Siblings with No Life Get Summoned to Another World as Detectives

"Wake up! You'll be late for school!" shouted a gentle, yet slightly worried motherly voice, carrying both warmth and urgency.

The sound cut through the soft silence of the early morning, accompanied by the faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen and the smell of freshly made breakfast drifting through the air.

Little Elmyra pushed away her blanket with a small yawn, rubbing her sleepy eyes before slipping out of bed. The wooden floor felt cool beneath her bare feet as she padded across the room and made her way to the bathroom. She stood on her tiptoes in front of the sink, brushing her teeth with quick little strokes, the minty foam making her cheeks puff up like a squirrel.

After rinsing, she hurried back to her room where her neatly folded uniform was waiting on the chair. She slipped into the crisp white shirt, smoothed down the pleated skirt, and fastened the ribbon around her collar with careful fingers. Once she was dressed, she gave herself a tiny spin in front of the mirror, as if to check if everything looked right, then headed downstairs.

Her parents were already waiting for her in the kitchen, sitting at the small wooden table that seemed to glow in the morning sunlight. Her mother looked up first, her smile gentle and full of energy.

"Good morning!" she said brightly, her voice carrying the kind of warmth that instantly made the room feel livelier.

"Morning!" Elmyra shouted cheerfully as she pulled out a chair and plopped down, her legs swinging a little above the floor.

Her father studied her with a calm, almost curious look, before taking a slow sip of tea.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, his voice deep but gentle, carrying that quiet steadiness she always found reassuring.

"Great!" Elmyra answered happily, her voice muffled as she poked at the shimmering mana eggs on her plate with her fork. Each bite glowed faintly, soft sparks flickering out as if tiny fireflies had been trapped inside. For elves, such food was ordinary, but to outsiders it would've seemed like something out of a dream — their diets mostly revolving around pure mana, drawn from special kind of flower.

Her father leaned forward, setting his teacup down with a faint clink. His brows furrowed as he glanced at the clock on the wall, the calm in his voice giving way to a touch of urgency.

"Come on, come on… school's about to start…" he urged, waving his hand as if that might somehow make her eat faster.

Her mother chuckled softly from the stove, though even she cast a glance toward the door, aware of how little time was left.

Elmyra puffed up her cheeks like a chipmunk as she stuffed every last glowing mana egg into her mouth in one go. Her fork clattered onto the plate, abandoned in her reckless breakfast assault. With both hands holding her overstuffed cheeks, she scrambled to her feet, snatched her backpack from the chair, and bolted toward the front door.

"I'm goin'…!" she mumbled through the mountain of food, words barely understandable as little sparks of mana fizzled from the corners of her mouth.

Her father sighed, shaking his head. "One day you're going to choke yourself before you even make it to school."

Her mother just giggled, waving from the kitchen doorway. "Good luck! And don't trip this time!"

Elmyra, cheeks still a little puffed from her hasty breakfast, dashed down the street, her backpack bouncing wildly with each step. She skidded to a stop in front of her friend's house, knocking on the door in a hurry until her friend stumbled out, still half-asleep and buttoning their uniform crookedly.

"Finally!" Elmyra huffed, grabbing their arm before they could even protest. Together they rushed down the cobblestone path toward school, the morning sun painting the roofs gold as the village slowly woke up around them.

The day unfolded just like any other: long hours of studying that made Elmyra's eyes glaze over, scribbling down notes until her fingers cramped, whispering and giggling with classmates when the teacher wasn't looking, and, of course, sneaking in moments to play silly games that had nothing to do with the lesson.

After the last school bell rang Elmyra grabbed her friend's hand and together they bolted out of the classroom. The afternoon sun was warm on their faces, the air buzzing with the chatter of students finally free from lessons. Elmyra's heart raced — not from the running, but from the excitement bubbling inside her. She couldn't wait to tell her parents everything: how she'd aced her writing practice, the funny thing her teacher had said, and the little game she and her friend had invented during lunch.

When they reached her friend's house, she stopped just long enough to wave goodbye, practically bouncing in place. "See you tomorrow!" she chirped before taking off again. This time she ran even faster, her small feet tapping against the cobblestone road as her backpack thumped against her back. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, her thoughts already racing ahead to her parents' smiles as she burst through the door with all her stories.

She opened the door with a bright smile, her voice ringing through the quiet house. "Mom! Dad! I'm home!" she shouted, expecting the familiar warmth of her parents' reply.

But the house was unusually dark. From the gloom, a figure emerged. Tall, but slow, it glided forward with an eerie calm. The first thought that crossed Elmyra's mind was that her father was standing before her. "Dad!" she cried, but the figure didn't respond. Not a word, not a twitch — it just moved closer, the faint rustle of its clothes the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

Elmyra's small chest rose and fell with excitement rather than fear. She was certain it was her father, though something about the way it moved — so stiff, so deliberate — made her pause for the briefest moment. Still, she stepped forward, eager to reach him, unaware of the strange chill creeping through the room.

The figure stopped in front of her and slowly placed its hands on her small shoulders. "Hello, sweetheart," it said, the voice rough. "You're pretty short for a ten-year-old," it added with a strange, almost mocking amusement.

Elmyra froze. The sound — so familiar, yet twisted — shattered the certainty she had felt moments ago. This wasn't her father. Her chest tightened, and a cold tremor ran down her spine. "Who… who are you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, but steady enough to cut through the silence.

The figure didn't answer immediately. It tilted its head, as if studying her, and the dim light from the doorway caught the glint of something unnatural in its eyes.

"A friend of your father's…" the voice rasped.

Elmyra's heart thumped against her chest. She forced herself to keep her voice steady. "And… where is he?"

The figure slowly raised a hand and pointed toward the dark entrance of another room. "Over there…" it said, the faintest hint of a mocking lilt twisting the words. A shiver ran down her spine as the figure's grin — subtle, but chilling — crept across its face.

The air in the house felt heavier now, oppressive, and for the first time, Elmyra felt a flicker of doubt that this was truly the safe, familiar world she had left only hours ago.

Elmyra's small feet pounded against the floor as she dashed toward the room the figure had indicated. With trembling hands, she raised a faint glow of magic, illuminating the space with a soft, eerie light.

Her breath caught in her throat. In the middle of the room lay her father, sprawled unnaturally on the floor. Blood pooled around him, dark and thick, soaking the hem of his clothes. Stab wounds crisscrossed his body, and his chest barely moved — if at all. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint, sinister shuffle of the figure behind her.

For a moment, Elmyra's mind refused to accept it. This couldn't be real. Her father couldn't… couldn't be like this. Her stomach churned, and her hands shook as the soft magical light flickered over the horrifying scene.

Elmyra dropped to her knees beside her father, her small hands trembling as she gripped his shoulders. Her eyes, wide and shining with panic, darted over every wound. The fear coiled tightly in her chest, growing heavier with every passing second.

"Dad! Dad! Wake up!" she screamed, her voice cracking, echoing off the dark walls. She shook him violently, almost frantic, willing him to move, to respond, to somehow tell her this was just a nightmare. Her tears fell freely, splattering onto his bloodied clothes, but still, he didn't stir.

Her chest heaved as the cold realization sank deeper — her father wasn't coming back. And the figure behind her, silent and watching, made the room feel smaller, darker, and suffocating, as if it was feeding on her terror.

The figure crouched beside her, the dim light catching the gleam of the knife in his hand. His voice was low, rough, and dripping with menace. "Your dad owed me quite a bit of money…" he said, dragging out each word like a threat. Then, with a deliberate motion, he pointed toward the couch in the same room. "And your mom… she resisted."

Elmyra's stomach twisted, a cold, sharp spike of dread shooting through her. She turned slowly, her magic-light trembling in her hands, and froze. Her mother lay sprawled across the white carpet, motionless, blood pooling around her in stark contrast to the pale fabric. The red seemed to glow under the faint light.

Elmyra stumbled forward, her small hands shaking as she reached for her mother. Tears blurred her vision, running freely down her cheeks. "Mom! Mom!" she cried, her voice breaking, each word thick with panic and disbelief. She pressed her trembling hands against her mother's cold, lifeless form, willing her to stir, to open her eyes, anything — but nothing happened.

Then her gaze snapped back toward the figure, still looming behind her, calm and menacing, the knife still catching the faint light.

"You know… I didn't do this…" the figure said, his voice eerily soft, yet each word carried an unnerving weight. He stepped closer, the shadows stretching around him like dark fingers. "It's not my fault this happened…"

Elmyra's eyes were wide, filled with tears that streaked down her cheeks, her small body trembling. Through her ragged sobs, she barely managed to whisper, her voice cracking under the weight of fear and grief. "Wh-who… who did this?"

The figure stepped closer and then — with a slow, deliberate motion — he extended the knife toward her. His cold fingers pressed it into her trembling hands.

"You… you're the one to blame!" he hissed, each word striking her like a whip. "If you hadn't gone to school, this never would have happened…"

Elmyra froze, the knife heavy and alien in her small hands. Her chest tightened, panic mixing with confusion. Her mind screamed against the accusation, but the figure's calm, sinister stance made it hard to think.

Elmyra's gaze fell to the knife in her hands, the steel slick with her parents' blood. Her small fingers tightened around it, trembling, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt around her. Slowly, her eyes lifted, meeting the figure's dark, unwavering stare.

"Me…? I'm the one to blame?" she whispered, disbelief and terror lacing every syllable.

"Yes…" the figure replied, calm and unyielding, as if stating an irrefutable fact.

Her eyes widened, brimming with tears that she could no longer hold back. "I-I… I'm guilty? I… I killed them…!" The words tore from her throat. Her heart pounded violently, each beat hammering the weight of the accusation deeper into her chest.

"Do you admit you're guilty?" the figure asked, his voice low and cold.

Elmyra's small body shook violently. Her hands clenched around the knife, knuckles white, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm guilty!" she cried.

Then, almost as if the dam inside her had broken, she screamed, "I KILLED THEM!" Her voice bounced off the walls, sharp and desperate, filled with a mixture of terror, grief, and the crushing weight of blame.

"Good… I will be going now…" the figure said, his voice eerily calm as he disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Elmyra alone with the aftermath of horror.

She collapsed onto the floor beside her parents' bodies, sobs wracking her tiny frame. Her tears fell freely, streaming down her cheeks and soaking into the carpet, mixing with the dark stains of blood. She cried and cried, each wail a jagged echo of grief, fear, and guilt. Hours seemed to stretch endlessly as she clung to nothing but her own sorrow.

After what felt like an eternity, her sobs slowed, and exhaustion took over. Her body trembled, her throat ached, and the bitter taste of tears filled her mouth. She couldn't take it anymore — the grief, the fear, the suffocating sense of blame.

Elmyra's small hands trembled violently as she raised the knife to her own neck, her breaths shaky and uneven. "I'm sorry… Mom, Dad…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. Her eyes were fixed on their lifeless bodies, unable to tear away from the horrifying scene she believed she had caused.

She swallowed hard, the metallic taste of fear and tears mingling in her mouth, and pressed the knife against her throat. Her whole body quaked with despair, every instinct screaming that there was no way out.

Then, just as the weight of hopelessness threatened to crush her entirely, she heard a voice — soft, pure, and almost angelic, reverberating from all directions, filling the dark, blood-stained room.

"Do not do it, my child…" the voice said, echoing with a warmth.

Her hands froze, the knife wobbling slightly as her wide, tear-filled eyes searched the room. The voice… it was unlike anything she had ever heard before — soothing, yet commanding, cutting through the terror and pulling at something deep inside her.

Elmyra's tear-streaked eyes darted around the dark room, but there was nothing there — no figure, no light, no sign of where the voice could be coming from. Her small body trembled as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. "Wh-who are you?" she whispered, her voice wavering between fear and curiosity.

A soft, resonant chuckle filled the air, surrounding her from every direction. "Oh… I am the Creator… Or as you call me, Nytherra… And I need you…" the voice said, both ethereal and commanding.

"Me?" Elmyra asked, her voice barely more than a squeak, confusion and disbelief etched across her young face. Her hands still clutched the knife loosely at her side, though her attention had shifted completely to this impossible presence.

The room felt alive now, pulsing with an unseen energy, and though she couldn't see anything, Elmyra could feel the weight of the Creator's gaze, as if it was probing her very soul.

From the shadowed ceiling above, a black, ethereal hand slowly descended. "Take my hand, child… Come with me, and I will grant you power!" the voice echoed, silky and irresistible.

Elmyra froze for a moment, her small body tense, eyes wide as she stared at the unnatural hand. Her mind screamed for caution, but something — curiosity, fear, or perhaps a desperate need for escape — compelled her forward.

With trembling fingers, she reached out and grabbed the hand. Instantly, a cold, intoxicating energy surged through her, wrapping around her. The ground beneath her feet seemed to dissolve, the room stretching and warping in impossible ways.

And then, with a single pull, the hand drew her upward. The last thing she saw was the lifeless bodies of her parents below before the darkness swallowed her completely. Together, she and the black hand vanished, leaving the house empty and silent, as if she had never been there at all.

⬛ ⬛ ⬛

"I suppose… this is what I deserve…" thought Elmyra before the enormous black hand crushed her.