The archives of Nov Yanosk were a joint effort by the three Blessed branches, the Hunters and Military’s history nursed by the Saint’s church.

  Halfway up a spire, glass and iron intertwined into a half-cylinder that peered down on the haze below. A dozen levels spiraled upwards, each crammed with bookcases, maps and folders. Reliefs of the Saint lined every wall, a four winged figure obscured by feathers watching the cloaked figures that moved between the narrow corridors.

  In a corner sat a lone Hunter glancing to the sides.

  “Damn place stinks of incense,” Wretch muttered to himself and cracked open another tome. A table beside him lay covered in books and paperwork, standing as tall as he did.

  He drew his finger over the first page, vocalizing the letters printed on the paper.

  Employee register - Bureau of the Hunt, Year 589.

  What followed was columns of names and numbers, no descriptions, no faces.

  Useless. Without a name there’s nowhere to begin, he thought.

  A sigh escaped him and he closed the book with a snap. He could try and search for his mother, but the thought wrenched his gut. If she was still alive, she was lost somewhere deep in the Lows, and he’d sooner crawl through the sewers again than face her.

  He would need another avenue to search. Meet more hunters, ask questions.

  Wretch shook his head and glanced up as light footsteps approached.

  From between the bookcases came one of the clerks, robed fully in white from head to toe, face hidden behind a veil that clung to her fair features. The typical uniform of the Saint’s priesthood.

  The odor from the fabric was sharp to his nose, burned earth and prickly citrus.

  “Young Hunter,” She said with a slight bow. “The personnel records you requested. Details of Hunter missions between 589 and 590.”

  Wretch pinched his nose.

  “Thank you,” he said, “Is there any documentation of Hunters with rank and Blessings?”

  In the fading memory, his father had glowing eyes, that meant a continuous power. Likely of Fireling-rank or higher.

  If the clerk made any expression, it was hidden under the veil. But she arced her head upwards towards the heights of the Archives.

  “The Powers of the Saints Blessed are tightly guarded. More information can be found on the higher floors, but as an Ember, it's my regret to say that your rank is insufficient.”

  Wretch followed her gaze, iron stairs and walkways climbing upwards, all of it bathed in the morning light through the panoramic glass windows.

  Somewhere in here, the answer was hidden. He glanced back at the desk. His grimoire lay open, the first page, revealing a message in his father’s hand.

  Grow thy flame and meet me at the summit.

  What remains of you, I shall call kin.

  The Elevator rattled downwards, the jutting rooftops and walls of the Lows swiftly approaching through the stained yellow glass.

  “So where are we going again?” Elenya said while adjusting the bagged halberd hanging over her shoulder.

  “The ground level in the middle of the Spires,” Astrid replied and gave Edmund a look from under her black hat. “But the captain didn’t tell us why.”

  Edmund gave a smile that made wrinkles appear at the edges of his eyes.

  “I didn’t want to scare the twins,” He said, “but something crawled up a well last night. The bureau tasked us with investigating after the officers came up empty.”

  Wretch was adjusting a dark coat that was a size too large.

  “What kind of something?”

  With rhythmic thumping, gears braced and the elevator slowed, the window panes vibrated against the copper-filigree and gravity pulled at his stomach.

  “Remains to be seen, does it not?” Edmund replied amused.

  “We still get bottom of the barrel missions, don't we?” Elenya said with a sigh as the doors flew open with a thud, a trickle of steam leaking from beneath the platform.

  They took a carriage through the narrow streets, crammed in the canyon-like rifts between the Spires. The roads were surprisingly dark despite the time of day, and he understood why. From above, the Spires blocked the suns, leaving the streets lit with gas-lamps even at midday.

  These neighborhoods were technically in the Lows, but being inside the Inner Wall and so close to the Spires, they were a world apart from the slums. The houses were tall and thin, made of brick and stone with pointed roofs. No doubt housing the richest of the citizens outside of the looming spires.

  They arrived at a square, cast in perpetual shade and squeezed between a four-story pumpstation and an elevator. A band in gold and blue cordoned off the area.

  A woman with grey hair and an officer uniform stood under a lamppost, and waved as Edmund handed a few coins to the driver before stepping out.

  It was early but the market stalls were abandoned, and faces peeked out of shuttered windows from the surrounding houses.

  In the center of the square stood a stone well, guarded by three officers giving them quick glances.

  “The Richters I hope,” The silver-haired woman said with a polite nod. A metal pin in the likeness of jagged spires fixed to her blue and gold uniform.

  “Captain Edmund Richter,” he said, offering his hand. “At your service.”

  “Ivanka Petrowich, first captain of Mason-street station.” They shook hands with the creak of leather gloves.

  “A pleasure under different circumstances, brief us.” Edmund said, eyes wandering over the square from under his hat.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The officer nodded at the lack of delay and gestured towards the well.

  “At four am this morning, shouts woke the nearby residence, two junior officers stationed down the street heard the commotion.” Ivanka said as she gestured to a pool of dried blood by the well.

  “A creature, humanoid, had attacked a man lingering by the well,” She continued and gestured to a trail of dried red on the ground.

  “Victim?” Astrid asked, scribbling in her leather-bound notebook.

  “Deceased, a vagrant by the looks of it, must have snuck through the inner gate,” Ivanka said.

  “And the attacker?” Elenya asked while leaning on her sheathed halberd.

  “Humanoid, though it looked… well… old. Killed by the officers on sight. Its remains are at the station down the street, we believe it came from the well.”

  Wretch got on all four and sniffed at the tracks left on the dirty cobblestone. It had the iron-like scent of blood. But there was something else, a rich oily scent mixed in. One of the officers by the well tilted his head with furrowed brow at the sight of the Hunter with the clawed hand running his nose along the dirt. “Is he…”

  “Let him.” Edmund said with a tone that left no compromise.

  Wretch crawled on all fours, up to the well, the officers took a cautious step away from him as he heaved himself up over the lip of the stonework. Moving his nose to the sides like a bloodhound.

  Down into the dark led a set of thin metal bars acting as a ladder.

  “What do you make of it, kid?” Edmund asked.

  “She is right,” Wretch answered as he leaned down the well, his torso disappeared beyond the edge and his feet left the ground.

  His voice continued with a muffled echoing quality. “Something came up through here, stinking of oil, definitely.”

  Edmund nodded in approval. “Let’s inspect the bodies.”

  Elenya lifted Wretch straight up by the leg. He yelped as she hoisted him into the air. Carrying him past a trio of dumbfounded officers like a handbag of the variety that hissed and struggled.

  “Are all Hunters like that?” muttered an officer as they disappeared along the road.

  “Maybe they have to be,” the other replied. “Cause by the Saint I ain’t crawling down there.”

  Later, in a station down the street. The Richters and Officer Ivanka stood in a damp cellar. Two figures laid under stained sheets. The entire room had a strong, thick smell. Not quite a stench, but close.

  “The victim,” the officer said and removed the sheet, revealing a man on the cold metal table. He was thin, bruised and cut. Only dressed in torn rags. Deep cuts drew rifts in the blood-soaked skin, marred by scratches and bitemarks, missing several chunks of flesh.

  Edmund leaned closer and removed his hat, dragging a gloved finger along the exposed torso as Wretch peeked forward from behind Elenya with a tight grip over his nose.

  “Male, around twenty five, average height, blond hair,” Edmund said out loud as Astrid scribbled in her notebook.

  “Bitemarks, strong enough to pierce the skin,” he said with professional detachment. “Human teeth, not fangs.”

  Astrid nodded. “Some are fresh, others have coagulated and cracked open anew.”

  Elenya crossed her arms and fought a yawn. “A chase?”

  Edmund nodded and gripped the rigid head, bending the stiff neck to the side. “Perhaps.”

  “Likely cause of death, jugular wound above the left clavicle,” Edmund said and trailed his eyes over to the other figure laying still under a sheet. “And the perpetrator?”

  Ivanka hesitated, then pulled back the white cloth.

  A corpse, bordering skeletal, brown leathery skin laying slick over the bones, dry enough to flake by the joints. A series of jagged gashes broke the thick skin of the torso, the largest of which ran from the shoulder over the neck, severing the head from exposed sinew and mummified muscle. The eye sockets were hollow over a shriveled mouth, teeth and lips stained red with gore.

  Edmund leaned over the body.

  “Female, human at some point, stitched vertically from the navel to the sternum, blood under fingernails and around the mouth…”

  Wretch watching the body from behind Elenya’s broad shoulders, felt a tinge down his back. His new sensitive ears sifted through the sensations.

  From the severed head, came a low sound. Like a rough rock dragged against stone.

  What?

  Something twitched, a miniscule spasm at the edge of the bloodied lips.

  “It's moving,” He said as loudly as he dared.

  The rest looked at him, Edmunds gloved hand hovering over the body.

  A hand shot upwards. Grasping around Edmund’s wrist.

  The severed head gasped, dragging air through dried vocal cords and a split windpipe, still it spoke.

  “Descend,”

  A rough and inhuman voice growing in strength.

  “DESCEND.”

  “DESCEND!”

  Elenya’s red tinted fist slammed against the head, bursting it like a clay pot.

  Black fluids and bone splattering across the cellar wall. Edmund ripped his hand free as the body convulsed violently, rattling against the metal, reaching out towards them before growing limp and falling off the table with a thud.

  The room grew silent.

  Edmund calmly placed his hat back on his head.

  “Capable of movement even while decapitated,” he said as Astrid wrote something down in her notepad. “You did right to call us here.”

  Ivanka was on the floor, back pressed against the wall. Her skin whiter than the sheets covering the corpses.

  “Have you picked up the smell, kid?” Edmund said and put a hand on Wretch’s shoulder.

  He leaned over to sniff at what remained of the head.

  “Yeah, I got it, captain,” he said with a tense smile.

  “Good, seems our culprit is urging us to the well, let's oblige,” Edmund said as he walked up the stairs, the other hunters right behind.

  The ghostly white officer sat alone in the cellar, staring at the headless body while the sound of Hunter boots grew distant.

  She jolted alert with a gasp. Rushing up the stairs.

  Edmund pulled out his breastplate from his suitcase, fastening it across his suit and tie with a click.

  “You okay, boss?” A junior officer asked as Ivanka lit a cigarette with a trembling hand. “Haven't seen you smoke a cigarette in years.”

  “Shut it,” Ivanka muttered, taking a deep drag beside the well.

  Elenya adjusted the straps on her armored skirt, thick cloth woven around iron plates that reached her ankles.

  Even Astrid had put on a simple breastplate over her black dress. Wretch disappeared down the well first, a lantern in hand. Elenya followed, then Astrid.

  Before Edmund descended down the lip of the well, he paused, eyes staying on the three officers watching them with open mouths.

  “Guard this exit,” he said. "If we are not back by noon tomorrow, contact the bureau, they’ll want to seal this thing shut."

  With those words, the captain disappeared into the dark after his hunters, the officers staring down like the Spires above.