Outside the police headquarters in the bustling market district, Lumian, donning the enigmatic Prying Glasses, climbed aboard the carriage adorned with painted irises.
Two ordinary constables, clad in black uniforms, occupied the seats opposite, their feet resting beside three somber urns. The names of the departed flickered in fluorescent ink.
Taking his place across from them before the carriage slowly steered forward, Lumian caught the older constable's inquisitive gaze.
"What brings you here? What's your connection to these departed souls?"
He remembered that two of the deceased had neither kin nor friends, and the remaining one had distant relatives who trembled at the mere mention of the name Flameng. Not only were they unwilling to come and collect the ashes and relics, but they also reluctantly admitted that they were related by blood or marriage.
Lumian responded calmly.
"I'm their landlord, in a manner of speaking."
