“May the White Monarch be with you,” the leader intoned, his voice resonating through the silent church.
““May the White Monarch be with you,”” the other four echoed, their voices a unified chorus.
Four figures stood in perfect formation before the statue of the White Monarch. They bowed their heads, their eyes closed.
They wore long white ulster coats that reached their boots. Golden embroidery decorated the hems and cuffs in intricate patterns. A white cape draped over each of their shoulders, its edges trimmed in gold thread.
Each of them held a small silver cross pendant in one hand. The other hand held a fez hat, pressed against their chest. Their gloves were pure white, each with a golden cross at the back.
On their chests was an emblem: a white enameled eye over an open book, positioned above a white cross: a symbol of vigilance and scrutiny.
Beside them stood Father Victor, matching their bow with the same solemnity, though his demeanor was noticeably humbler.
Victor bowed with his hunched back, his eyes closed, his expression gentle. He still wore his white vestment, layered with an immaculate amice. A long stole lay draped over his shoulders, embroidered with delicate yellow patterns.
After a long silence, the five of them slowly opened their eyes.
They exited the shrine room and returned to the sanctuary, where neatly arranged benches faced the blackboard and lectern. The familiar schoolroom scent of chalk dust and old wood still lingered.
When they reached the open space near the center aisle, the leader of the four, Gregory Turner stepped forward.
He was tall, with a straight posture. His dark brown hair was kept short and combed to perfection, not a single strand out of place.
His angular face bore a serious expression, stern enough that even adults would instinctively avoid his gaze.
Gregory raised his arm and extended a hand for a handshake.
“Thank you for accompanying us, Father Victor,” Gregory said with a deep and formal voice.
Victor looked at the proffered glove, his own hand remaining at his side, and offered a polite but questioning smile.
Before he could speak, a woman among the four, Naomi Crowle stepped forward and interjected smoothly.
“Pray, forgive the Captain, Father. He is most particular about matters of cleanliness. A personal affliction, you understand.” An angelic voice rang out.
Naomi had long, golden blonde hair that fell past her shoulders, her bangs trimmed neatly above clear yellow eyes. Her white coat fit her form perfectly, elegantly highlighting her striking silhouette. In her hand, she held a silver-headed cane shaped like a miniature cross.
Victor blinked at the girl. His smile softened as he nodded and returned the handshake. “Think nothing of it, my dear. The Church is always honored to receive representatives of the Holy Court, Deacon Gregory.”
Gregory offered a curt nod. “Please, do not mind my allergy.”
After the handshake, the four Proctors took their seats. Two sat on the front bench, the remaining two settled behind them with similarly disciplined posture.
Victor took the opposite seat across the aisle, folding his robes neatly beneath him.
“It is a rare honor to host the Cross in our humble parish,” Victor began, his voice reverent. “If I may be so bold, what brings the Cross here to this Winterin?”
The Proctor Cross, one of the inspection branches of the Church of White, with a white enameled eye over an open book symbol. They were specialists sent only when something needed to be examined and executed if necessary.
“We have been dispatched by the Holy Court to conduct an inquiry,” Gregory said calmly, “There is something the Holy Court wishes to confirm in this region.”
He folded his leg, then reached into his coat pocket. He removed a small silver-cased bottle and sprayed the disinfectant onto his gloves. The scent of alcohol drifted through Victor’s nostrils.
Victor’s eyebrow rose at the excessive gesture, but he maintained a respectful posture.
“I see. A matter for the Court,” Victor said in reverent voice, “And may I inquire as to the subject of this... inspection?”
“It has nothing to do with you.” A snappish voice cut through before Gregory could respond.
The voice came from the girl in the seated group behind.
Hazel Harrison sat with her back against the wooden pew, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. One leg rested over the other. Her posture was alert and unwelcoming.
Her eyes were the color of molten gold. Though she didn’t directly look at Victor, the priest could feel her scrutiny like a needle pressed between his shoulder blades.
She had long strawberry-blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders in layered waves. A small, neat braid started from the side of her head, woven tightly before blending into the rest of her flowing hair. Several strands swept over one eye, obscuring it and giving her an acute, almost predatory look.
Her presence alone was intimidating.
Sitting beside Gregory, Naomi Crowle turned her head at Hazel’s tone.
“Miss Hazel! Please, mind your words, please!” Her voice was soft and melodic, almost too gentle to be part of an elite investigative force. The silver-headed cane rested against her body, pressing lightly against her chest as she clutched it with both hands.
This only made Hazel more irritated.
“Stop saying ‘please’ twice!” Hazel snapped back.
Naomi flinched. She looked down at her lap, hugging the cane tighter.
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“M…my apology.”
Hazel eyed the white suit that barely contained Naomi's “armaments”. ‘That poor button is fighting for its life,’ she thought. She glanced down briefly at her own crossed arms… which had no bulges obscuring them.
“Tch.” Hazel clicked her tongue and looked away.
“Hazel, don’t bully your colleague," Gregory said in a low voice.
“Yes, Captain," Hazel lowered her head, offering a subtle compliance.
A small chuckle came from her side.
“Haha.”
It came from Troy Reekey, the one seated next to her, dressed in the same white uniform. His short, curly brown hair framed a surprisingly friendly face: handsome, bright yellow eyes, and altogether too relaxed for the oppressive atmosphere the others carried.
The moment Hazel turned her piercing eyes toward him, Troy flinched. He coughed and faced forward.
Victor chuckled lightly as he watched the exchange.
“I see. It seems I have pushed the boundary. Please excuse my curiosity,” Victor said tenderly, not intending to pursue the matter further. He knew that a village priest like him was not privy to the top secrets of the Holy Court.
“It’s nothing,” Gregory replied. “You need not worry. This matter has nothing to do with your church.”
Victor let out a relieved laugh.
“That is reassuring, at the very least.”
Gregory tucked the disinfectant bottle back into his coat. Remembering something, he looked toward Victor, his irises glowed a vague golden hue.
“May I ask, have you sensed anything abnormal in this region? Anything strange, anything… worth noting?” he asked slowly.
Victor’s hand slid to his chin as he thought.
“If there is something worth noting, then it’s probably…”
His mind flashed back to the boy who visited him this earlier morning. The wealthy young boy with a burnt, bandage-wrapped head, wearing a pristine noble outfit despite smelling like rotting meat, like he had crawled through a swamp.
Strange? Yes. The boy was certainly striking. But dangerous? No. Just an odd noble brat who appeared out of nowhere. To say he was worth noting was a bit of a stretch. He was just a nobody here.
Victor reached into his robe’s inner pocket and felt the hard, round, shiny object within. His smile softened as he rolled it between his fingers.
“There is nothing worth noting,” he finally said with a polite shake of his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Even if Victor didn’t tell them, they could likely discover something if they investigated the village themselves. But there was no need for him to get involved in their affairs.
To Victor, the fact that the Cross was here was troubling enough. Their presence here meant the Holy Court deemed something suspicious about this village. Victor knew better than to get involved.
The Cross itself wasn’t particularly strong; they were only low-ranking Blesses. However, their Inquisitors, the Seals, and the Adjutors were another matter entirely. He had no desire to attract their attention.
“I understand,” Gregory replied.
All four Proctors rose simultaneously. They grasped their cross pendants in their gloved hands and bowed toward Victor.
“May the White Monarch be with you.”
“““May the White Monarch be with you,”””
They chorused in response, before walking out of the sanctuary.
—
“Captain, can we trust him?”
Walking through the mud-slicked paths of the village, Hazel posed the question with a cautious voice. Her golden eyes never stopped moving, surveying every villager who glanced their way.
At the front, Gregory Turner lifted a hand to his coat and retrieved a dark wooden tobacco pipe. He placed it between his lips and inhaled. Wisps of fragrant smoke curled upward.
“No.”
“!”
Naomi gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, while Troy continued walking with a relaxed gait, his hands clasped casually behind his head.
His answer was short, but it carried a heavy implication.
“As anticipated,” Hazel murmured, nodding her head.
“He’s also a being that lives in this village, is he not?” Troy teased lightly, voice carrying hints of meaning beneath the casual tone.
Hazel shot him an incredulous look. How was he still so carefree?
“Then, Captain,” Hazel pressed, “do you imply he is also connected to the abduction?”
Gregory shook his head. “I cannot say. I sensed no falsehood in his words.”
From his side, Naomi clutched her cane to her chest, interjected timidly. “Why don't we ask him directly? Perhaps he could offer some assistance?”
Hazel rolled her eyes, choosing not to answer the naive question. Troy chuckled and answered on her behalf.
“We dare not, my dear Naomi. He remains a suspect. Besides…” He paused, casting a glance around the village, then leaned in to whisper, “As I said, he is a being that lives in this village. To live here is to be part of the anomaly.”
“Ah,” Naomi’s face turned beet red at the proximity, she quickly sauntered away from Troy to stand closer to the Captain.
After a long walk, Gregory veered into a quiet, inconspicuous corner behind a wooden shed. The noise of the village was dismissed.
Once the four gathered, Gregory turned around, his gaze sweeping over his three subordinates with commanding authority.
“Hazel,” Gregory handed her a leather-bound file thick with pages. “Your task is to identify every person native to this land. Take note if any are missing, or any sudden alterations in their disposition listed within these records.”
“Yes, sir!” Hazel took the file with both hands, flipping through it. Each page displayed a small portrait sketch, notes on physical features, age, profession, personality traits, and habits.
“Troy,” Gregory shifted his focus to the curly-haired man. “You shall identify those who are not of this village. Ascertain their identities, the time of their arrival, their lodgings, and their relations with the locals. Prioritize their safety above all else.”
“Rest assured, Captain.” Troy grinned and nodded his head.
“Naomi shall accompany me. We shall inquire at each household and conduct a direct investigation.”
“Yes!” Naomi responded, straightening her posture.
Gregory took out a sealed envelope and removed a small photograph. He handed a copy to each of them.
“Our primary mission remains unchanged. We are to investigate the abduction of Marchioness Augusta’s daughter. Finding her is our utmost priority.”
The photograph showed a beautiful young girl around fifteen years old with short, bubbly white hair that curled naturally at the tips. Her eyes were a clear, bright blue, almost crystalline.
“Remember two things,” He unfolded a separate note, reading the printed orders carefully.
“Firstly, do not pose questions regarding the village itself,” Gregory warned with a serious tone.
“And secondly, unless we secure a guide, we must never, under any circumstance, ever approach the forest.”
“Understood!”
Immediately, Hazel and Troy bent their knees and sprang upward, jumping high into the sky and disappearing over the rooftops to their respective sectors.
“Farewell, my dear Naomi; till we meet again!”
“!” Naomi blushed and turned her head away in embarrassment.
Gregory shook his head in resignation.
He took another long inhale of his pipe and tucked the note back inside his chest pocket. With a serious determination, he walked away.
“Let’s go.”
Naomi nodded, her long golden blonde hair swaying. Her bright yellow eyes scanned the village with vigilance before she stepped forward, following closely after him.
Troy Reekey
Hazel Harrison
Gregory Turner
Naomi Crowle
“highlighting her striking silhouette” - it just means she has big breasts, or well-endowed. I just don't know how to write it without using these words, idk, it’s quite uncomfortable for me personally for some reason.
I kinda forgot to create Erin's family name. oopsies.
I have returned home without trouble. My parents are quite happy tho, I brought food from my hometown.
Which new characters do you think are interesting? (And want to see more of them?)
