Among the elves, a House was like a clan, a group of different families under one last name. Anyone who could claim their ancestry to one of the great eight Houses of the southern kingdom was considered a Highborn and granted access to all their riches and privileges, including magic.

They were, in fact, the only ones who had access to it now. It used to be the entirety of their race, but after the war and the loss of the King, magic became a limited resource, argued to be too precious to squander with those “less deserving”. So, those at the top decided only the Houses would remain so, and everyone else was cut off from the great gift. 

House Thril, Mort’s former House, had been one of the richest and most respected even among the eight. It was the biggest one, too, counting over one hundred members in Santa Fae alone. Most Houses had their biggest branch here of all the elf cities, except for Sherry, whose house was now the smallest of them all, with her as the sole member anywhere.

A prominent House member had not died since the war, and to hear that the Head of one as esteemed as Thril had been killed in his own home was unheard of. The other Elf Lords would be in chaos once they heard the news; they would make demands for their safety, a nightmare that she knew awaited the Queen. That’s why Sherry was so puzzled as to why she wanted her to be the one to solve this. 

Although she had been a source of many headaches for the Queen, they were still on good terms. It was only because of that that the other High Borns limited themselves to giving her the cold shoulder instead of advocating for her removal. Sherry always figured the Queen, being the kind woman that she was, simply pitied her. The last member of her family after she had conscripted them herself to the great war. 

But at the end of the day, the Queen was still a politician, and she knew that assigning this to her would cause an uproar. The morbid outcast obsessed with death, carrying around her forbidden friend as a daily insult to all of them, in charge of protecting them? They’d riot. Well, perhaps she should just enjoy the amusement of seeing them do just that, and she would if it wasn't for the meeting she was about to have. To see the one High Born who had every right to hate her, and who would now have to depend on her for justice.  

“You do not have to go in,” said Sherry as they stood in front of the gates of the main residence of House Thril.

Mort looked at his former home wistfully through the iron bars; neither of them had been back here since Mort’s death. They couldn’t bear the memories, and neither were they welcomed. 

It was a vast estate outside the city limits in what was commonly known as Elfville, more like a resort than a proper house. It reminded Sherry of the big open Haciendas from her native land, but bigger and more luxurious. The place was made with dark wood and yellow stucco, which mixed nicely with the natural green of the trees around it. Most of the members lived here, including the victim’s son, who now inherited the title as the new head of House Thril; Mort’s former romantic partner, Val’Arian’Thril.

“Val is gonna hate seeing you more than he’s gonna be angry about seeing me,” said Mort dryly. 

“He has that right,” replied Sherry, equally low.

They both stepped through the gates and towards the front door, where Sherry promptly knocked. It didn’t take long for the Keeper of House to answer, the elf in charge of seeing to everything running smoothly within the building. She remembered him from when she was welcome, the only House whoever welcomed her, and he had been perhaps a bit stiff and reserved but kind…now he looked at her as he opened the door with the deepest contempt.

“Miss Rull…it has been a while,” said the Keeper, his voice cold. “I’m afraid, however, that Master Val still does not wish to see you.”

“I do not doubt it, but I am here by direct order of the Queen, so…no one gets what they want today.” She wasn’t sure if she was resentful of the treatment despite knowing she deserved it.

The Keeper sighed wearily, he knew better than to question orders from the top, and instead finally looked at Mort next to her. “Must… ‘it’ come in as well?”

Sherry’s eyes flared with anger and she took a step forward, getting in the Keeper’s face. She stared him down until she saw that same fear in his face that she did in the criminals she pursued. 

“Yes, ‘he’ must,” and her voice was like iron falling on metal.

She walked past him, with the meager satisfaction of having silenced him. Mort, ever the kinder of the two, patted the Keeper on the back as he went past him. “Don't take it too personally, Ror, she’s like that with everyone now.”

They walked through the main hall, and all the few happy memories Sherrybhad of her time flooded back painfully. The nights the two of them spent here, working late, with Val trying to play detective with them. Since her own house was empty, this one had become a haven for her thanks to them. She had spent more time here than anywhere else until she made the choice that changed all that.

Among the elves and all species, really…death was a sacred thing. Once the soul crossed over, it was meant to rest. The very idea of pulling one back and forcing it back into a broken body was…unnatural. No one until her great-grandfather had ever thought to even try. It cost them everything. They were exiled when humanity was only beginning to take over the world, and they remained hidden until they were grudgingly needed again.

When Mort died, Sherry just could not let go. To lose the only friend she’d ever had. The only one who had seen past centuries of hate against her and her family. Even when Val, who loved Mort as much, pleaded with her not to do it…she didn’t care. She was selfish, and now everyone had to see someone they couldn’t mourn every day. Everyone hated her because they claimed death followed her, and she had made that literal.

Sherry paused at the top of the main stairs to the second level as she stumbled upon the murder scene ahead, and she felt Mort gasp softly behind her at the sight. Var’Arian’Thril lay dead in the middle of the library, a bullet to the head as reported, but more notably, his right arm was missing, completely ripped out by force.

A Knight from the House, identified by his green cape, was talking to the one they came to see. It had been a few years, but like all Elves with access to magic, they never aged, and Val just looked just as Sherry remembered him. As regal-looking as his father, with a custom gold and black armor with very little practicality for battle and a matching black circlet around his forehead. His long raven hair was sleek and flowing as he turned to look at her, and whatever resentfulness Sherry felt melted away into shame.

“You dare come back into this house?” Asked Val, his voice steady but containing a cold fury.

Sherry had no heart to even look him in the eye and merely walked past him toward the corpse of his father. Val would have turned on her for the disrespect, but then he noticed Mort, who could only smile half-heartedly at him. “Hi, Val…it’s really good to see you.”

“…and you brought him along with you,” said Val, his voice barely concealing the pain he felt.

“I am sorry,” said Sherry, it was all she could offer.

“I take it this is official and you had no choice in the matter, or else you would never have come here like this. Her Majesty’s whims continue to be cruel to everyone when it comes to you, Sher,” he added with a small bitter laugh.

“Yes,” said Sherry.

“Damn you, you could have at least left him behind.”

“Val, I’m right here,” said Mort, but Val merely gritted his teeth as he turned his back on Mort, though Sherry could see the tears welling in his eyes as he did. 

“Just do what you have to and find who did this,” and he said no more, determined to look at anything in the room but them. 

Sherry could see Mort did his best not to look hurt by Val’s actions, clenching his fists and joining Sherry without another word as she stared down at the bloody mess before them. Taking her focus back to it, it was a nasty affair. 

“Did you find the arm?” Sherry asked the Royal Knight that had been overlooking the scene. His name was Ram’Daren’Thril, he had been on duty at the house when they found him.

“No trace whatsoever,” replied Ram formally. “And we searched everywhere. Whoever did this must have taken it for some sick reason.”

“And no one saw or heard anything?”

“No, his lordship liked to spend time alone here, often working late into the night. It was Master Val who found him this morning as you see him, so the time of death must have been roughly after midnight when everyone would have already gone to bed.”

“It is troubling to know someone could just walk into this house,” commented Sherry.

“They couldn’t have!” retired Ram angrily. “All the great houses have dozens of spells protecting them from intruders; anyone not from here couldn't simply walk in uninvited, you should know that, Rull.”

“I do, that is why it is troubling,” said Sherry patiently. “Someone walked past all the magical defenses without effect, moved around like they knew the place, found his lordship when and where they knew he’d be alone and vulnerable.”

Ram looked like he was going to say something else, but Sherry stopped him. “Have you or any other knights here performed a magical sweep or situational recreation spell?”

“I have a few of the other Thril Knights running a sweep right now through the entire place, but so far none. I was going to perform the latter myself, but then was informed to wait for you,” said Ram, not making it very subtle that he thought he should be in charge of the investigation. And by all rights, as an elder member of the house, he should be.

“Understood,” said Sherry, and she started concentrating. “Give me some space, please.” 

Sherry took a good look around the study, it was spacious enough but had only one entrance through the main door that led to the hall. No windows, or signs of forced entry anywhere. Nothing seemed missing or moved, so the target had indeed been Var. There was only one way to see what happened here; an old spell that was useful to get a rough idea of events that had transpired. She tapped into the magic with her consciousness and drew enough to cast it, waving her hands to release it as a blue wave of energy-like water slowly encompassed the entire room.

The energy was transparent and didn’t affect anyone or anything it touched, all it did was read the history of the space it covered. Depending on how much magic you used, you could go further back, but for the last twelve hours it didn’t take much, and it had become a common tool for all the Knights when investigating a case.

Unfortunately, the spell could not show the people in detail, just an echo of what had happened, mimicking their silhouettes made from the same blue energy, and how they had moved through the time in question. Sherry moved her hands to slowly rewind to late last night when Var had supposedly died, and sure enough, the outlines of two individuals began to form. 

They were both around the same height and build, hard to say the gender from that, but Sherry would guess both were male given the similarity since they already knew one had been Lord Var. The ears were equally long in both cases, so very likely the intruder was an elf, too. Orcs had them as well, but it would have been a stockier or bigger person.

“They’re just talking,” said Mort, looking at the two silhouettes, and indeed, for an intruder, it just seemed like two people who knew each other and were having a conversation.

“They knew each other,” said Sherry, letting the scene play on.

“You think it was someone from our own house who did this?” asked Ram, clearly appalled at the idea. Var was well-liked by his House, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have enemies.

“Not necessarily, let’s see what…oh,” she paused as one of the silhouettes suddenly grabbed the other by the neck and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. It seemed for a moment the man was choking him out but then, he grabbed the victim’s left arm with his own and tore it out completely in one move.

“Oh by the gods,” said Val in the corner, finally unable to look away.

They all looked horrified, as the intruder simply let the body drop, still alive. Var then crawled with his remaining arm, while the intruder reached inside his clothes to pull out something that resembled…a gun. After less than a minute, he fired it; one shot to the head ended the life of Var’Arian’Thril.

“ENOUGH!” shouted Val, and Sherry obliged him by snapping her fingers and dissolving the spell. The blue figures faded away and the room returned to normal.

“Val, the last thing I wish is to cause you more pain,” said Sherry gently. “But if I’m going to learn who did this…I need to ask your father.”

“How dare you even suggest that!” Shouted Val defiantly. “I should have stopped when you did that to Mort, but if you think I’ll just stand by while you do it to my father-!”

“It will only be for a few minutes to get the information,” said Sherry, cutting him off calmly. “I have her Majesty’s permission to proceed as I see fit.”

“I will not have you make another abomination in this house!”

Sherry swallowed her response, along with all the indignation she felt. She had hoped Val at least would come around and appreciate that she had brought Mort back, that they could still have him in their lives, but hearing his outrage just hurt more.

“…fine, I will do it at my place and have him delivered back to you tomorrow. Nice and dead how I found him,” she knew she shouldn’t have said that, but she couldn’t help the bitterness.

“You selfish, wretched…do you think it doesn't kill me to see Mort like this? He was my beloved Sher, do you think you’re the only one who would do the unspeakable to have him back?”

“Clearly,” said Sherry, and she knew she had gone too far.

She half expected Val to lose it and strike her at that moment, but instead, he spoke softly and devoid of emotion. “The dead are dead. We grieve them and move on. But you…you won’t even let me bury him.”

Sherry felt her voice break along with her heart, she did not know what to say, but Mort, unable to restrain himself any longer, moved in front of Var, forcing him to look at him. “That’s enough, Val. Sherry is not keeping me against my will. I told her I would stay to help her, you know how I died, what it did to her…so please don’t shut her out…even if you can’t bear to look at me.”

Val’s expression was one of such deep sorrow; Sherry knew he wanted to talk to him and embrace the man he loved, dead or not, and only tradition held him back, but as the new head of the House, that weight must have been heavy on him. “Please just go.”

Without another word, Sherry stood up and took the body in her arms. She walked past Val, both avoiding each other gaze and the tears they held back.