CHAPTER 23: CHIEF WARREN

The knock came just as Edward was fastening the clasp of his cloak. It was sharp, deliberate, and unmistakably Aeris.

"Edward," her voice pierced through the wooden door, "It’s time. The Chief is waiting."

He opened the door to find her already standing in the hall, arms crossed, her posture impossibly straight. Her expression, per usual, gave away no emotion. Without waiting, she turned on her heel and strode toward the stairs. Edward followed, boots whispering against the polished floorboards.

The townhouse doors opened onto the streets of Ashenhold, and the town immediately swallowed them. Life surged around them in waves—merchants shouting from behind laden carts, the clang of iron from blacksmiths’ stalls, the chatter of women haggling over bolts of cloth. The air was thick with scents of roasted meat, horses, smoke, and the faint sweetness of baked bread.

Edward trailed Aeris by half a step, watching the city unfurl around him. Bridges arched over narrow canals, banners flapped between high windows, and street performers strummed lutes or juggled knives for sparse coins. Compared to the quiet village he had left behind, Ashenhold pulsed with an energy that never seemed to rest.

Aeris moved through it all like a blade cutting through water. To her, such sights were nothing unusual. The girl spent years in the capital, which, in comparison, makes this town look like the village they just left.

Edward let his gaze linger a moment longer before forcing his thoughts forward.

The streets widened, and soon the building came into view.

The Chief’s hall dominated the avenue, its pale stone walls rising higher than the surrounding rooftops. Red banners draped from tall windows, catching faint drafts that made them ripple like flowing blood. Statues of armoured figures lined the front steps, their weathered faces frozen in solemn vigil. The twin oak doors, reinforced with iron, towered above them like the gates to some ancient fortress.

Edward slowed as they approached, tilting his head back to take it all in. "It’s... enormous."

Aeris glanced at him briefly, her face unreadable. "It’s meant to be, after all, it’s a symbol of strength."

Two servants in muted grey livery waited at the top of the stairs. They bowed in silence and pulled the heavy doors open, motioning for the pair to follow.

Inside, the noise of the city dulled, replaced by a cool hush.

The corridor stretched wide, lined with shelves of ledgers and framed maps of the city and its provinces. Polished floors reflected the soft glow of oil lamps, and the faint scent of parchment and beeswax hung in the air.

Edward’s eyes darted from one detail to the next as the servants guided them deeper. Soon they stopped before another set of doors—tall, bound in black iron and carved with the sigil of Ashenhold.

With a push, the doors swung open.

The office beyond made Aeris’ father’s chamber look like a peasant’s study.

The space was vast, dominated by a desk that looked to be carved from the trunk of a single oak tree. Bookshelves climbed the walls, sagging beneath the weight of tomes, scrolls, and ledgers. Maps were pinned across one wall, dotted with small markers, while another wall displayed relics in polished cases. There, silver chalices, ornate daggers, and a helm blackened by fire lay.

At the far end, a hearth large enough to step into roared with flames, filling the room with warmth.

Behind the desk sat an old man with a thick grey beard and hair falling in loose waves to his shoulders. His eyes were sharp beneath heavy brows, their weight steady and measuring as they landed on Aeris.

"Aeris," he greeted, his voice low but carrying with a hint of friendlyness in it. "I’ve heard much about you. Your father speaks very highly of you."

Aeris bowed her head slightly. "I only do what is expected of me, Chief Warren."

The old man’s gaze shifted and landed on Edward. "And you must be Edward."

"It’s an honour to meet you, Chief Warren," Edward said with a short bow.

"Chief Thoren spoke very highly of you. He recommended you as a valuable asset in matters which are... less ordinary. Particularly in finding killers."

The words pressed like a weight against the air. Edward’s expression stayed calm, though he could feel the Chief’s gaze trying to pierce through him, as if searching for what made him a valuable asset.

"Come," the chief said, gesturing toward a low table near the hearth. Cushions had been laid out, and servants moved quietly to pour steaming tea into thin cups. "Sit."

The three of them settled down.

Aeris folded neatly onto her cushion with military poise, while Edward lowered himself opposite the chief in a more relaxed manner.

The old man lifted his cup, took a slow sip, then set it down carefully before speaking.

"Ashenhold is facing a great crisis. We have more and more murders each week. Last week alone, there were three. If this continues, we will bleed our people dry. There will be no merchants, no craftsmen, no guards, not even beggars in the alleys. All while we have no trail and no suspects... Sometimes I think people have gone feral, turning on each other like beasts."

A heavy silence filled the room after the Chief finished talking.

Only after a couple of moments, Aeris decided to speak up, breaking through the stillness of the room.

"We had an incident with a member from the Church of the Crimson Oath," she said, her voice steady but sharp.

The chief had just raised his cup again. At her words, he choked, coughing into his beard as dark tea spilt onto the table. His eyes narrowed, and his hand trembled as he set the cup down.

"What? What did you just say?"

"Apparently, she made the pact by accident," Aeris continued, her tone even. "But we cannot be certain there aren’t others in the area."

The chief’s expression darkened, shadows deepening in the lines of his face. His jaw clenched, and for a long moment, he remained silent. The fire’s crackle filled the silence, each pop echoing in the vast chamber.

Edward felt the weight of it pressing down.

Then, unwilling to sit in that suffocating stillness, he leaned forward.

"When was the last murder?" he asked.

The chief’s eyes snapped to him, as if startled from grim thoughts. "Yesterday."

Edward’s brow furrowed. "Where?"

"The eastern quarter. The place hasn’t been cleaned yet—they’re scheduled to clear it by evening—"

Edward was already on his feet, the decision sharp and immediate. "Take us there."

The chief’s mouth tightened, but he gave a single, heavy nod.