The Chief stood in the doorway for a long moment, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the discovery. His hand lingered on the frame, the wood groaning under his tightened grip.
Finally, he let out a deep breath and turned his gaze toward Edward.
"I will bring soldiers to deal with the scene," he said. His voice was rough, the calm authority from earlier cracked by grief. He glanced once more at Ormund’s body, then back at Edward, and gave a grim nod. "I will return shortly."
With that, he stepped out into the night, his boots thudding against the wooden porch before fading into the distance. The sound of his departure left behind a silence so complete that it pressed against Edward’s ears.
Edward remained where he was for a while, staring at the open doorway through which the Chief had vanished. Then, without a word, he turned back into the house.
The stench of blood clung to the air. It had already soaked into the floorboards, sinking into the cracks as if determined to scar the house forever. Edward’s eyes swept across the crimson patterns again, his mind retracing each spray, each line, and each arc with years of experience.
He moved silently, almost reverently, as though walking among the memories of the blood itself. His steps took him past the overturned chair, the streaks along the wall, the smears left where Ormund had fallen. He crouched near one dark patch, his expression unreadable.
The story was unchanged. The wound was caused by a blade. The attacker used their right arm for the swings. Everything he had already concluded, laid bare like a truth etched into stone. But this time, the silence pressed harder against him.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. For a moment, he thought it was his imagination. Then he noticed it again.
A droplet of blood at the very edge of the threshold, trembling faintly as though caught by a draft. It slid slowly down the wood, and in that tiny, ordinary motion, Edward felt something stir inside him.
It was too familiar. Too close to how the orphan whose body he now possessed had died.
He turned on his heel and, without another glance at the body, he left the house.
The night air struck him cool and sharp, carrying with it the faint hum of insects and the rustle of distant leaves. He walked quickly, no destination formed in his mind at first—only the pull of memory and instinct. His feet carried him away from the house, away from the village, down the narrow dirt paths that wove between scattered fields.
The moon was high now, casting a pale silver light across the land. The quiet stretched endlessly, broken only by Edward’s measured steps.
Something moved behind him.
He stopped instantly, his head tilting just slightly. A faint rustle—grass shifting where it should not have, too heavy to be mere wind. His hand twitched toward his side, where no weapon waited. But the sound faded, leaving only stillness again.
Edward’s jaw tightened. He did not turn back. Instead, he kept walking, his pace unbroken, as though daring whatever shadow followed to reveal itself.
The path ahead narrowed, trees creeping in from either side until the fields were gone. He knew this place. Every step sharpened the ache in his chest. Every step pulled him closer to where he first came into this world.
And then he reached it.
The clearing was small, bordered by dark trees. In the center stood nothing remarkable, just a scatter of rocks and dirt, with some hints of long dried blood.
This is where Edward was murdered.
He moved slowly toward a small boulder at the edge of the clearing and lowered himself onto it. His hands rested on his knees, his posture heavy with a stillness that belonged to the grave. For a long time, he simply sat there.
The night pressed close around him. The moonlight painted the ground in a pale, silver glow. The trees swayed gently, casting shadows that looked like the darkness was trying to reach him.
His thoughts circled, but not around Ormund’s death, but around the person behind it. He was certain who. The only question that remained was why.
Then, a sudden step cracked the silence around him.
A single footfall behind him, soft but sharp enough to snap a branch beneath its weight. The sound rang through the clearing like a bell, as if announcing someone’s arrival.
Edward didn’t move or turn.
Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment. A faint sigh escaped him.
And then he spoke.
"Good to see you again, Selene."