The First Inquisitor

The forest did not sleep.

It waited.

Rose stood at the edge of camp, her hair coiled like a serpent around her shadow, eyes fixed on the northern ridge where the air shimmered — not with heat, but with holy distortion.

They were coming.

Not an army.

Not yet.

But the vanguard.

The Inquisitors.

Kael joined her, his shadow-blade strapped to his back, his face tight with tension.

“They’re using Purification Lamps,” he said. “To mask their presence from spirits. The Forgotten won’t sense them until they’re too close.”

Rose didn’t look at him. “You know what they are.”

“I was one,” he said quietly. “Before I was broken. Before I was sent to kill you.”

She turned to him. “And now?”

He met her gaze. “Now I choose who I serve.”

Niam stirred behind them, wrapped in a cloak woven from black vines — a gift from the Forgotten. She rubbed her eyes, then froze.

“…I hear something,” she whispered.

Rose went still. “What?”

“A voice. Not out loud. In my head. Like… crying. But far away.”

Kael tensed. “That’s not possible. The Inquisitors wear Silence Mantles. They sever emotional resonance.”

Rose looked at Niam. “What is it saying?”

Niam closed her eyes, listening.

Then, softly:

“…I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to be loved…”

Rose’s breath caught.

That voice.

She knew it.

Not from this world.

From hers.

The Inquisitor arrived at dawn.

Not with an army.

Not with fire.

With silence.

He stepped through the trees like a ghost, clad in armor of bleached silver, his face hidden behind a mask of polished bone. No sigils. No banners. Just a single black flame etched into his chestplate — the mark of the Nameless Inquisitors, elite hunters who had erased their pasts to serve the Church.

He stopped ten paces from the camp.

No one moved.

Then, in a voice like cracked ice, he spoke:

“Rose Tanaka.”

Her name.

Spoken like a curse.

Kael stepped forward. “You have no right to say her name.”

The Inquisitor didn’t look at him. “You were once one of us, Kael Varn. You broke your vow. You carry a demon’s weapon. You walk with the corruption.”

“I carry my own choice,” Kael said.

The Inquisitor tilted his head. “Then stand aside. This ends now.”

Rose stepped forward.

Her hair rose like a storm.

“You knew me,” she said. “In my world.”

The Inquisitor went still.

“You were there,” she continued. “The day I died. I didn’t see you… but I felt you. A hand. A push. A prayer.”

No denial.

No movement.

Only silence.

Then — the mask lifted.

Beneath it was a face.

Young.
Pale.
Familiar.

Rose’s breath stopped.

It was her cousin.

Daisuke.

The one who used to sit with her when she cried.
Who said, “You’re too sensitive, Rose. You need to be stronger.”
Who stopped calling after she started wearing black.

And now, he stood before her — not as family.

As executioner.

“I didn’t want to,” he said, voice hollow. “But the Oracle said you were a vessel. That your sorrow could birth a demon that would devour the world. I was chosen to… redirect your fate.”

“You killed me,” Rose whispered.

“I saved you,” he said. “From a life of pain. And the world… from what you would become.”

Rose stared at him.

Not with rage.

With grief.

Because he wasn’t lying.

He believed it.

He thought he was doing the right thing.

Just like the Church.

Just like the world.

“You didn’t save me,” she said. “You buried me. And then you planted a monster in my place.”

Daisuke raised his hand.

A blade of pure light formed — a Psalm-Sword, forged from divine hymns.

“I will end this,” he said. “Not with hate. With mercy.”

Rose didn’t move.

But her hair did.

It lashed out — not at him.

At the ground.

A wave of shadow exploded outward, cracking the earth, sending roots and stone spiraling into the air.

Daisuke blocked with his sword.

The light shattered the shadow.

But not all of it.

One strand slipped past.

Wrapped around his wrist.

And pulled.

He gasped as memories flooded in — not his.

Hers.

The time he laughed when she cried at her father’s funeral.
The way he told her, “No one’s going to like you if you’re always sad.”
The moment he pushed her — not hard, but enough — into the path of the bus.

And then, worse:
The Church’s voice in his mind:

“You are not a murderer. You are a shepherd.”

He fell to his knees.

“No… I didn’t… I believed them…”

Rose stepped forward.

She didn’t raise a weapon.

She didn’t speak.

She only looked at him — the boy who once brought her soup when she was sick, who once said, “You’re weird, but you’re my cousin.”

And now?

Now he was a tool.

A believer.

A victim too.

Niam ran to her side. “Rose… don’t.”

Rose didn’t answer.

But her hair tightened.

Daisuke trembled. “Kill me. I deserve it.”

Rose closed her eyes.

And for the first time since she’d become the Silent One, she wept.

Not in silence.

Not in shadow.

In sound.

A low, broken cry that echoed through the trees.

And the earth answered.

The Forgotten emerged from the grove, silent, watching.

The wind stilled.

Even the sky darkened.

And when Rose opened her eyes, they were no longer storm-gray.

They were black.

Not evil.

Final.

“I won’t kill you,” she said.

Daisuke looked up.

“Because you’re not my enemy.”

He blinked. “Then… what am I?”

“You’re a warning,” she said. “Of what they do to the ones who believe in their light.”

She stepped back.

“Go. Tell the Church I remember.
Tell them the Forgotten walk.
Tell them the Silent One is no longer silent.
And if they send more…
I won’t spare them.”

Daisuke didn’t move.

Not out of defiance.

Out of shame.

Then, slowly, he lowered his sword.

The light died.

He turned.

And walked away — not with pride, but with the weight of truth.

Rose watched him go.

Then, quietly:

“I hope you find your way back.”

Niam took her hand. “You could’ve killed him.”

“I know,” Rose said. “But vengeance isn’t why I rose.”

“Then why?” Kael asked.

Rose looked at the horizon, where the first cracks of dawn bled through the trees.

“Because no one should have to die so someone else can feel like a hero.”

That night, Niam dreamed.

She stood in a city of glass and light — the Sanctum of the Eternal Dawn.
Rows of Nameless Inquisitors knelt in silence.
At the altar, the Oracle stood, her blind eyes turned toward the sky.

And from her lips, a single line:

“The Silent One has broken the First Seal.
Begin the Harvest of Sorrow.”

Niam woke screaming.

Rose was at her side in an instant.

“What did you see?” she asked.

Niam trembled. “They’re not just coming for you.”
“They’re coming for everyone who feels too much.”
“They’re going to collect us.”

Rose looked at Kael.

He nodded, grim. “The Harvest. A ritual to extract emotional excess. They’ve used it on ‘corrupted’ villages. The survivors… they don’t cry. They don’t feel. They just… exist.”

Rose stood.

Her hair rose with her.

And from the shadows, the Forgotten answered.

Not with words.

With presence.

She turned to them.

“We won’t run,” she said.
“We won’t hide.”
“If they want a war on sorrow…
Then we will show them
what it means
to be
unforgotten.”

And high above, in the clouds, thunder rolled — not from storm.

From awakening.