David J. Gailey Author

The corridor opened abruptly, and a long chamber waited beyond it. At the far end stood the second gate, smaller than the first, its polished black arch threaded with silver runes.

Five pale shapes stood in the threshold.

Mryn slowed.

Statues. Carved from smooth grey stone, standing in a shallow crescent facing the chamber.

Facing them.

The team advanced together, their footsteps small in the open space, and details emerged as the distance closed: the cut of a cloak, the angle of a shoulder, a familiar fall of hair. Then the Ravient hawk clasp caught the light.

Kel’s statue wore its cloak thrown back from one shoulder, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of a practice blade. Its grin was not Kel’s quick grin — the one that arrived before anything else could — but something calmer. Certain.

Dotte’s likeness balanced on one hand, legs split overhead in the frozen middle of a cartwheel, its face bright with effortless delight. Sera’s stood perfectly still, chin raised, composed and watchful; no tightness around the mouth, no strain in the shoulders.

Joric’s statue stood squarely on both legs.

Mryn saw Joric’s gaze fall there first.

His own likeness held the folio beneath one arm, shoulders straight, free hand extended toward the gate as though in invitation. Its face held no fear.

It was as if each statue had been corrected in some small yet profound way.

Without a word between them, the group scattered. Dotte circled hers twice before stopping in front of it. “Wow,” she said. “I look so — capable.”

Sera went still a few feet from hers. She did not circle it. She only looked.

Joric hung back at the edge of the group, eyeing her likeness up and down. Kel had already positioned himself beside his own, one hand on his hip, comparing and nodding his approval.

“At least one of us knows how to present himself.”

Mryn stood before his own likeness and said nothing. The stone had captured everything — the set of his eyes, the square of his jaw, even the strands torn loose from his queue and the worn corner of the folio under his arm. But the expression was not his. Mryn only pretended to know what he was doing, and the likeness held certainty without effort. Watchful. Calm. Without hesitation.

What would it be like to be so certain?

He reached toward its face.

Dotte drew a sharp breath.

Mryn looked up. Her likeness was moving.

The statue came down from its one-handed balance, legs falling forward until both feet found the floor. No grinding. No scrape of stone. It flowed from one pose into the next, as though stone offered no resistance.

The other statues followed. Kel’s lifted its hand from the hilt. Joric’s perfect knees softened. Sera’s chin dropped as her face turned. Mryn’s pulled the folio closer and let its extended hand fall.

Each took the stance of the person standing before it.

Mryn stared at himself. The statue stared back.

He shifted one foot. His likeness shifted with him.

Dotte raised a hand. Her statue raised one too.

Joric took her weight off her bad leg, and her likeness did the same. No wince. No hesitation.

For a moment, no one moved.

Ten figures in the chamber.

Five breathing.

Five still and waiting.