Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 80: Trace That Bloodline

Ashes of burnt flesh and leaves floated high, drifted through the calming wind, and landed at the base of the only fruitful tree that hadn’t been incinerated by the gold beam of light.

Behind the tree, debris continuously fell from the top of the wine-colored proctor’s building, which was now scorched black, like cooling lava, and hissed on the ground.

Inside, all the portraits that had once lined the hallway were burnt beyond recognition, leaving the surfaces to flicker with sporadic, dying flames.

Down the hallway, behind the heavy door, the silver light flickered erratically; the screen glitched as sparks of electricity popped from the charred stumps of cables.

A gust of wind exploded in the room. As it died, Mr. Lee and Lieutenant Hayes appeared from nowhere, parts of their black robes burnt and crumbling to ash.

Despite the livid burns stripping his face, Lieutenant Hayes stood there smiling. He closed his eyes, inhaled sharply through his nose, then cracked them open as he exhaled.

A grim grin settled on his face as he tilted his head slightly toward Mr. Lee.

"WHO IS HIS FATHER?!" Hayes’s voice cracked and echoed loudly, so that the few screens still hanging haphazardly on the walls shivered, slid, and crashed onto the floor.

Pa! Pa! Pam!

Mr. Lee’s mouth moved before he could control it. "His father was the painter who vanished in the Granum Tower crash eight months ago."

His fingers shook as he swiped a mixture of ash and blood from his cheek, his eyes still fixed on Hayes’s burning gaze.

Hayes’s grin intensified as he shifted his gaze to the single screen still clinging to the console, while brushing his fingers across his blistered chin. "Do you know the location of their house?"

"Yes. Lieutenant Feng is currently there, keeping watch on the family."

"Good." Hayes shook his head slowly, the grim grin returning. "Conduct a thorough search. The father’s full name, date of birth, place of birth, parents, and his DNA. We need to trace that bloodline."

He tapped Mr. Lee’s shoulder twice, then turned and strode for the door without waiting for a response.

Mr. Lee turned slightly, his voice strained but clear. "I’ll compile all findings and send you the information immediately."

Hayes didn’t acknowledge him; he swung the door open, exited, and slammed it shut behind him. At that instant, the last standing screen gave a pathetic squeal and slid to the floor, its light dying.

Mr. Lee placed a hand over his sternum as a wet, bloody cough racked him. He closed his eyes, inhaled heavily, and then cracked them open.

With trembling fingers, he pulled a small, pill-shaped blue crystal from his inner pocket and crunched it between his teeth.

A menthol shock spread through his sinuses and down his throat, followed by a wave of cellular warmth.

The searing pain in his lungs dulled; the weeping burns on his hands knit themselves closed with a faint blue shimmer that became visible only for a second.

He walked out of the room, his steps echoing loudly in the hallway. He navigated through the half-collapsed lobby of the proctors’ building.

Once he reached the basement, he pulled out a BMW remote from his pocket and pressed on it.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A responsive beep erupted from a black sedan parked at a drunken angle near a fallen pillar. He walked to it, slid inside, and shut the door.

The moment the engine hummed to life, the memory assaulted him: the expanding wall of gold light, the silent erasure of matter, the look on Jade’s face a microsecond before he dissolved into glittering motes.

Mr. Lee slammed his forehead against the steering wheel, once, twice, using the physical shock to shatter the image.

He straightened up, brushed a hand over his face, and drove off. He slowed as he reached the perimeter of the field, rolled down the window, and then stared at the wasteland.

The once-green field was fused into strange formations, like a sea of black stone and smoke. He lowered his head, shook it slowly, then rolled up the window and accelerated, the tires kicking up a plume of grey dust.

As he passed the dormitories, he saw the few survivors through the ash-fogged air, pressed against windows, their faces blank with trauma, clothes grey and torn.

The main gate came into view as he continued forward, its grand arch now a twisted ruin of metal. The letters of ALCHEMANIA melted and dripped like wax down the stone pillars.

He drove through without a second glance. On the road, he picked up a small smart device from a drawer on the dashboard and dialed a number saved under the initials W.H.

Ting-ting.

Mr. Lee didn’t wait for a greeting as the line connected. "He’s the one we’ve been looking for all along."

On the other end, a profound silence stretched for several heartbeats. "How sure are you?"

"One hundred percent."

"Good. Then I will be waiting for your full report."

A thin smile touched Mr. Lee’s lips as he ended the call and tossed the device aside. The BMW surged forward, reaching the high-arching bridge in seconds, and descended onto the road that led into Dusthollow.

Discarded rubber, torn cloth, and crumpled newspapers spiraled in the wake of the car as he sped past an overflowing, rusted trash bin.

The tires rolled to a stop with a soft sigh of gravel, halting before a standalone, weathered building squeezed between two skeletal skyscrapers, their glassless windows gasping like empty eye sockets.

Mr. Lee sat for a moment, the engine idling as he inhaled, then exhaled sharply as if preparing to dive into deep water.

He killed the engine and stepped out, the door thudding shut in the eerie environment. He climbed the three chipped concrete steps and knocked on the scarred wooden door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door opened a few inches, revealing Feng’s vigilant face.

He bowed slightly in greeting, but his expression shifted the moment he raised his head, his eyes locking onto the burnt tips of Mr. Lee’s shirt and the faint, pink rawness of newly healed skin on his neck.