“Okay, start from the beginning, and don’t spare any details,” Miles Whitehand stated as he settled into a chair in the meeting room, accompanied by his apprentice and the four doctors of Willowcreek. His sharp amber eyes scanned them meticulously, observing their every movement. He sat-leaned back in his chair with an almost arrogant posture, one arm casually draped over the back of the chair.
Miles wore light, casual clothing that seemed out of place for the biting approach of winter: plain linen pants, a simple white cotton shirt that contrasted with his tanned skin, and a gold chain around his neck. The chain held the sigil of the Sun God, a blazing sun-shaped amulet that rested prominently on his chest. It was an unusual and casual attire for an investigator of the Order of the First Dawn. He prioritised comfort over anything else. Especially considering that it wasn’t his choice to be here. The Order had sent him to this forsaken town, plagued by rumors of disease and poverty, knowing full well that he was expendable. A not so subtle reminder he wasn’t truly a part of the Order, despite his many years of unwilling servitude.
His initiation into the church had been anything but welcoming—hands in chains, forced to kneel before the former high priest. Despite understanding the reasoning behind their treatment, it was hard not to feel resentful. It made it difficult to take his work seriously. His exceptional skills and extensive network usually allowed him to solve cases quickly, or at least make the Order believe they were solved. But this situation was different, and it frustrated him. Adding to the complexity was his apprentice, forced upon him in recent months, who made it even harder for him to live life as he pleased.
The elven doctor cleared her throat, drawing his attention. “For a bit over five years, we’ve been treating a young girl named Molly Rivers, who has exhibited increasingly concerning symptoms since her birth. As her mother, Erica Rivers, grew more worried about her daughter’s condition, her behavior became... difficult to manage.”
Miles raised an eyebrow and lazily opened his notebook, ready to jot down what he deemed important. “Difficult how?” he interrupted, his tone as casual as his posture.
“She became rude, irritable, and—if I may say so—remarkably creative with her insults. But Dr. Witherbark would be better suited to describe her actions, as he bore the brunt of her outbursts,” the elf replied. Her voice carried a professional tone, though a hint of exasperation lingered.
Dr. William Witherbark, a nervous looking man, hesitated before speaking. “Ah, yes... Over time, she became colder, more distant. It was as though something was draining the joy out of her. Yet, I couldn’t help but sympathize. As a parent myself, even the common cold makes me anxious. I can’t imagine what she went through.”
Miles flipped a strand of his shoulder-length, dark brown hair away from his face, his eyes narrowing. His loosely trimmed beard framed his sharp features, giving him the air of a charismatic yet carefree man. “And this... Night Pox,” he began, his tone skeptical. “The Institute’s documents call it highly dangerous. You’re saying Molly showed signs of it from birth?”
“Yes,” the elf replied defensively. “But it’s strange—there have been no other cases anywhere nearby.”
Miles smirked, his tone turning slightly patronizing. “So you have no idea how she contracted it?”
The doctors exchanged uncomfortable glances and shook their heads. Miles leaned back further in his chair. “I see... Let’s talk about Erica. I’m told she attacked the medical center after Molly’s death and injured a town guard?”
“He passed away from his injuries three days ago.” Dr. Witherbark replied, sighing heavily.
“The entire ordeal was terrifying... and strange,” the elven doctor added, her tone shifting as though recalling something peculiar.
“Care to elaborate?” Miles asked, feigning interest as he doodled in the corner of his notebook. His apprentice, Rhogar, glanced over and frowned at the exaggerated caricature of the elf, complete with an oversized nose dominating her face. Rhogar was a young man in his early twenties, with black hair brushing his neck and light green eyes that often betrayed his frustration with Miles. Despite his age, his unevenly trimmed stubble gave him a boyish appearance. He wore a green cotton shirt that complemented his eyes, and Miles' intuition told him he had not picked that shirt out himself.
Miles ignored his apprentice’s disapproval and gestured for the elf to continue.
“When she arrived, it was... unnatural. Her strength was beyond what should have been possible for a woman of her stature. She was coherent at times, but she also rambled—repeating things she shouldn’t have known. Conversations held days earlier in private, medical terminology she couldn’t have understood. Yet she spoke as though she had mastery over the subject.”
Miles tapped his pen against the notebook. “What exactly did she say?”
“She repeated my own words back to me,” the elf explained, her gestures dramatic. “Word for word, as though reciting a conversation. She referenced discussions we’d had about Molly’s condition and the Institute’s findings. Some of what she repeated were things she couldn’t have overheard or understood without training.”
Miles scribbled a note, nodding faintly. His apprentice, however, shot him a worried glance. The kid was earnest to a fault, and his emotions often got the better of him. Raised by the church after his family abandoned him, he had a knack for uncovering hidden truths but lacked the wisdom to know when to stop digging. This moment, Miles thought, was one of those times where Rhogar needed to stay silent.
“What happened next?” Miles pressed, ignoring the growing tension in the room.
“She attacked me,” the elf replied, her voice trembling. “I managed to escape with only bruises, but she stormed further into the building. It was as though she was possessed, intent on harming Dr. Witherbark.”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “Why target him?”
Witherbark sighed. “I was her primary point of contact during Molly’s treatment. I assume she blamed me for her daughter’s death.”
Miles nodded, his tone dry. “Not an unreasonable assumption, considering the circumstances. But I’m sure you did everything you could.”
Rhogar’s glare burned into him, but Miles dismissed it and returned his attention to the doctors.
“Really?” Rhogar asked, raising an eyebrow and breaking his silence. “These people almost died a few days ago, and that’s what you say?”
“Not now, Rhogar. Just be quiet and let me work.” Miles replied curtly, maintaining his nonchalant demeanor. Pretending not to care often threw those he interviewed off guard, and he did quite enjoy watching them slip up.
“Why are you always so dismissive?”
“We can discuss this later. For now, either shut up or leave.” Miles snapped, fixing Rhogar with a glare.
Rhogar frowned, crossing his arms like a scolded child, but said nothing more. The tension hung thick in the room, the silence that followed awkward and heavy.
“Now, where were we?” Miles continued after a moment, exhaling audibly. “Ah, yes, you were telling me about the time Ms. Rivers tried to kill Doctor Witherbark. I’m practically dying to hear what happens next.” His voice carried a joking lilt, but the irritation behind his confident, arrogant facade was unmistakable.
William Witherbark cleared his throat nervously. “Well… she forced her way further into the building and broke through the door of the room where I was hiding. Once inside, she began yelling and rambling, accusing me of deliberately killing her daughter. When the guards arrived, it was like she completely lost her mind. They restrained her, but then she did... something.” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “Something that created enough heat for the guard’s armor to torch his skin underneath. I honestly thought she was going to burn the entire building down before the guards managed to chase her out.”
Miles leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. “I’m going to stop you there for a moment. Can you tell me more about what she did to the guard?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it,” William admitted, shaking his head. “The guard survived, initially… yet he passed from his injuries after a mere few days, despite everything we tried to do to save him.”
“Hmm… peculiar indeed,” Miles murmured, tapping his pen against the notebook in thought. “And after that, she just… ran?”
“Yes,” William confirmed. “But as she ran, she looked scared, as if she’d momentarily come to her senses.”
“And witnesses saw her fleeing north…” Miles mused aloud, trailing off before straightening in his chair. “Alright, let’s shift focus to Molly’s missing body. The report I received says it was last seen here at the medical center.”
William nodded, and Lore’leia interjected with a deep sigh. “Yes, it was kept in a locked room at the back of the building. The guards found no signs of forced entry, and none of us have touched it. Our homes, as well as the medical center, were thoroughly searched. We genuinely have no idea how it disappeared. Our only theory is that Erica somehow took it, possibly using magic, given what she displayed during the attack.”
Miles chuckled, though it sounded forced. “Well, I certainly doubt it walked out of here on its own. But it is troubling that she suddenly exhibited magical abilities. I assume this wasn’t something she’d shown before?”
“If Erica had been a wizard or a caster of any kind,” Penelope chimed in, “she wouldn’t have lived the life she did. She worked at least twelve hours a day, seven days a week. If she’d had magical abilities, she wouldn’t have needed to work much at all to pay her bills and Molly’s medical expenses.” Her voice was laced with guilt, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“My personal theory is possession,” Lore’leia declared confidently, her gaze sweeping the room. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
Miles arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “It’s possible. But I would still love to hear you elaborate on your theory.”
Lore’leia jabbed her index finger into the table, her tone growing more animated. “How else could she have known things that should have been impossible for her to hear or understand? Some of what she repeated back to me required years of medical training to grasp. And she even repeated private things—conversations I’d only had with the other doctors here at Willowcreek. I just… I can’t think of any other explanation.”
“It’s a reasonable theory,” Miles replied, stretching his back as a series of soft cracks filled the room. “I’ll make sure it’s thoroughly investigated. Unless there’s anything else you think I should note, I believe our next stop should be the Rivers home.”
“Does the Order of the First Dawn really have the resources to handle this? I thought you were assisting with the war,” Penelope asked, curiosity evident in her voice.
“Oh, we are assisting with the war,” Miles replied with a casual shrug. “But as I’m sure you understand, this is both a peculiar and important case. If it even exists, a threat like Night Pox could be a dire threat to the entire region. Rest assured, the Order would only entrust such a task to their very best.” He grinned nonchalantly, eliciting a grimace of displeasure from Rhogar.
“Should we be worried?” Riley asked awkwardly from the back of the room, his voice hesitant.
“Ah, I thought you were mute for a moment,” Miles quipped. “Not at all. Both the war and the investigation are progressing wonderfully! I can assure you, we already have trackers on her trail.” He lied, mostly to observe their reaction. While Erica had been spotted running north, it was as if she had vanished. Not even magic had been able to locate her, which made the case much more difficult than Miles had originally expected.
“That’s reassuring…” Lore’leia muttered, though her deep sigh suggested something else. “I can’t wait to put all this behind us.”
“I’m sure this has been an incredibly stressful time for all of you,” Miles said, his tone softening slightly. “I hope you know that the Order of the First Dawn is committed to doing everything in its power to aid you. Violent crimes like these are terrible to endure, to say the least.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“I think I can speak for all of us when I say we’ll be fine as long as the lunatic who caused this is taken off the streets,” Lore’leia added firmly.
“And I will personally ensure that happens.” Miles assured her, flashing a confident smile. “That said, to uphold such a promise, I need to continue my investigation. Could one of you show me the way to Ms. Rivers' home?”
“William can go,” Lore’leia said dismissively, gesturing toward the man. “He knows her home’s layout better than anyone else.”
“Wonderful. I’ll wait outside until you’re ready to leave.” Miles gave a quick nod before turning on his heel, grabbing Rhogar by the arm, and dragging him outside the building.
The doors to the Willowcreek medical center had barely closed behind them when Rhogar jerked his arm free and exploded, “Do you always have to be so insensitive? These people were attacked! Not to mention the guard who—”
“Shhh… Quiet, boy,” Miles interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just let me do my job for a moment.”
“Seriously? You’re beyond inconsiderate to these people, and then you tell me to shut up?” Rhogar shot back, his frustration obvious. Miles, however, seemed entirely unbothered, his attention elsewhere.
Inside the building, Miles’ magical sensor—a small, invisible orb he’d left behind—relayed the ongoing conversation to him.
“You better not tell them anything stupid while you’re out there,” Lore’leia’s voice drifted through the sensor.
“You’ve told me that countless times already,” William replied, sounding irritated. “Nagging at me isn’t going to change anything.”
“Consider it a reminder, and a warning. Do not test me.”
“Is your faith in me really so low that you feel the need to constantly remind me?” William’s tone grew sharper, frustration seeping through.
“Frankly, yes. I have little faith in any of you,” Lore’leia said bluntly.
“Ouch…” Riley murmured quietly.
“Have you ever considered that working with you might be more tolerable if you were nice every once in a while? It doesn’t have to be all the time, but maybe once a week?” William countered, his irritation bubbling over.
“Five generations of your family passed before I was even considered a young adult,” Lore’leia replied coolly. “I could take a nap and wake up to find you’ve died of old age. Befriending or being nice to someone who’ll barely outlast five percent of my lifespan is… pointless.”
“Good to see you’ve done the math on that,” Penelope interjected, as if trying to ease the tension.
“Just shut your mouth and stop wasting not only my time but the time of the priest waiting outside,” Lore’leia snapped, ending the discussion.
Outside, Miles smirked as he murmured to himself, “Interesting.”
Rhogar sighed audibly beside him. “Did you listen to anything I just said?”
“Not a single word,” Miles admitted with a chuckle, clearly enjoying Rhogar’s growing irritation.
“How did I get stuck with an asshole like you?” Rhogar muttered, his glare sharp.
“It must be the Sun God’s will,” Miles said and rolled his eyes.
“Sometimes I want to punch you in that smug face,” Rhogar growled, his frown deepening.
“How noble of you,” Miles teased. “A shining example of someone following the Sun God’s practices.”
“You know I’d never actually do it…” Rhogar muttered, his frustration evident.
“Of course not,” Miles replied, smirking. “You’re a child of the Sun God. You’d never go against our doctrines.”
“Unlike you,” the younger man shot back, his tone sharp and accusing. The jab made Miles want to roll his eyes.
“That’s quite the bold statement, boy. I follow all the rules set by the church. Sometimes, though, problems just require… creative solutions.”
“Yeah, right… creative solutions,” Rhogar sighed loudly, his annoyance spilling over. “If it weren’t for you, I’d actually be out making a difference right now.”
“You’d be standing guard by some cave entrance or dead. Sounds absolutely thrilling.”
“At least then I’d be aiding in the war…”
“You’re more than welcome to apply for a different mentor anytime you want,” Miles said casually, brushing off the complaint.
Their argument was cut short as Dr. William Witherbark emerged from the medical center. The doctor glanced between them, his brow furrowed. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Not at all,” Miles said brightly, his easy smile back in place. He motioned for William to take the lead. “Shall we?”
“It’s not far—only five minutes or so if we take a few shortcuts,” William said, gesturing for them to follow as he started down the desolate dirt road.
“Great, that gives me more time to look over her home,” Miles remarked, using the opportunity to spark a conversation. His tone was light, but his intent was to extract more information.
“There’s not much to see,” William admitted, his expression clouded with sadness. “She sold most of her belongings to pay for her daughter’s treatment and rent.”
“The treatment must have been expensive, considering how much she worked,” Miles observed, carefully watching the doctor’s reaction.
“Looking for a cure is never cheap. And being a waitress in a place like this doesn’t exactly pay well,” William added defensively, as though Miles’ comment had touched a nerve.
“Understandable,” Miles said smoothly. “I doubt a town like this gets many visitors.”
“We get a few merchant caravans during the harvest season and festival days, but not much beyond that.”
“How long have you and the other doctors lived here?” Miles asked, steering the conversation toward useful details. Anything he learned about those involved might help him piece together the events leading up to Erica’s attack.
“I’m originally from Berxley,” William began, his tone softening slightly. “The Institute sent me here about seven years ago to help treat a minor local outbreak. I ended up staying because my wife liked the peace and quiet of the countryside.” A faint smile tugged at his lips at the mention of his wife. “Penelope is from Laverne. She moved here because the land was cheap—she wanted to grow an impressive garden, and apparently, the soil here is good for that. I’m not sure how long she’s been here, but the others have been here longer than I have. Riley grew up here and came back after he finished his education to care for his sick mother. As for Lore’leia, she’s from Silfa Serine, I think. She doesn’t talk about her past, her family, or anything personal, really. I have no idea why she’s here instead of working somewhere larger—she seems to hate this place.”
“She does seem a bit... temperamental,” Miles commented.
“You’re not wrong,” William replied, shaking his head. “She has a tendency to be bitter on an almost daily basis.”
“That sounds frustrating. I’ve got some… associates who are the same,” Miles said with a wry smile. “It makes me incredibly grateful that I travel for a living.”
“That does sound nice. Though, from what I’ve heard, the roads are dangerous these days.”
“Times of war tend to bring bandits out of hiding,” Miles admitted. “It’s unfortunate, but plenty of guilds and mercenary companies are working to put them out of business.”
“That’s somewhat reassuring,” William said with a small nod. “Hopefully, this war will end soon.”
“War has its benefits, but the price is rarely worth it. Generally, only fools seek to participate,” Miles said, throwing Rhogar a knowing glance. “But sometimes, it’s unavoidable.”
“War can always be avoided,” William declared, his voice filled with passion.
“That’s quite the idealistic thought.”
“I just don’t think there are any valid excuses for lives to be lost over petty conflicts.”
“Spoken like a true visionary,” Miles said with a teasing smile before smoothly shifting the topic. “Doctor Witherbark, I was planning to speak with each of the doctors individually before leaving Willowcreek. Given everything I’ve heard so far, there’s one thing that doesn’t add up—how Molly ended up with Night Pox in the first place. As doctors, did none of you have any theories?”
“Of course we had theories, though none of them made much sense… Somehow, in the first moments of her life, she must have been exposed to the disease. Yet the only ones who interacted with her were Erica and ourselves. All our theories rely on her contracting it from someone else, but that seems impossible since she was the only known Night Pox case.”
William paused, his brow furrowing as he continued. “Riley had a theory that Erica had been cursed at some point, and the curse was passed on to Molly before she was born. He tied this to the incredibly painful birth Erica endured, which he said supported his idea. But Lore’leia dismissed it outright, accusing Riley of reading too many fictional novels. She said he consumes too much pointless junk in the form of his books, and Riley… didn’t take that well. We’ve argued—” William stopped himself, then corrected, “Debated this extensively.”
In one smooth motion, Miles reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to William. “Do any of these names mean anything to you?” he asked, his amber eyes carefully studying the subtle shifts in William’s expression.
William’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he scanned the list. His lips curved into a faint frown, and for a moment, he opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it again, returning his attention to the paper. After a beat, he handed it back to Miles with a gentle sigh. “I can’t say they do.”
“Hmm… Well, thank you anyway,” Miles replied, slipping the paper back into his bag. “Looks like we may need to send someone to check the ground around here. Maybe someone unearthed something they shouldn’t have.”
“If that’s the case, it might mean the end of Willowcreek,” William said cautiously, the guilt from earlier creeping back into his voice.
“I’m sure the queen will see to it that you’re all relocated to a new home—somewhere far from whatever might be buried here,” Miles said, his tone light but calculated.
William hesitated, then asked, “Who were the people listed on that note?”
“Just some significant individuals,” Miles answered dismissively as they approached a small, rundown house. The lock on the door hung broken, likely forced open by the guards during their search for Erica. “I assume this is the Rivers residence?”
“Yes. I don’t have a key, but I doubt you’ll need one. The guards have probably broken every lock in the building.”
“Great. I’ll get to work, then. You’re free to go.”
“Oh, uhm, alright,” William stammered, stepping back. “I’ll be at the medical center if you have any further questions.”
As William disappeared around the corner, Rhogar turned to Miles, crossing his arms. “Wouldn’t it be good to have him here? He might know how Erica disposed of the… stuff from Molly’s blisters.”
“I’m a little disappointed you haven’t caught on yet. They weren’t being honest with us today. Keeping him here would’ve done more harm than good.” Miles said.
“What? Are you serious?” Rhogar’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“You’re always joking,” Rhogar muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
“Come on, Rhogar, you know me better than that,” Miles replied with a sigh as he examined the broken lock from a distance. “If they think I’m not taking the investigation seriously, they might slip up and reveal something important. Right now, all they’ve done is feed us horse dung.”
“Right, sure,” Rhogar said skeptically. “But what were they lying about?”
“Do you remember what they said about Erica’s supposed possession?”
“That she was rambling?”
“Exactly. And what did they say she was rambling about?”
“Medical procedures?”
“Correct. Now, tell me this—what demon, shadow fiend, or ancient horror would give a damn about medical procedures? Much less use them to break someone’s mind? I can think of at least forty quicker and more effective ways to do that. Erica was a peasant who barely knew how to read. Just showing her visions of the void would’ve fried her brain as easily as those greasy onions we had for lunch,” Miles explained.
“That’s a really unpleasant way to phrase it…” Rhogar muttered.
“Perhaps,” Miles replied and gripped hold of the amulet that hung around his neck. It had been temporarily given to him by the high priestess to help ward off disease. A supposed holy relic protected by the Order for centuries. Too bad they only had one.
“But you can’t deny the facts.” He continued. “Possession is still on the table, but judging by how guilty they all looked while I was interrogating them, I’m not sure their theories are worth much. Did you notice Witherbark’s face when I showed him that list of names? He recognized at least one of them but denied it outright. What reason would he have to hide something like that from the church?”
“Maybe he’s covering for someone?” Rhogar suggested.
“Perhaps,” Miles said as he gently pushed the door open and felt the amulet heat up slightly. “But that’s not what worries me the most.”
Rhogar frowned. “Really? Then what are you worried about?”
Miles rose to his feet, holding the bear at his side. “By lying to the church, they’re lying to the gods. And if they’re willing to lie to the gods… then what did they tell Erica?”
“I-” Rhogar began but didn’t finish his sentence.
“Stay here and I’ll take a look inside.” Miles said, taking a serious tone. “You probably don’t want to come in here.”
“Why?” Rhogar asked incredulously.
“We might have something to worry about. Just wait here and I’ll check it out.” Miles said, stepping into the house.
The interior was dark and carried an air of abandonment. There was barely any furniture or decorations one would expect in the home of a mother and child. The building almost felt haunted, like no one had lived there for years. The floorboards creaked with each step as he walked down the hallways, glancing into the sparsely furnished rooms as he passed.
He entered a small, cluttered bedroom, the only place that did not seem devoid of life. Blankets, toys, and stuffed animals littered the floor, looking abandoned. The room had more furniture than the rest of the house combined: a small bed, dressers, and a large, worn armchair that seemed well-used. The faint scent of death and decay hung in the air, a smell Miles was unfortunately all too familiar with.
Crouching on the floor, he picked up a small, tattered teddy bear near the bed. Turning the teddy bear over in his hands, he noticed a name stitched onto the bottom of its right foot. “Mistur Bahr” it said, clearly something a child would be unwilling to leave behind.
Setting Mistur Bahr down, Miles moved over to the pallet on the floor. He carefully lifted up the sheets to check the mattress. On it were the telltale signs of sickness and death. A dark patch smudged an area he imagined a small body had recently laid. However, the stains were much darker than blood and had a smell that made his skin crawl.
He quickly dropped the sheets and stepped back. Looks like he wasn’t leaving Willowcreek anytime soon.