In the stillness of the morning, a bell tolled from the heart of Thornfield—a low, resonant sound that drifted up to the mansion and filled its ancient stone corridors. Linus paused, the unfamiliar chime striking him as strange and unsettling. In his short time here, he had never heard that bell ring. It seemed to pulse with a grim warning, threading through the cold air with an ominous weight.

Marcus hurried to Linus's quarters, knocking sharply on the door. "Master Linus," he said, his voice taut with urgency, "there's been a murder. Princess Mara has sent me to fetch you. They believe it could be another Cleansing killing."

Linus felt a flicker of curiosity. The Cleansing—a series of targeted, ritualistic murders—had already begun to stir unrest within Thornfield. He wondered why they had been called, but now it made sense. Another Cleansing killing would undoubtedly incite more fear, destabilizing the already fragile order in the town.

Without delay, Linus and Mara arrived at the drama studio, the site of the murder. As they approached, it was immediately evident that the crime scene had not been properly secured. The large double doors of the studio stood wide open, allowing a crowd of onlookers to gather just outside. Their hushed whispers filled the tense air, creating an undercurrent of fear and morbid curiosity.

Inside, the scene was chaotic. The stage was a mess of scattered props and costumes, city guards moving haphazardly around the room, their heavy boots tracking dirt and debris perilously close to the body lying at the center of the stage. Linus's sharp eyes swept across the room, taking in the lack of control. No clear leader was directing the investigation.

As Linus stepped further inside, his gaze fell on the body—a man dressed in a priest's costume, his lifeless form carefully laid out on the floor. Linus's eyes widened in recognition briefly before he masked his reaction, his mind racing.

It was Jared. This was the same man Linus had seen fleeing from the inn yesterday night, and now he is dead.

Mara stood beside him, her eyes fixed on the body, her expression cold. Linus could sense the tension emanating from her.

The actor's body was still, his lifeless eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling. His arms were splayed out in a rigid posture, almost as if he had been deliberately arranged. Dark crimson blood had pooled beneath him, staining the wooden floorboards in a way that seemed too orderly for the aftermath of a violent death. There was no blood spatter beyond the pool. It was as though the person had not fought at all once the fatal blow had been struck—his death felt disturbingly clean, too precise.

Linus's brow furrowed, noting the odd details. Cuts and bruises on arms and hands were there, but they looked deliberate, placed almost ritualistically as if part of a calculated sequence rather than the result of chaotic violence. The gashes were too uniform, not the wild slashes of someone fighting for their life. The scene was carefully constructed, giving the impression that the person's death had been more than just murder. It was starting to look like a ritual.

His gaze moved across the surroundings. Stage props were scattered but too haphazardly. A shattered mirror lay near the edge of the stage, broken glass glittering in the low light, but there was no clear sign of how it had broken. Torn costumes were strewn across the floor. Linus's instincts flared—none of this felt natural. It felt orchestrated and controlled.

Then there were the markings. Linus's eyes locked onto faint symbols etched near the body, almost invisible. This was not an ordinary murder. Whoever did this wanted it to be seen as something more—a warning, a message, or part of some twisted ceremonial act.

He stepped back, his thoughts whirling. "Was this connected to the cleansing killings?" Linus had heard rumors and whispered suspicions of those targeted for their hidden sins or ties to dark forces.

Mara's voice cut through his thoughts. "Do you think this is part of the ritual killings?" she asked, her voice low, laced with unease.

Linus gave a slow nod, his gaze still fixed on the scene. "It has the markings of one," he murmured, his mind spinning with theories. "The precision, the symbols—it's too clean to be anything else. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."

His eyes scanned the room once more, falling on the doorways. There were no signs of forced entry, broken locks, or shattered windows. The killer had come and gone with ease, leaving behind a setting that screamed of ritual, but beneath it, Linus could sense something more.

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Mara, standing nearby, watched Linus with quiet curiosity. She noticed his unusual level of interest and the sharp, calculating way his eyes flicked across the room, absorbing every detail. She knew he was piecing something together but kept silent, allowing him space to work.

A scribe had arrived, busily scribbling notes to document the scene despite the earlier contamination. The sound of scratching quills added to the murmur of the room. Just as the scribe began to record the details of Jared's wounds, the door creaked open once more, and a figure stepped inside.

It was the city guard captain. A burly man with a stern face and a neatly trimmed beard, his presence immediately commanded attention. His uniform was spotless, the bright insignia on his chest marking his rank. The guards straightened as he entered. "Captain Alaric," one of the guards addressed him, his tone respectful.

Captain Alaric's sharp eyes swept across the room, taking in the chaotic crime scene with an air of disapproval. His gaze lingered on Linus and Mara for a moment, assessing them, before he turned to address his men, barking orders to stop trampling the scene. "Everyone, clear the stage! Now."

"What's the estimated time of death?" Captain Alaric asked one of the officers.

"Approximately six to eight hours ago," the officer replied after checking the body temperature and stiffness.

Linus crouched beside the body, his sharp gaze catching a detail that others had overlooked. The actor's tongue was slightly swollen, tinged with a purplish hue—a subtle yet unmistakable sign of poisoning. Linus made a mental note of this crucial finding but chose not to reveal it just yet.

Captain Alaric's firm yet gentle voice broke through the room's tension as he addressed the young girl standing nearby. "Miss, can you please give us a detailed description of what you saw this morning? Who was present, and did you notice anything unusual?"

The girl stepped forward, her face pale, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Small in stature, her frail frame seemed even more delicate beneath her simple dress. Despite her disheveled appearance, her youthful beauty was undeniable—she appeared to be no more than 19 or 20. Her tangled hair suggested she had rushed out without a second thought for her appearance.

"I-I did," she stammered, her voice trembling and barely above a whisper. "I came in early to prepare for today's performance and... and found him like this."

Captain Alaric nodded encouragingly. "What's your name?"

"Amy," she replied, her words breaking as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "I saw Jared lying there, and I... I didn't know what to do, so I screamed."

Another woman, tall and striking, stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Amy's shoulder. Her presence was commanding, her mature beauty evident even amid the tragedy. She appeared to be in her early twenties, perhaps 23 or 24.

Captain Alaric's attention shifted to her. "And you are?"

"Aria," she said, her voice calm and steady, though her eyes held a hint of unease. "We usually practice early before the performance, which is why Amy was here and found him."

"Did you see or hear anything unusual this morning?" Alaric pressed. "Anything that might help us understand what happened?"

Aria shook her head. "No, Captain. I arrived just after Amy screamed. By the time I got here, people were already gathering. It was chaotic."

Captain Alaric scribbled notes in his leather-bound book, his brow furrowing slightly. "Thank you, Aria. And Amy," he said, turning back to the younger woman, "try to remember if there was anything out of place. Any unfamiliar sounds or sights before you found Jared?"

Amy sniffled and shook her head, clearly overwhelmed. "I didn't hear or see anything strange... everything seemed normal until I saw him."

At that moment, the large double doors of the studio creaked open, and Mayor Vancourt strode in. His face was drawn with concern, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual. His graying hair and well-maintained beard gave him an air of authority, but there was a weariness in his expression.

"Princess Mara," the Mayor began, his voice laden with the weight of responsibility, "I assure you, the city guards will find whoever is responsible for this atrocity."

Mara's gaze drifted over the scene, sharp and calculating. "Mayor," she said slowly, "does this incident remind you of… anything unusual we've encountered in recent months?"

The Mayor's expression shifted, his brows knitting slightly. "You're thinking of Father Matthias, I assume?" He hesitated, measuring his words carefully. "The circumstances do bear a resemblance. Father Matthias was a respected leader within the Order of Radiant Light. He was devoted to the element of light, a man who championed purity, justice, and the power of truth."

Mara's countenance remained unreadable, her eyes flickering as she studied him. "So you would agree, then, that this isn't an isolated matter."

The Mayor nodded, swallowing tightly. "It's possible, Princess. But I assure you, we'll look into every angle. Thornfield cannot endure another shadow like this."

She held his gaze a moment longer, her face impassive, before nodding curtly. "Make sure you do, Mayor. "

Linus stood quietly by the body and kept his thoughts to himself.

His eyes flickered briefly toward Mara. The truth about the poisoning churned within him, but he needed more time to piece together the entire web before he shared his suspicions with Mara or anyone else.

The investigation would continue for now—its dark undercurrents winding ever deeper into Thornfield's intrigue.