The Moonlit Festival had always been a spectacle—an opulent blur of paper lanterns, silk banners, and incense smoke drifting through the narrow alleys of the imperial capital. From the towering eaves of the palace to the smallest tea house, everything shimmered under the full moon's gaze. But this year, something felt different. Heavier.
Rin Soryu stood at the edge of the crowded promenade, watching the slow procession of nobles gliding past in their embroidered robes. Her plain gray cloak made her invisible among the brilliance. That was the way she liked it. People made too much noise. Plants made none.
She had come here for one reason only—to collect a rare moon-bloom herb that only opened during this festival. It wasn't that she cared about the celebration itself. Her world was one of tinctures and tinctures alone, where the right mixture could save a life—or end one.
But just as she crouched near a shadowed fountain to snip the flower's stem, a palace guard approached her. He wasn't panicked, but there was tension in his step—like a string pulled taut.
"You're Rin Soryu?" he asked, voice clipped.
She rose, blinking. "I am. Who's asking?"
"You're summoned by the palace. An urgent matter." He handed her a scroll, sealed with crimson wax. "A nobleman was found dead. You're to examine the body. They said you're the best apothecary in the eastern district."
Rin stared at the seal, heart pounding with reluctant interest. The palace didn't summon just anyone. And they certainly didn't call upon a woman like her—low-ranked, with no family name worth remembering.
Still… a corpse that needed her?
"I'll come," she said simply.
The body was kept in a ceremonial chamber deep within the southern wing of the palace. As Rin stepped through the heavy wooden doors, the smell of jasmine tried—but failed—to mask the underlying scent of death. The chamber was lit with soft oil lamps, casting long shadows across the stone floor.
The nobleman lay on a platform of silk and cedar. His face was unnervingly peaceful, lips slightly parted as if whispering a final secret. He had been important, clearly—judging by the layers of embroidered robes and the ornate hairpin still tucked behind his ear.
Rin moved closer, her sharp eyes scanning every inch. The cause of death wasn't immediately clear—no wounds, no bruises, no sign of sickness. But something was undeniably off.
She placed her fingertips lightly against his throat.
Warm.
Her brow furrowed. The body was warm—too warm. And yet the man's skin was pale, lifeless. His pupils were dilated. He was undoubtedly dead. But the warmth suggested… either he had died mere minutes ago—or something else was preserving the heat.
She pulled back the sleeve of his robe to check for bruising.
That's when she saw it.
An alchemical mark, inked just above the wrist. Faint, but deliberate—like it had been branded beneath the skin with precision. It shimmered slightly under the lamplight, and though she'd never seen this exact sigil before, she recognized the structure.
It wasn't a symbol of healing.
It was a binding mark.
Rin swallowed, heart thudding. This was no natural death.
The soft scrape of boots behind her made her turn sharply.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and composed, his black coat embroidered with the imperial crest. His crimson eyes, sharp and narrow, met hers without a hint of warmth.
"Rin Soryu?" he asked. His voice was smooth, low, but carried an edge that could cut through steel.
"Yes," she replied carefully.
"I am Kael Renjou, Investigator of the Imperial Bureau. You're the apothecary they summoned?"
"I am," she said again, straighter now. "The body is—"
"I'll ask the questions." He stepped closer, examining her with the scrutiny of someone used to catching liars. "You arrived minutes ago. Alone?"
"Yes."
"And you touched the body?"
"I was asked to examine it," she said, calm but firm.
He said nothing, just moved past her and knelt beside the corpse. After a moment, he touched the noble's neck and paused.
"You felt it too," she said softly. "He's warm."
Kael didn't respond. He was looking at the mark now, expression unreadable.
"Do you recognize that sigil?" she asked.
"Do you?"
"I… no. But it's alchemical. Possibly experimental."
Kael rose slowly and fixed his eyes on her again. "So you do know alchemy."
"Every apothecary knows a little," she replied. "But not like this. This is something else."
He didn't seem convinced. "You're not a licensed court physician. What made you worthy of this summons?"
"Ask the palace," she said. "I didn't volunteer."
A pause stretched between them, filled only by the crackle of the oil lamps.
Then Kael turned, walking toward the exit. "Don't leave the palace without permission. I'll be back."
"I'm not under arrest," she snapped.
"No. Not yet."
And then he was gone.
Rin looked back at the nobleman, her mind racing. That mark wasn't just unusual—it was dangerous. And if Kael was here, it meant the Empire knew it too.
But what worried her most wasn't the symbol.
It was the warmth. The impossible, lingering warmth of a body that refused to go cold.
As she stepped back into the hall, she realized she hadn't even asked the nobleman's name.
But something in her gut told her…
She would never forget it.
Not after tonight.
Not after this.