he walked through the ticket gate toward the platform.
The air in the Wellstone underground commuter station was far more stifling. The smell of coal, machine lubricant, and steam mixed thickly in the tunnel air that pierced the foundation of the Columbus Capital. While standing waiting on the platform for a few minutes, Leon took out his silver pocket watch to check the time—it was 11:52 in the morning—before a giant steam locomotive slid in with a thunderous roar, braking with an ear-piercing screech.
Leon stepped into the second-class carriage, placing his leather briefcase on his lap as he sat. Unlike the third-class carriage in the back, which was packed with labor and harbor workers without cushioned seats, this middle-class carriage was equipped with long wooden benches filled with clerks, accountants, and merchants. The passengers, wearing dull suits, appeared busy fighting off sleep or reading newspapers amidst the shaking of the carriage, which began to depart precisely at 12:00 noon.
While waiting for the train to stabilize, Leon unfolded the wide sheet of The People's Gazette he held in his right hand. The headline in thick black print immediately caught his gaze:
THE PEOPLE'S GAZETTE.
———
THE BRUTALITY OF THE FORCE.
———
ANOTHER BLOOD ON THE STONES AT THE COLUMBUS PORT.
———
THE COWARDLY ATTACK ON HONEST LABOR.
———
Working Men Batoned While Demanding Bread — A Human Loader Pushed to the Mud — His Immigrant Brothers Threatened — The Brutal Tyranny of Blue Officers.
———
How Long Shall the Rich Trample the Starving? — No Distinction Under the Baton — Human, Dwarf, and Elf Bleed Alike — WE DEMAND JUSTICE AND THE LAW NOW!
Late yesterday morning—
Leon read the lines of the provocative report carefully. The content of the news did not surprise him at all. As a Detective Inspector, he knew very well that the abuse of power in other divisions had become commonplace. He did not blame the newspaper's anger; the capital's order had long been unbalanced, and the officers' arbitrariness at the port was an open secret. However, as a man of the law, Leon also knew exactly how the editorial team intentionally packaged those bitter facts to corner the authorities and demand legal changes.
The train thundered out of the tunnel mouth, crossing the elevated tracks and the special iron railway bridge that stretched over the city landscape. The commuter line moved dynamically, sometimes open under the grey sky, revealing rows of factory roofs and smoking chimneys, before plunging sharply back into the dim tunnels that sliced through the district toward the north. The sound of hissing steam and clattering wheels blended into a monotonous backdrop that accompanied the journey.
Fifteen minutes passed; the sound of the silver pocket watch springs snapping shut was heard faintly beneath the roar of the machine. Leon folded the newspaper back, checked the time for a moment before returning it under his coat, until the train finally arrived in the heart of the capital.
Unlike the station in the outskirts of Wellstone, the platform at the Whitehall Government District was lined with pale marble, guarded strictly by officers in neat uniforms. Leon followed the flow of passengers off the carriage, walked along the clean platform, then climbed the iron stairs toward the station exit hall.
Once he pushed through the exit door and set foot onto the street of Great Columbus Yard, the landscape of the city's heart greeted him immediately. Under the shade of the grey capital sky, the silhouette of Christopher Cathedral's clock tower peeked faintly through the mist in the far north, standing majestically alongside rows of white limestone pillars from the surrounding ministry buildings. People in the capital usually referred to this headquarters and command center simply as "Columbus Yard," after the grand complex along the street. The streets here were paved with cleanly swept cobblestones. Shiny, varnished horse carriages passed by, carrying politicians and high-ranking bureaucrats.
Leon walked down the street, passing the main gate of the high, black wrought-iron fenced complex. His gaze briefly shifted toward the marble gate pillars, where the official emblem of the Columbus Republic was embossed in the stone. At the top was a mural crown made of crenellated fortress stones. Below it, a shield divided into four crossed quadrants, featuring three crossed golden arrows and a pair of crossed wheat stalks, with a pair of intertwined oak twigs just below the pointed end of the shield. To the left and right of the shield was a creature with a dragon's head and a lion's body with four wings, visible from the side. The creature on the left clutched the edge of the shield with its left claw, while its right claw held a sword upright. Meanwhile, on the right side, the creature's right claw held the edge of the shield while its left claw held a balanced scale high above. Just below it, a ribbon fluttered, bearing the motto in Westerian script: "Justice, Harmony, Prosperity".
Leon shifted his gaze, walking into the vast limestone-paved courtyard toward the central command headquarters building. Inside, the atmosphere felt very different from his branch headquarters in Creydon: polished marble floors reflecting the light of large brass gas chandeliers, hushed whispers from high-ranking officers in neat suits, and the stomp of boots.
Leon's footsteps stopped for a moment at the foot of the wide, curved marble staircase in the center of the hall. Right on the landing of the main wall on the second floor stretching before him, there was a giant wall clock with an intricate, dark bronze frame. Its black hands ticked mechanically over a large white plate with Westerian numbers, pointing to 12:38 in the afternoon . There was still enough time before the formal meeting session began. Realizing this, Leon straightened his posture and climbed the marble stairs toward the upper meeting room.
The weekly meeting at the central headquarters dragged on slowly and exhaustingly behind the cigar smoke of the high-ranking officials. For over an hour, Leon simply sat and listened to the boring formalities until his turn came to read the W-Division case handling report, concisely and straightforwardly.
Time passed, and it was now 2:48 in the afternoon when the meeting session was finally disbanded. He stood, nodded briefly, then turned to leave.
Leon walked out of the meeting room and descended the wide, curved marble stairs in the center of the headquarters hall. His gaze briefly shifted toward the giant bronze clock on the landing of the main wall on the second floor. The long hand now pointed to the 53rd minute, confirming that there was still a fairly long gap before his meeting with Flo.
He walked out of the central headquarters building, traced back the vast courtyard and the street in Great Columbus Yard, until he arrived back at the underground commuter station he had passed earlier, taking the route in the opposite direction toward Creydon Borough.
Arriving at Wellstone station, Leon handed half of his return ticket to the ticket collector at the exit gate. From there, he walked down the Wellstone cobblestone streets, which were beginning to be covered in evening fog, toward a red brick terraced house typical of middle-class workers where he and his grandmother lived. As soon as he opened the front door, the characteristic aroma he knew so well greeted his nose—a warm blend of herbal tea, cinnamon, and the scent of eucalyptus oil and herbal chamomile salve that always clung to his grandmother's knitted shawl.
In the warm living room, his grandmother appeared to be knitting in a rocking chair near the fireplace. The old woman looked up, her gentle eyes smiling when she saw her grandson returning earlier than usual.
"You're home early today, Alex" she greeted warmly while stopping the movement of her fingers on the wool knitting.
"Just official business at the center that finished earlier, Grandma," Leon answered in a much softer tone.
He removed his top hat, then unbuttoned his dark grey coat and took it off. Once the thick coat was removed, he was seen wearing a black waistcoat with a thin silver pocket watch chain hooked to the buttonhole, as well as a leather holster at his right hip containing a silver-plated revolver. He hung his coat and hat neatly on the wooden peg near the door.
"You don't want to be late for your engagement with Flo tonight, do you?" His grandmother chuckled softly, with a meaningful smile.
Leon was silent for a moment. His hand, which was adjusting his shirt collar, stopped for a fraction of a second, suddenly feeling awkward in the presence of the old woman who had raised him since he was small. He cleared his throat softly to cover his self-consciousness, then looked briefly toward the kitchen.
"I just wanted to make sure everything was on time," he muttered flatly, trying hard to maintain his calm tone.
His grandmother only smiled seeing that reaction, returning to the swing of her knitting needles. Leon walked to the small kitchen to pad his stomach a little. On the table, there was already a small basket of baked wheat biscuits and pieces of hard cheese, leftovers from lunch. He chewed a few pieces of biscuit and cheese while making a cup of warm tea to drink, enough to quench his hunger without making him too full before dinner later.
After that, Leon hurried upstairs to the bathroom to clean himself.
Click.
Before taking off his clothes and holster belt, his fingers pulled the silver pocket watch from his pocket, which showed 3:49 in the afternoon. He placed the watch and his silver-plated revolver on the edge of the marble sink, then turned the hot water faucet of the bathtub until steam filled the room.
Leon took off his black waistcoat. His fingers opened the buttons of his ivory-white shirt one by one, then he pulled it off and left it on a wooden chair. Under the glow of the steam fog and the grey light piercing through the lead-framed glass window, the physique of a tempered man was revealed.
His upper body posture was sturdy and powerful, typical of a soldier long tempered. His shoulders were broad, sloping down with sharp lines toward his collarbone and broad, muscular chest. His waist was slender and his stomach hard, formed from years of disciplined military training. However, behind his calm and cold demeanor, his body was filled with signs of violence. Just below his right shoulder, there was a scar that had whitened into a faint silver line. Meanwhile, on his left rib, a thin, elongated scar ran to the side of his stomach.
Leon tested the water temperature with the tips of his fingers, then stepped in and submerged his body into the hot water bath. The sensation of heat immediately stung the surface of his skin, bringing a sense of extraordinary relaxation. He rested his muscular neck on the porcelain edge, closed his eyes, and let strands of golden-blonde hair fall wet, sticking to his temples and forehead. The hot water crept up to cover his broad chest, melting away the muscle tension that had accumulated and eroding the sharp scent of cigar smoke that had clung to his skin.
Leon let out a long breath amidst the warm, soothing steam. All the fatigue of the capital seemed to vanish slowly in the bathtub, giving him a quiet space before preparing for his dinner engagement later that night.