Charles sat in the great hall of the temple, his expression solemn as he gazed at the carved wheel symbol of the faith. A single candle glowed faintly, casting shadows across the cold marble floor. He heard footsteps approaching. Someone settled onto the pew beside him.
Elias Harper, the forensic doctor, turned and spoke. "You wanted to ask me something?"
"I have two questions," Charles said, his eyes still fixed on the sacred wheel in deep thought. "First… I have a friend who had an accident and lost all his memories. He can't recall anything from his past. Is there a way to help him?"
Elias frowned slightly, leaned back, and let out a quiet sigh. "We call it amnesia. It can result from a brain injury or a chemical imbalance. It's not extremely common, but not so rare either."
He continued, "In many cases, memories gradually return on their own with proper treatment, because the human body has an incredible capacity to heal. But if the condition is severe or neglected for too long, it can become permanent."
Charles turned to meet Elias's gaze, a flicker of worry in his brown eyes. "Is there any cure that can restore his memories completely?"
Elias shook his head, sympathy clear on his face. "I'm afraid amnesia is more complicated than people realize. The typical approach is memory therapy—stimulating the brain with various triggers in the hope of gradually drawing out the lost memories."
He paused, then added more gravely, "But the most crucial factor lies with the patient himself. He needs the will to fight, a strong reason to recover, and plenty of encouragement from those around him. Emotional support is at least as important as physical treatment. Love and understanding from loved ones can make a world of difference."
Charles nodded slowly. "What if he has some terrible event in his past he'd rather not remember? You think he might choose to keep it buried?"
Elias looked at him, a gentle smile touching his lips. "That's an interesting question. Pain and memory often go hand in hand. Running from the past might seem like an easy way out, but everything in our history—good and bad—shapes who we are right now."
He sighed, sadness briefly clouding his eyes. "We can't change the past. All we can do is learn from it and move on. Whether your friend ends up remembering or forgetting, what truly matters is that you stand by him and give him your support. That alone can help tremendously."
Charles returned a faint smile, grateful for Elias's words. He thanked him softly, then fell silent, contemplating everything.
Elias waited patiently, sensing his explanation might have stirred complicated feelings. He watched the candle flame dance under the drifting night air.
He didn't say anything new, Charles thought. But he confirmed what most doctors would say. He exhaled and moved on to his second inquiry.
"When you performed the autopsy on Thomas Wright, you mentioned bruises that looked like he'd been beaten. Might that have been his actual cause of death rather than Ergot poisoning?"
Elias shook his head. "No. Those bruises did occur before he died—and some might have appeared shortly after—but Ergot poisoning was unquestionably the cause. Comparing him to the other corpse found in the temple, Thomas had a shockingly high level of the toxin in his system. For his age and body mass, he'd consumed a lethal dose."
"Edmund told me Thomas often borrowed money and never repaid it. Maybe someone beat him over his debts," Charles suggested.
Before Elias could respond, the temple door burst open with a sharp creak. A city guard rushed in, face pale.
"Doctor! Something terrible has happened. Someone else in the village is dead!"
That declaration instantly spurred both Charles and Elias to their feet. Hearts pounding, they raced out of the temple with the guard, heads buzzing with a thousand questions.
The rain had stopped not long before, but the air was still damp and the ground muddy. A crowd had gathered near a handsome two-story house—once the home of the late village headman. Guards struggled to keep onlookers away from the scene.
Charles and Elias headed upstairs to a bedroom, where they found the lifeless body of Mary Thorn—the late headman's wife from the previous year, and a woman of renown for her beauty. That beauty, however, was nowhere to be seen now.
Elias moved closer, examining her with grim focus. Her body was cold and motionless. She wore nightclothes and lay on her bed with pallid skin, bloody discharge from her nose, blistered lesions on her arms and legs, and severe muscle contractions that left her limbs contorted—much like Thomas Wright's corpse, save that Mary had not been devoured by wolves.
"This body is highly abnormal," Elias muttered.
"What do you mean?" Charles asked.
Elias rose to face him. "The Ergot toxin in her system is abnormally high, causing immediate death. Wait—I need to take her body to the temple. I want to test something."
Following his orders, the guards carefully transported Mary's remains by carriage under the apprehensive gaze of the villagers. Suddenly, a well-dressed young man—Reginald Vineyard—pushed through the onlookers. He sobbed uncontrollably, trying to reach Mary's body, but the city guard restrained him.
Charles turned to a nearby soldier. "Who is that?"
"That's Reginald Vineyard. He's the wealthiest landowner here—biggest vineyard in the village—and he was Mary's new fiancé."
Charles noted the soldier's disapproving look. "It caused an uproar when she got engaged to him so soon after her former husband's death. Many people disapproved."
Charles returned his attention to Mary's lifeless form. This case grew more perplexing by the minute.
They brought Mary's corpse to the temple so Elias could perform a thorough autopsy. This time, Charles waited outside, giving the doctor space to work. Hours later, Elias emerged, clutching several pages of notes.
"Well?" Charles asked, practically leaping to his feet.
With a weary sigh, Elias handed over his scrawled notes. "It's exactly what I suspected. The toxin level is unnaturally high. I re-examined Thomas Wright as well and found similar concentrations. There are bruises on Mary's body, too."
"How high are we talking?" Charles pressed.
Elias pursed his lips. "To put it plainly, if a single loaf of bread had the usual Ergot contamination we find here and there, Thomas and Mary would each have had to eat twenty of those loaves to accumulate as much poison as we've detected. It's that extreme."
Charles's jaw dropped, eyes wide. "That's absurd. Nobody could eat that many loaves in one sitting without noticing something was off. Even more so since no one else in the village is showing similar symptoms…"
He trailed off, a new realization dawning.
"Precisely!" Charles struck one palm against the back of his other hand. "There's no way they ingested this accidentally through normal food. But what if the Ergot was introduced in a more direct manner—maybe injected or forcibly mixed? Then it wouldn't need to be so large a volume."
Elias's eyes flashed as the puzzle pieces snapped into place. "Yes! If someone extracted a concentrated form of the toxin from the fungus and mixed it into the victim's food or drink, it could mask the color or odor. A much smaller quantity would kill."
"That's exactly the suspicion," Charles agreed. "To be that potent, someone had to deliberately refine the poison. They wouldn't have reached such lethal concentrations otherwise."
Elias grew grim. "So we may be dealing with a murderer who uses Ergot as a weapon."
Charles clenched his fists, his voice trembling with determination. "We need to find them before more people die."
They exchanged glances, both aware this was only the beginning of a dark and twisted case. They would have to pool their skills and unravel every secret if they hoped to bring the killer to justice.
Before proceeding, Charles requested more information about Mary Thorn's death for further analysis.
Mary's body, as he summarized, indicated that she died around midnight in her own upstairs bedroom. The doors and windows were locked from the inside, and there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle. Yet there were bruises on her arms and torso.
Thomas Wright, on the other hand, had likely died one or two days before being discovered in the forest. His body was covered in bruises. Some had formed before death, but others after. Charles reflected on it all.
It proved a trying day for him. He knew what he needed to do:
Review and re-check any forensic evidence—although Elias had already done a meticulous job.
Carefully search the crime scenes and surrounding areas while interviewing villagers, acquaintances, and local officials, including the priest.
Piece together the timeline from all available witness statements and evidence to form a coherent picture.
Charles spent the rest of the day conducting interviews and investigations all around the village. He questioned Edmund, various suspicious locals, and even the authorities and Priest Gerard. He meticulously gathered every scrap of information.
He returned to the forest with armed guards, searching for clues where they had found Thomas's body. The ground was still muddy, but the corpse was, of course, gone.
Night fell. Sitting alone in his cramped lodgings, Charles read and re-read his notes, a small candle flickering orange and sending wispy smoke into the still air. His own shadow stretched across the wall behind him, swaying gently with the breeze from the window. Taking up a quill pen borrowed from Edmund, he began organizing all the evidence, summarizing his thoughts.
Finally, he arranged the details methodically, laying out a clear timeline of events.