The ironswans of the main continent’s cold region are said to be completely mute. One of the most mesmerizing species of Gemsoil, many believe that the ironswans were cursed by an Eji’derr for their beauty. They are known for their captivating yet silent dance, where their reflective cold iron feathers cut through the air, water, and ice with grace. When an ironswan reaches the end of its life it will fly to the highest place in Gemsoil, Soilpeak. Once they reach the top of the impossibly tall mountain, they open their wings wide and release their rusty blackened bodies to the gust of the Sapphire. Their curse of silence grants them a single opportunity during this final ritual. The ironswan, now free from its curse, sings a song that echoes through the frozen lands. A song so beautiful that it is believed those who hear it will live longer.

My old, wrinkled skin isn’t out of iron and I can’t fly. My voice is hoarse and I can’t hold a tune. Yet I will sing my song and I won’t stop until everyone on this filthy soil hears it.

I awoke to his burningbegonia scent. My body was still fighting against the aftermath of my last case. I’ve been at the Wolf Den for a while now, resting. It was supposed to be a simple, straightforward case but that’s just how it is in Bridgegarde. Working as a detective of the Gemsoil Protection Force is a job for self-hating people like me. We throw ourselves into unnecessary dangers created by inconvenienced, selfish people. Chasing case after case, your hair turns gray without you even having a moment of self-care to realize it.

I was on standby at my job since the last mission turned out more extensive than expected. When I followed the familiar bittersweet scent, the thought of having free time left my body before it even entered. I knew his smell well but seeing him with my own eyes made the man much more real. Crimson Count is a kind and charming gentleman if you are a gullible one that is. I knew exactly who he was, a self-centered man who puts chasing things that interest him before anything. He is here for me, which means his current interest is more than he can handle.

The threads Count brings are vastly different from my official cases. He is a lover of mystery and the unknown so his investigations are more of a puzzle than a brawl. I liked these occasional quests, they were good for keeping my mind busy and my body can use any non-fighting day it can get. All of the people who joined the force with me have already retired except the emeralds. That green folk is still something I can not grasp.

Emeralds have never-aging bodies that don’t need food, water, or sleep. Their gemcraft utilizes the life force around them. Some theorize that they absorb the life around them to sustain their bodies because of this. I’m not one to mess with gemcraft too much, nothing beats a quality beating. The thing that bothers me about them is their immortality. I can not fathom how they don’t go insane doing the same thing forever. I’ve been doing this job for almost a silverapple tree growth and the burnout only gets worse with time.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I owed Count a favor because he saved my ass a while back when I was too stupid and drunk to handle myself. It was the time that he wanted a return on his investment. When he told me the details of the case, I sighed deep inside. There were no interesting leads and the incident itself was simple. I was disappointed but knowing Count, his hunches always pointed in the right direction. I only needed to find the correct thread to follow. We brainstormed while our handsome barkeep poured us from the bottle I’ve been saving for special occasions. The three of us then talked about how everything was better during older times and after we were done with the conversation and the bottle, then Count and I left Bridgegarde.

When we were still young adults, Count was considered a genius prodigy in architecture and I was the superstar detective of the Gemsoil Protection Force. We were rich, young, smart, and had everything we ever wanted. Our moms were close friends and we were born in the same bubblepear harvest so we grew up together. I was the feral hound and he was the pretty adventurer, our relationship never changed. We had more gold than we could ever spend so we decided to build a mansion together.

I built my side of the mansion as a working space. I hated my office and needed a private area to be left alone with my thoughts. His work is everywhere outside of the mansion so he dedicated his side to himself. While half of the mansion is filled with Count’s childish interests and hobbies, the other half is a mess that resembles a workspace. I only come to the mansion when I get stuck on a case while he spends every possible moment of free time there. We also had a housekeeper that we both respected and loved.

The housekeeper Serpentine Rose or simply Sros greeted us when we arrived at our mansion. They were an emerald and they served our mothers before us. Sros was always with us and since they are an emerald, I’m sure that they will outlive us and take care of our descendants as well. While I refuse to bring another being to these filthy lands, Count will eventually grow out of his childish nature and settle down with someone. Always dramatic and endearing, Sros wiped tears of joy when they saw us. After we greeted them, I hastily apologized and left to work on the case.

I entered the first zone of my thought process, the gray room as I called it. I picked up the threads that were scattered on the ground, feeling them digging into my fingers. I crossed one with another, pinned one after another, and took a step back. The threads all crossed and started at one point, the explosion specialist. He was the first note of my final song.