When Old Neil stepped out of the Blackthorn Security Company, the crimson moon had already climbed above the spire of Saint Selena Cathedral in the North Borough.
The public carriage stop near Zouteland Street stood deserted. At this hour, there clearly would not be another carriage.
After a moment's hesitation, he decided to walk for a while. If he was lucky enough to find a hired carriage still operating, or happened to catch a night carriage at the next stop, he could ride home from there.
The autumn night wind swept in from the outskirts of Tingen, carrying the scent of dry grass and soil. It slipped through the gaps in his coat and brushed cold against his skin.
Old Neil tightened his coat around himself and headed home along streets where the lights grew increasingly sparse, his steps heavy with exhaustion.
Lately, the Nighthawks' paperwork had piled up like a mountain. The investigation into the Antigonus Family Notebook had uncovered far too many details that needed to be filed and reported.
Worse still, ever since Kenley had chosen to become a Sleepless and Viola had joined the Hoynoor Machinery Company at the beginning of the month, the Nighthawks had been severely short of clerical staff.
Unfortunately, most clerical staff were transferred directly from the Church. Recruiting and screening replacements was anything but easy.
Although Dunn had already submitted a special request to have two police officers from Tingen City who had encountered supernatural incidents transferred over to help with the paperwork, that too required a lengthy process and an assessment. It would take at least a month or two to get an answer.
Tingen had been plagued by trouble lately. For three days running, poor Rozanne had been so exhausted that she had fallen asleep right on her desk.
Old Neil could not bear to watch, so he had volunteered to draft most of the case-closing reports.
In the stillness of the late night, he did not see a single carriage along the way.
Walking alone through the empty streets against the cold wind, he could not help letting out a loud sneeze.
Decades had passed. Now old and frail, nearing retirement, his weatherworn body was no longer as robust as it had once been.
But... soon. Soon.
Old Neil's cloudy eyes, tinged with dark red, blinked faintly. Deep within them lay an almost obsessive longing and hope.
After he rounded the last corner, the gas streetlamps on either side dwindled away entirely, marking his arrival in Tingen's northern outskirts.
He followed the path a little farther, and not far ahead, the outline of his detached house and its garden emerged from the darkness.
Suddenly, Old Neil slowed his steps.
The night wind carried over the scent of the golden mint growing in the garden-crisp, faintly bitter, mingled with the dampness of the soil.
That familiar scent struck him once again, carrying his thoughts back to many years ago.
In a lush botanical garden in Backlund, a girl in a pale green dress had crouched beside a flower bed and turned to ask him, "This herb is called golden mint. Have you ever smelled it?"
Back then, Old Neil had still been called Neil. He was merely a young man who had only recently joined the Nighthawks and knew little about mysticism.
He had volunteered to go to Backlund and spent several years teaching at a free school. On a day off, he had met her in the garden.
"It smells like mint, but there's a sweetness to it, like the heart of a flower."
She plucked a leaf and held it out for him to see. "My grandmother says golden mint soothes the mind. Put it under your pillow, and you won't have nightmares."
For some inexplicable reason, he took it. His fingertips brushed hers, and they both flinched back at the same time.
"My name is Celeste Deray. What's yours?"
"Lemaitre..." He nearly gave his lengthy surname, then changed his answer at the last moment. "Everyone calls me Neil."
"Neil?" She blinked. "I like that name. Mm... it sounds brave."
The sunlight that afternoon had been soft, falling on the tips of her hair like a thin coating of honey.
Later, Shaliste came to Tingen, and they met many times. Near the university, at church, in the library, on benches beside the river.
She loved music and playing the piano.
Although she had no piano at home, she would always go to the church on weekends to borrow its old piano and play a few wandering melodies.
She said that once she had a house of her own, the first thing she would do was buy a piano, paint it a deep walnut color, and put it in the brightest spot in the house.
Later, they became engaged and prepared to settle down in Tingen. Shaliste fell in love with this house on the outskirts at first sight. She said it was quiet here, with room to grow flowers, and that golden mint and roses could be planted together.
She also pointed to the then-empty corner of the living room and said, "A piano could go here. When we get one, I want to play for you."
But the piano never came.
That winter, she fell gravely ill, and her condition deteriorated rapidly. Old Neil did everything he could, but in the end, he could not keep her with him.
On the day she passed away, snow fell steadily outside. Old Neil sat beside her bed, holding her hand as it slowly grew cold.
He did not cry. But from then on, he never again went near that piano in the church.
A sudden gust of night wind swept through, rustling and curling the golden mint leaves like someone's soft, fragmented whispers.
Old Neil blinked sharply and found himself standing at his front door. At some point, he had taken out his key, yet he had still not inserted it into the lock.
His fingertips were icy.
How long had I been lost in thought? A minute? Or longer?
Old Neil drew a deep breath and pushed those images back into the depths of his memory. This had been happening more and more lately.
He thought he was simply too tired. Lack of sleep had scattered his concentration. That was perfectly reasonable.
He shook his head and was about to insert the key and enter when his hand stopped.
A warm orange-red glow shone through the living room window. Steady and even, it looked as though someone had just carefully added coal and tended the fire to perfection.
His pupils contracted slightly, and his fingers silently moved away from the key. There were no unusual fluctuations of spirituality inside, no lingering traces of a Beyonder's presence. The entire house was as quiet as an empty coffin.
But the fire was burning.
Old Neil knew better than anyone that Tingen had been far from peaceful lately.
At a time like this, an unidentified intruder had slipped silently into his home and was sitting there, warming themselves by his fireplace-
He had no intention of rushing in.
"Old Neil."
Without warning, a voice came from inside the house, passing through the thick wooden front door, across the empty entrance hall, and through the living room door.
The voice was not loud, yet it pierced every barrier with perfect clarity, carrying a certainty so gentle it felt unreal.
"Won't you come in and sit down?"
Old Neil's heart gave a violent thump.
Under such bizarre circumstances, walking in rashly would be no different from seeking his own death.
But he could not simply turn and flee
either. Since the other person could call him by name, they had clearly come prepared.
Old Neil had no idea what he possessed that might interest a mysterious Beyonder. Nor did he know whether the intruder had already discovered the blood he kept hidden deep in a secret chamber, preserved through ritual magic.
But things had come to this, and he had no time to hesitate. He had to make a disturbance here immediately and alert the Church.
He was already prepared to sacrifice himself. It was just... he could not quite accept it, not with that wish still unfulfilled...
"Life Alchemy."
Inside the house, the voice sounded again, as unhurried as before. Its tone was calm, as though certain he would be unable to move a single step.
Old Neil froze completely where he stood.