────── BOOK 1, The Tragedy Series ❐
When a famous author turned detective, Kian Caelestis, faces recurring nightmares of a besieged detention center, he didn't expect his world to fall off into a spiraling mirage of insanity by the very visions that...
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[Kian]
I still remember how it all started.
Rain pelted the windowpane of my room as I hunched over a stack of dusty case files. The drops splattering over the tinted shades formed a distorted ripple through the shadows of the trees outside, and I let my hands trace the rough texture of the parchment in my hand. Though light, the rain was enough to blur the line between raindrops and tears.
The file in my hold read, "D-04, MM-1." It was a disappearance case that had been active for over a year now, with absolutely no progress towards who the culprit may be. It was part of a series of disappearances — seven, to be exact. Due to the cases being correlated to each other, the government had announced a proper investigation for the crime under their officials' wing, but with no visible progress, the family of one of the victims reached out to me for a private investigation.
Though they showed reluctance at first, the officials incharge of the investigation ultimately agreed to share their intel concerning the case with me.
It was quite ironic, to say the least, that they didn't even bother to clean off the dust settled over the cover when they handed me the case files.
Diligent workers, truly.
Nevertheless, I agreed to take on the case. Satiating a detective's thirst for truth in the face of curiosity was no easy task, after all. The flickering gleam of the oil lamp synchronised with the pitter-patter of the drizzle outside as I went through the documents piled by my desk. According to the reports I received, the culprit behind these cases was specifically targeting young men and women belonging to nobility, particularly those who were heirs to the inheritance of their lineage.
The most plausible reason for the culprit's actions would have been to use the victims for a ransom, but if that were the case, the culprit would have long since revealed their intention. The disappearances were happening for over a year now, and there were no instances where the culprit made any attempt to contact the victims' family for any sum of money.
Impulsively, my fist knocked against the smooth lining of the mahogany desk, my eyes darting between the case reports and the corkboard nailed on the wall ahead, countless photographs — both of victims and of suspects, notes and newspaper clippings concerning the case aligned over its surface.
The face in each photograph held a smile, one that was frozen in time, preserved forever. Their eyes seemed to follow me, silently pleading for answers that had eluded everyone, including me.
