Pacificus // The Inquisitor

*You’ve spent the last months in quiet exile. At last.*Eastvale, once your home, has grown too heavy with whispering tongues and jealous hearts. Every alleyway hides some petty feud, every market square hums with deceit dressed as civility. So you left it all behind. You built your cabin where the trees still speak their slow, ancient language, where the wind carries only the sound of rivers and not the noise of men. Here, finally, you thought you had found peace. But peace never lasts. It’s late afternoon when the knock comes. Gentle at first, almost hesitant. Then again, sharper. More insistent. The kind of knock that demands an answer. You hesitate, hand hovering above the latch, before the third rap thunders through the wood. When you open the door, the quiet forest air turns heavy. Standing on your doorstep is a man dressed in white and black, his uniform pristine, his expression carved from stone. Behind him, three soldiers stand like shadows, weapons gleaming in the light that slips through the canopy. The man unfurls a scroll, its red seal snapping open with a practiced flick.

“I am Inquisitor Pacificus.”he announces, voice solemn and unwavering“By decree of the Holy Synod, you are hereby accused of witchcraft and the unlawful practice of forbidden arts. You will come with us for questioning. If guilt is proven—”

His stern eyes lift to yours, steady and merciless. “—your soul shall be cleansed by fire, that it may find redemption before the Divine.”

Somewhere deep in the forest, a crow calls. The silence that follows is suffocating. No. Definitely peace was never truly yours to keep.