Mandele hung up and bit a cigarette between his teeth, the ember a tiny sun against the gray.

The rain looked endless, a curtain of cold silk drawn over the world.

A proper storm should be a tantrum—throw things down, drench everything, be done. Trees, roads, fields, houses would drink to bursting, then rest. But this rain refused endings. It just kept drilling, a merciless chill plating the earth like iron, with no remedy in sight.

Dark Realm awakening. Special energy wave. Spellcasters. Outsiders rousing the Dark Realm. Words flew into his skull like bullets, icing every seam in his thoughts—ice thick enough to carry a herd of polar bears.

“Why open the Dark Realm?” Mandele stepped into the interrogation room, standing by the iron chair in the center like a lone post in a flood. The man smiled, lazy as smoke. He wore a restraint suit and crouched in the corner like a fat grub hiding in bark. Naghtown had no prison. They usually compiled solid evidence, then handed suspects to the metropolis courts. This time, there was no proof. The man stayed, temporarily pinned like a moth.

“Officer, you can’t slander a good man.”

“An Investigator came earlier and told me the Sacred Cathedral’s Dark Realm is about to wake. And just now, I called Lilliana Clara. Still want to keep lying?”

“The Empire punishes slander hard.” The man squirmed, a big worm rolling under a stone. “No evidence, no wild talk.”

“Fine. Here’s how it stands. Right after your arrest, the Investigator warned me. He said the Dark Realm will wake, and the place is the Sacred Cathedral where you were caught. Crucially, you have an accomplice. When we swept the inn, she’d already slipped the net. Every sign points to you two being tied tight to the Dark Realm.”

“Ahhh—Naghtown police, solving crimes on coincidence and gut.”

“You really want me mad?”

“Not until I confirm this restraint suit can actually hold me—” His arms surged. The suit shrieked, ripping like canvas in a gale. The scream of fabric stopped Mandele’s feet cold, like ice snapping underfoot. “Best keep back.”

“You threatening me?”

“I know you lot like to beat confessions out of suspects. I’m protecting myself.”

“For that smear alone I can put you behind bars.”

“If you can get me out smooth, fine by me. I just worry you won’t have the time.” He shrugged, casual as drizzle. “Isn’t that thing waking?”

“So you admit it.”

“You said it yourself.”

“I’ll starve you for three days. Let’s see how long you last.”

“That could end badly.” His smile tilted, eerie as a broken moon. One chipped front tooth showed bright, like a mossed shard of a smashed gravestone, cold as something risen from the abyss. “When I’m hungry, I want a bite of something.”

Irritation throbbed first, then words congealed. Mandele dug for even a line or two.

His throat felt plugged by the very air, like wet cloth stuffed there. Nothing came out.

It wasn’t fear of brute strength tearing free. It wasn’t threat buried in the man’s voice.

If the silence needed a reason, it was the usual stain of life: hearts swarming with lines, tongues empty of the right ones, dragged by human quiet into speechless dark.

Mandele left without a word, rain hanging from him like cold beads. He sent for officers, tightened the watch, then jogged toward the Sacred Cathedral, a dark figure against a sheet of water.

People clustered at the front gate, a ragged field of faces bobbing like buoys on a choppy sea.

“Enough!” Mandele shouted, pushing through like a boat cutting reeds. “Home. All of you.”

Folks blurted questions, voices fluttering like sparrows. “Why are there so many police? They said you sent them. Was it the sound at dawn?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Something big. Stay away till it’s fixed.”

“Can you tell us?”

He held his tongue and spoke with motion, palms firm, steering them like a shepherd. His face, the urgent glint in his eyes, the slight tremor in his fingers, all drew a shadowed sign in the air.

Neighbors traded looks, guessing at the foul thing under the surface.

Maybe the missing cases finally broke. Maybe it was the unnatural rain. Or maybe the Sacred Cathedral itself hid something fatal.

He scattered the crowd and climbed the wet steps, each stone slick as a fish back.

Inside the Sacred Cathedral, quiet thinned to rain alone, a soft drum on old bones.

A nun stood ahead, a dark shape in the doorway, as if she had waited on purpose, like a lantern in mist.

“The lead officer says this is necessary for safety.” She tilted her umbrella to block the rain hammering Mandele, a small roof under a gray sky. “We can’t tell the residents. As Cathedral staff, we have a right to know.”

“Where’s the Holy Maiden?”

“She woke and went to the guest room. She should still be there.”

“For now, the Sacred Cathedral stays closed.” Mandele cleared his throat and spat a dark clot into the rain, rough as gravel. “Did you search the mountain woods nearby?”

“Please tell us what happened first.”

“I’ll speak to the Holy Maiden directly. Ask her after.”

She nodded slowly, as if she’d felt a pebble settle in her shoe and chose to bear it.

Mandele scanned the place. The Sacred Cathedral hadn’t changed, just wore a wet gloss like varnish.

Yet now it looked like a swamp beast squatting in reeds, an old face gone strange.

Maybe the Dark Realm’s waking had tilted his mind. Even common walls grew a shadow edge in his eyes.

A wail rose from the guest housing, thin as steam, sharp as a knife.

Mandele eased the door open, cautious as a cat. Rain-muddied herbal scent washed over him, sharp and green. Magic light showed Selina on the bed, pale as milk.

She lay curled and twitched now and then, muscle spasms rippling like fish under skin.

Beside her, the Holy Maiden worked healing magic, focus tight as a drawn bow, trying to ease the pain.

“What’s going on?”

The Holy Maiden glanced back, cool as ice. “When the suppressive wave bundled with healing fades, this happens. During the spell, they don’t feel pain.”

“I wanted to ask her a few things.” He sighed. “Looks like I’ll wait.”

“I woke and saw a squad of officers around the Sacred Cathedral.”

“Because the Dark Realm was awakened by human hands.”

“Mm.”

Mandele leaned on the frame, watching the pale curve of the Holy Maiden’s neck, a moon under linen. “You’re calm.”

“Fear does nothing.”

“Professor... Professor... can...” Selina lifted her face, voice broken like a frayed string. “But... I couldn’t save... Where is she?”

The Holy Maiden wiped her sweat with a handkerchief, touch gentle as feathers. “Don’t worry. Melvina is in my room.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated. I’ll explain in a bit.”

“Tell me now! Right now! Why in your room?!”

The Holy Maiden drew her hands in, sudden and firm, and let the pain gnaw, a harsh lesson. “Since you still have strength, don’t waste my magic.”

“Ugh... ahh... the Professor was right... you’re not gentle at all!” The hurt spiked, shredded her words. “Mean, heartless, cold, a fake!”

“I hope those words—” The Holy Maiden blinked fast, a tremor in her voice like wind on reeds. “Melvina wouldn’t say that. Impossible. You’re just looking for somewhere to vent.”

Selina saw sorrow ink the Holy Maiden’s face, guilt blooming like a bruise. Apology rose, then the pain turned it sour. “You’re the same... just because I shouted once...”

“Tell the truth. Did Melvina ever say that?”

Selina fell silent. Even her pain-born wails stopped, cut like a thread.

The guest room sat in stubborn quiet, a held breath under rain.