Chapter 40: The Temple

Chapter 40: The Temple
I woke before dawn the next day.

The dust on that bed had kept me from sleeping soundly, and by the early hours I'd already woken once, sneezed several times, then forced myself back to sleep. When I woke the second time, the sky outside the window was still deep blue—about an hour before sunrise.

I didn't let myself lie back down.

I sat on the edge of the bed and replayed the conversation I'd overheard in the tavern the night before.

That statue responded to "true questions." "Questions that truly matter to the person asking."

I listed out in my mind all the questions I currently needed answers to. Whether I was the real princess. Whether the prophecy's content was true. What Osric had written in that letter he gave me. What Father's look had meant. Who the elf was in the meditation water, the one who carried away the infant. How Cade was doing now, and Rendell.

I knew I was being foolish—how could a mere statue possibly know everything? And it could only answer yes or no questions.

I made myself look at the lightening sky outside and said the question that mattered most in my mind.

"Is the prophecy about the Rift true?"

That question encompassed all my efforts on this journey. If the prophecy was true, then everything I'd done had direction. If the prophecy was false, then every judgment I'd made since leaving Aldenmere would need to be reconsidered.

That was the answer I needed most right now.

After daybreak, I went downstairs.

The old woman with the monocle was already behind the counter. She saw me come down but didn't look up. I walked to the counter.

"I need to ask about something."

"Ask."

"That statue."

She stopped flipping through the ledger.

She looked up at me. Her gaze lingered on my face for about three seconds.

"This city is full of statues. Which one?" she asked.

"The one in the temple."

She looked at me again. She didn't answer immediately. She closed the ledger and placed it under the counter.

"Entering the temple requires a priest's approval," she said. "The priests don't approve outsiders."

"I know."

"You know and you still ask."

"I wanted to confirm."

She studied my face for a few more seconds.

"Girl," she said, "I've run this inn for over thirty years. I've seen at least eighty people, if not a hundred, come asking about that statue. Not one of them got in."

"I didn't say I wanted to get in," I said. "I'm just asking."

She looked at me.

"Don't listen to what those people outside say. You won't get in."

She pulled the ledger back out from under the counter and reopened it.

I left the inn and headed toward the city center. Possible or not, I still needed to familiarize myself with this city first.

Aethon's main street extended from the city gate all the way to the central square. I relaxed my posture, affecting the manner of a tourist as I strolled along the main street. The weather was good today—little wind, clouds rolling across the sky, occasionally revealing the sun.

The locals all wore long robes made of fur, their builds slender, their skin pale. They were well-fed clergy and scholars, naturally occupying a higher status. The rest were traveling merchants and hired hunters, along with a few temporary laborers from outside.

The closer I got to the city center, the more statues there were. The inscriptions beneath them indicated they were all non-human. Every elf statue I passed had a different pose—some standing, some sitting, some with one hand raised, some with both hands folded across their chests. It was as if they'd been placed here to recreate how they'd lived when they still walked the land.

Only one thing was strange—all these statues' faces were covered with veils, or simply had no heads at all.

I walked for about half an hour and reached the central square.

The square was circular.

The statue in the center of the square was the largest in the entire city. Its body was made of translucent light gray stone, with a golden laurel wreath on its head. But my purpose wasn't with it—it was with the temple on the north side of the square.

That temple looked completely different from all the other buildings in Aethon. The other buildings were carved from single blocks of stone, with colonnades and vaulted roofs. The temple had a different structure. It rose from the ground in stacked layers, each layer smaller than the one below, forming a circular structure. The bottom layer's diameter was roughly equivalent to an ordinary square. The second layer was smaller than the first. The third smaller than the second. Seven layers in total.

The topmost layer was a circular spire. The spire pointed toward the sky.

Even after the passage of time, the entire temple's color was still luminously white. Just standing near the temple, one could already feel a sense of purification.

I didn't approach too closely, instead finding a step at the edge of the square to sit on.

I began observing, until the sun set.

I changed positions several times around the square, viewing the temple from different angles. I made myself notice every detail.

During the day, the priests at the entrance changed shifts twice. The first shift ran from dawn to noon. Two priests stood on either side of the entrance, one taller, one shorter. They didn't speak to each other. Their gazes constantly swept the square, passing over everyone who approached. From the implements in their hands, they were capable of magic.

The changing of shifts was brief—they only exchanged simple glances before focusing on their work.

In the afternoon, I observed something.

No one in the entire square approached the temple too closely. Except for the occasional few who had been granted permission to enter.

Those permitted were all Aethon locals, wearing Aethon's style of dark, multi-layered fabric. Before entering the temple, they would first speak a few words to the priests at the door—words I couldn't hear, but from their bearing, it was some kind of formal request. After each request, the priests would pause for a few seconds, then either let them enter or refuse. Those who were refused didn't insist. They would nod once and turn to leave.

It seemed the innkeeper hadn't lied to me. Even if I stared a hole through the temple, I wouldn't get in.

I could only continue waiting, looking for another way.

At sunset, the second shift of priests left.

But no third shift came to replace them.

Instead, an old priest came out.

Just one person.

When he emerged from inside the temple, I noticed his gait was much slower than the earlier priests'. His left leg had a slight limp. The robe he wore was the same style as the daytime priests', but his had several patched spots.

After he stopped at the temple entrance, he didn't stand upright like the daytime priests. He leaned against a stone pillar beside the door. His gaze fell on the square without scrutiny or vigilance. Then, when the old priest thought no one was watching him, he sat down beside the pillar he'd been leaning on.

He pulled a small flask from his robe pocket and took a drink.

He was drinking alcohol.

Whether the clergy here were allowed to do this or not, I'd found my opportunity.

I returned to the inn without drawing attention. The old woman was still behind the counter, reading her ledger.

"I want to ask about something else."

She looked up at me.

"Ask."

"The temple."

She looked at me with deep suspicion, clearly wondering why I was so obsessed with these things.

"What do you want now?"

"I'm an outsider, just curious."

She looked at me for a long while, then did something that surprised me. She pulled out a piece of paper from under the counter and drew a few strokes on it. She drew a circle, divided it into seven layers, with connecting lines between each layer. She drew a small circle on the outermost layer's southern side. Then she drew a small triangle beside the seventh layer.

"The south gate is the main entrance," she said. "The priests are there."

Her finger tapped the position of the small triangle.

"There's a small door on the north side," she said. "That's for the priests' own use. Behind the temple there's a short stone-paved path leading to that small door. That small door is usually locked."

"Usually."

"Usually," she said.

She pushed the paper under the counter without giving it to me.

"What I've told you is public information," she said. "Anyone who's lived in Aethon for five years or more knows this."

She picked up the ledger again, as if nothing had happened.

I didn't thank her, only nodded at her and turned to go upstairs.

"I hope you find the answer to your question, girl."

She said behind me.