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“I heard of a serial killer prowling the streets of Istra. Do you interest in finding the killer?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I was right,” he chuckled, “-my liege, no offense, your lack of enthusiasm is proof on its own. My liege, you are the one responsible.”

“Pardon?”

“Please my liege, the channel’s exclusively ours. Elixia’s reassured its security.”

“She’s on the call?”

.....

“No, no. She’s outside playing with my daughter. I must say, the Plaustan weather is one akin to the heavens. I wake every day and look out at the sandy beaches, the crystal blue sea, I tell you, the place is moving.”

“How are things internally?”

“The ministry of Internal and External Affairs has taken a hit in productivity. Lady Eira’s absence has taken its toll. Prince Julius’s anger hasn’t subsided. The death of Lizzie affected him deeply.”

“I should have known. Leave him be, the man’s old enough to come to his conclusion. If he thinks I should have revived her, then, let it be,” the inner truth couldn’t be revealed. During the explosion that killed Ulgra and Lizzie, Igna forced a spell; one which affected his emotional state, one he cast under the radar and even under his. ‘Staxius’ distress at her death forced me to trap their soul in the Shadow Realm. Wasn’t able to refine the spell; I shattered their souls instead of rescuing their lives. It’ll take time before the fragments are one. I can’t tell them the truth. Staxius made his intent perfect – to save the ones closest to him, the sleeping monster, my past self, who will do what it takes to ensure their safety. Even if it means going against himself. I ought to hand it to him. Staxius, even if we’re one of the same, isn’t like me, nor am I like him. Lizzie should remain in the Shadow Realm. Her powers will grow and make sure the world isn’t in immediate danger. After all, she’s the only heir he left.’

“My liege, perhaps this news hasn’t reached – Ester’s asking for a transfer into the Minister of Foreign affairs. He’s taken the permission of lady Synthia, you must make the decision.”

“My dear Count, the decision resides with the ministers. Take it to the new head of state. He must decide on his own. I have built the foundation, now tis time for them to carve the future.”

“My liege, I apologize for the conversation being led astray. I’m sure you knew already.”

“No, you would be surprised,” he chuckled, “-I’ve asked Elixia and éclair to keep the matter of state hidden. I don’t much care for politics. I will perform my duty as king when needed. Preferably, not soon Alta keeps my ear ringing, her vigor in leading Glenda is refreshing.”

“Majesty, back to the matter at hand. You’re the DBK killer, yes?”

“And if I were, tell me about the thought process.”

“The killings began when you left. Of course, the information wouldn’t be known since it was under wraps. Next were the reported victims – I saw Kyle flash on a particular article, he gave an interview about the explosion and recounted his experience. A terrorist attack – my guess is the church or some other organization which his majesty must have angered. Obviously, lady Syhton and Vanesa conveniently returned to the castle a few days later. They chose against telling the truth. The pieces gather one by one. A truth one would know if they were introduced to the Hidrosian monarchy, the latter being confined to a few dozen subjects. The killings began shortly after the explosion. Police reports came out contradicting the time and cause of death. I read conflicting eyewitness accounts, hard to say what is true and what is not. Corruption’s high and the police department have much on their plates. Poor sods.”

“I see,” he exhaled, “-way to piece the chaos into a single line of thought. Impressive, there’s no question your title as best Detective mind of civilization has grown so much. Will you be writing a short story on the case, I mean, the Case Files are one of the best-selling books published to date.”

“If his majesty says no, then I won’t.”

“Tis conflicting,” the publishing house is owned by him. A respected maison for literature and great works of art. The latter came as a prize from Syhton upon them sealing their relationship, “-why not,” he exhaled, “-on the condition, it’s published a few years from the current events. Don’t want people digging around.”

“As you wish, majesty, as you wish,” the phone call ended as did the memory of said call. Ink ran low, and dusk was shown through tiny holes in the ceiling. “Count Stark is a man to be feared,” the ink refined by a flick of the wrist, “-looking at current events, I might have to involve him in the godly affairs. He has the potential of seeking Engratse. I guess I’ll follow the wind as usual. Hate to say it, but despite the enormous power I have, brute forcing Eira from her curse won’t amend the real problem; my siblings.”

Pebbles hit the wooden window, a wave turned his journal into nothing. The symbol of Grotian ambered. “Aye, little Tommy,” he spoke over the window, “-what brings you here this early, boy?”

“Lyoko, I need help man,” the youngin of a nine, marred with coal and oil, drenched in sweat and wounds, helplessly gasped. The brown complexion shone in the morning ray, the face bordered full-on cries, “-it’s my sister. She fell down the mineshaft.”

“Mineshaft?” he tilted his head, “-how?”

“I don’t know. Lyoko, help me!”

“Fine,” he dawned a cardigan bought at a local shop and vaulted, “-lead the way, Tommy.” The boy was fast on his feet and pulled a sharp right, east, towards one of the industrial districts. Heavy pillars of smoke puffed from massive factories. The sky turned a damn gray, and the smell of muck and filth pulsed. ‘Underage workers,’ he scanned and ran, ‘-cheap labor I suppose,’ they cut through fields and ran up makeshift paths over a hill. Tommy swayed and nearly fell, Igna took his arm and threw the boy on his back. They reached the peak, and the landscape changed. Drillings circled massive holes, workers dug – race ranged from demi-human to pale-skinned, and children were put to work transporting coal from one place to another. ‘They don’t care,’ he slid down the trail, “-Tommy, where’s the mineshaft?”

“Over there,” he pointed over the main hole, to which Igna leaped and hovered a full kilometer before landing at the secondary dig site. A crowd gathered. Machines halted and desperate workers threw ropes and screamed, “-you down there?” they yelled to no avail.

“Tommy!” cried one of the boys, “-your sister, she’s not responding.”

“We should get back to work,” shuddered another, “-the boss will come and we’ll be punished.”

“Don’t worry kids,” said an assistant supervisor, “-I’ll save her, I make damn sure I’ll save her,” the man wore good clothes with dirt marks and signs of work. ‘Compared to the others,’ he observed the other assistants, ‘-he’s hands-on and shares the burden. Either he’s a good leader or a fool,’ attention eventually landed on Igna.

“Tommy, who is that?”

“Bro, this is Lyoko. He’s helped me out a few times when my injuries.”

“Yeah,” narrowed the other kids, “-that’s doc.”

The man nicknamed bro threw a side glance and returned to his helpless rescue attempts, “-Nikki, can you hear me?”

‘I see,’ Igna horned onto two man-perched a few hundred kilometers north, “-an unfortunate accident. Let’s hope the young master sees reason and stops looking for attention from the lower class.”

“Let’s hope the master is happy,” they left.

‘Lipreading is a good skill,’ Igna approached the hole and held bro’s shoulder, “-screaming won’t do anything. How long has she been in there?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“And why are the other assistants not helping out?”

“...”

“I see,” Igna came to a quick conclusion. Bro’s aversion was very telling, “-falling down a mineshaft’s a deadly ordeal. The only way to see if she’s alive is to go in there. Looking at the equipment, we don’t have the means to organize a rescue party. Istra’s ruled by one all-encompassing law, time is money.”

“Doc, can you save her?”

“I don’t know,” he faced the workers, “-she’s dead.”

Bro rose with malicious intent, a simple regard dissuaded the pent-up frustration, “-Tommy, it’s the hard truth. She could be alive but the chance of it happening is, well, improbable.”

“NO, I REFUSE TO ADMIT DEFEAT!” bro echoed down the chamber, “-NIKKI!”

A fatigued voice echoed back, “-MIRAI!” Joy whelmed their faces, she responded, they turned at Igna to see the doc sprinting at the tunnel, “-leave it to me,” he leaped and landed a few seconds later. The opening was but a tiny light in the heavy black ceiling.

“You look like shit.”

“Doc?”

“You’ve broken your legs and ribs, maybe have a punctured lung and even internal bleeding. How the hell were you able to survive for thirty minutes?”

“This,” she held a flask, “-I sipped the potion you gave Tommy. He gave it to me and said I needed it more. I feel pathetic... Doc, tell me, am I going to die?”

“Die?” he laughed, “-on my watch?” he leaned, the piercing bicolor pupils ambered, “-Nikki, Death has its master, and your fortunate to look upon one who once held the title of God of Death.”

“Stop joking,” she laughed and coughed, “-you’re as eccentric as they say.”

“Sleep,” he held her forehead, her mind drifted, *Mantia – Book of Restoration, Honzela, Sixteenth passage, for the wounded’s assured restoration, the hardships ought be cleansed. Such flowed the whisper of the healer: Imenia,* her life-threatening wounds healed, ‘-can’t get her up without injuries. I’ll save her from imminent danger. Risking my cover for her isn’t worth the trouble. She’ll live,” he summoned and administered a few potions, after which scaled the walls with her on his back. The light at the end brightened, “-DOC!” came astounded cheers. Tommy rushed to their aid, pulling the duo out of the tunnel.

“Where’s Mirai?”

“He went to get a jeep,” speaking of him, the man darted down the side, “-I’m here,” he gasped, “-where’s she?”

“Here,” Igna waved, “-let’s get her to a hospital.”

Alas, a menacing personage manifested from the skies. Helicopters halted production, everyone dropped to their knees, “-Mirai, leave the girl.” He rose defiantly, and lasers instantly lined the workers, including Igna and the wounded girl, “-choose, you or your workers.”