Seeker of Truths

"Oi! Claire, you there?" A gruff voice broke through the din of the inn as the group of armed men stepped inside.

Claire, who had been tending to a customer, quickly straightened herself and hurried over to the door. "Yes, yes, I'm here." Her voice trembled slightly as she noticed the man leading the group. He wasn't a stranger to the inn, but his presence rarely signalled anything good. "Jacques? Why are you here...?"

Jacques gave a short nod. "We're here on official business." Claire's face paled a bit, and she instinctively gripped her apron. "But no need to worry, we're just asking about someone."

Claire's posture softened, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. They weren't here to arrest anyone or cause trouble—at least, not yet. "Oh, I see. Well, go ahead, feel free to ask around," she said, gesturing toward the now-silent inn.

With that, Jacques and his men fanned out through the inn, approaching the patrons, and asking questions in low voices.

The atmosphere grew tenser, despite the hum of conversation continuing in the background.

One of the guards approached Claude, who had been sitting quietly at a table. "Excuse me?" the guard asked. "Could I borrow a moment of your time?"

Claude nodded, curiosity bubbling up inside him. He had been watching the guards since they entered, trying to piece together their purpose, but so far, nothing had stood out.

"Thanks," the guard said, fishing into his coat. He pulled out a rolled-up parchment and unfurled it on the table. It was a poster, bearing the image of a middle-aged woman.

The charcoal sketch captured her delicate features, her soft, wavy hair tied in a simple knot, and the thin lines around her eyes.

"This is Mrs. Margaret," the guard continued, pointing at the image. "She's a widow who lived on the eastern street, not far from the city square. We've received reports that she went missing a week ago. Have you seen her, or do you know anything that could help our investigation?"

Unbeknownst to the guard, the painting caused a wave of shock to crash over Claude. 'Do I know her? Of course, I know her?! Isn't she the one who...?'

Swallowing his surprise, he took a deep breath, steadying his voice. "Yes... I know her. She comes to the library often. In fact, she returned a book a few days ago."

The guard raised an eyebrow, glancing at the image once more before meeting Claude's gaze. "A few days ago, you say? That's strange..." He shook his head as if clearing the confusion from his mind. "We'll need to confirm this information, but this might be a lead."

As the guard made a mental note, Jacques and the rest of the men gathered at the entrance, preparing to leave. Yet, before stepping out, Claude noticed something odd.

Jacques had paused, his gaze fixed on someone at the far end of the inn. Claude subtly turned in his seat to see who it was.

Jean.

The innkeeper's son stood by leaning on the rear wall, speaking quietly to his sister, Anne who could only gesture in response.

Jacques and Jean locked eyes for a brief moment, exchanging a nod that was barely perceptible.

Then, as quickly as it happened, Jacques turned away, leading his men out of the inn and back into the city streets.

The inn slowly returned to its usual noise—chatter, the clink of mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter. But Claude sat still, his mind whirling.

'Mrs. Margaret... missing?' He frowned, thinking back to the days before. 'But that doesn't make sense. If she went missing a week ago... who returned that book?'

His thoughts quickly honed in on the most peculiar detail: the book.

The Little Knight.

That was the last book Mrs Margaret had borrowed, a children's story with nothing overtly special about it. But now, with her disappearance, Claude couldn't shake the feeling that it was connected.

'There were others who borrowed that book, too,' Claude mused, his brow furrowing. 'If they're missing as well... then something is definitely wrong.'

As if things weren't strange enough, his mind returned to the brief exchange between Jacques and Jean. 'What was that about? Jacques barely knows Jean, and yet... that nod...?' He leaned back, crossing his arms. 'And then there's Jean himself...'

Claude glanced over at Jean, who was now busy cleaning up after some patrons. His eyes drifted to Anne, Jean's younger sister, playing quietly in the corner. She was about seven years old, but that detail only deepened Claude's suspicion.

'Anne is seven... but Mrs Claire's husband died over a decade ago. I don't remember hearing about her remarrying... so where did Anne come from?' The pieces weren't adding up. 'And why hasn't Jean married yet? With his stable income and the inn to inherit, he should be considered a good match in the eyes of many families in the city.'

The more Claude thought about it, the more suspicious Jean and his family seemed. Too many things weren't aligning, and now, with Mrs. Margaret's disappearance, Claude felt like he was stumbling into something far bigger than a mere missing person's case.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 'For now, I'll focus on the book. If the others who borrowed The Little Knight are also missing, then I'll know something's truly wrong.'

With that, Claude rose from his seat. Too many questions needed answers—and he intended to find them, one way or another.

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The next day, Claude found himself back at the library. This time, instead of researching Elysium in his free time, he began flicking through the library records, hoping to find any connection between Mrs. Margaret's disappearance and The Little Knight.

His fingers traced the entries in the old leather-bound ledger, the ink slightly faded from years of handling.

Library Borrowing Ledger

Year 4681 - 28th April

Francois D'Aubigny of Rue Saint-Étienne borrowed The Little Knight. Deposit of 2 copper coins paid. Book returned in good condition.

Year 4681 - 4th May

Marie Chastain of Rue des Tisserands borrowed The Little Knight. Deposit of 2 copper coins paid. Book returned with minor water damage.

Year 4681 - 13th May

Margaret Duval of Rue des Lys borrowed The Little Knight. Deposit of 2 copper coins paid. Book returned.

Claude's eyes fixed on the last entry: Mrs. Margaret Duval. The day she returned the book... had been the day before her disappearance.

He twirled the feathered quill in his fingers, lost in his thoughts.

Something wasn't right.

Pulling out a freshly printed newspaper from his bag, he unfolded it and glanced at the headline:

Terror Strikes Littorbourg as Two More Vanish!

Littorbourg faces yet another tragedy as two more citizens have disappeared under suspicious circumstances. The victims, Mr. Francois D'Aubigny, a respected historian, and Miss Marie Chastain, a talented tailor from Rue des Tisserands, have both been missing for over a fortnight. Sources confirm these mark the 12th and 13th disappearances this year, all of which remain unsolved.

Citizens are now raising concerns about the city's leadership, questioning when our governor will address the escalating crisis rather than indulge in his debauched gatherings. How many more lives must be lost before action is taken?

Claude pursed his lips as he read their names. Francois. Marie. Both of them had borrowed The Little Knight. Both were now gone.

He slumped back in his chair, the newspaper slipping from his fingers. So they've disappeared too… That book truly does seem to be at the heart of this issue…

His mind spun.

Why hadn't the city guard investigated the library?

He had given them all the information yesterday—surely, they should've sent someone by now.

Claude had even prepared himself to be questioned, perhaps even suspected of involvement. But no one had come. The library was eerily empty. Not even Mr. Pierre, the head librarian, was around.

Claude clenched his fists. Dammit! Why can't these people just do their jobs? I don't want to be dragged into this mess!

But deep down, he knew there was no avoiding it now. He couldn't just walk away. Not with the mounting evidence staring him in the face. And with the subspace anomaly, he had witnessed...

Heavens knew what could happen.

If he truly ignored what was happening here, for all he knew a tear in reality could open, allowing an armed crusade of whatever was in the depths of the subspace to cross over.

I just hope I'm wrong. Maybe this has nothing to do with the subspace… he thought wearily.

Standing up, he wandered through the rows of shelves, his fingers brushing against the spines of books. Eventually, his hand stopped on a familiar title: The Little Knight.

He pulled it from the shelf and sat down again, turning the brittle pages. The story was simple, an adventure following the journey of Tristan, a would-be knight, on his quest to defeat Morgana, an evil witch.

There was nothing unusual about it. But as he reached the climax of the story—Tristan's fateful duel with Morgana—something caught his eye.

A small piece of paper stuck between the pages.

Tilting his head, Claude carefully pulled it free. It was a note.

At first, the note seemed blank, yet as he moved his face closer to inspect it, faint symbols began to materialise on the sheet—dark, twisting shapes were soon sprawled throughout the note.

Then, without warning, a searing pain erupted in his head, like a hot spike driven through his skull. He gasped, dropping the book, his hand instinctively clutching the note tighter. His vision blurred, narrowing to a tunnel as the pain throbbed with each beat of his heart.

Whispers slithered into his thoughts. Not from around him, but from deep within—stained with venom.

"Serve him..."

"You are chosen..."

"Give in, and the pain will cease..."

The words were not his own, yet they wove through his mind like a poison, entwining themselves with his thoughts.

Yet, it wasn't over. The whispers only grew louder, echoing through his skull like the tolling of a bell.

"Obey..."

"He sees you..."

"You belong to him..."

Tears stung his eyes as he fought to stay upright. He could feel it. Something.. something was worming its way into his mind, trying to break him, trying to control him.

"He will grant you strength..."

"Do not resist..."

"Submit, and be free..."

Amidst the swirling chaos of his desperation, something clicked in Claude’s mind. With the last vestiges of his willpower, he plunged deep into the recesses of his mind.

As his awareness connected with the familiar tether of his mental energy, he felt a surge of strength returning to his body. His limbs, once sluggish, now responded to him again.

Gritting his teeth, Claude tore the note from his grasp and hurled it away. It fluttered to the ground, the eerie whispers fading as swiftly as they had come.

The pain dulled, but a dark, cold, haze clouded his mind.

Breathing hard, Claude clutched the shelf for support, his thoughts still clouded by what had just taken place. He stared at the note lying on the floor, seemingly harmless—but he knew now that it was anything but that.

"What... what have I gotten myself into...?"