Chapter 41: The Oracle Statue

Chapter 41: The Oracle Statue
I waited in my room until midnight.

I changed into a darker coat, gathered my compass, notebook, the remaining herbs, and my sword, then slipped out through the inn's back door under cover of the evening mist.

The main street was nearly deserted. Aethon's nocturnal order was even stricter than during the day—the low, steady hum of defensive magic vibrated through the air more frequently than it had in daylight. I pressed myself against the walls, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

The narrow path the old woman had mentioned lay behind the temple.

It was paved with stone, flanked by low shrubs rather than buildings. If I crouched slightly, the bushes would conceal me entirely. Moonlight traced the path's outline clearly enough that I didn't need to risk creating my own light source.

At the path's end, I found the small door.

It was made of wood, its color starkly incongruous with the temple's sacred white. Only a single copper lock secured it—simple in design, clearly aged. I reached out tentatively to touch it, feeling nothing but the uneven texture of rust on its surface.

Such minimal security surprised me. Every structure in a city like Aethon was blanketed by some form of defensive magic; even the rocks flanking the city gates trembled with enchantment. Yet this door leading into the temple's interior lacked even the most basic magical protection. I pressed my hand against the door's surface again, testing. No tremors. No humming. Just an ordinary wooden door with a deteriorating copper lock.

Still, considering the city's strict screening protocols and the fact that few even knew this exit existed, such minimal security wasn't entirely unreasonable. After all, no outsiders could simply wander in, and locals wouldn't engage in something like theft. For the truly faithful, entering the temple uninvited would be tantamount to immediate damnation.

I considered several methods for opening the door, then simply drew my sword from my waist. Physical force would be fastest and most effective, and could be disguised as random criminal activity.

I didn't use the blade. Using the metal pommel, I struck the lock mechanism once. It gave a crisp crack. I struck again. The mechanism broke. The entire copper lock fell from the door and clattered onto the stone pavement.

The whole process was swift and relatively quiet. I glanced around once more, finding only the same stillness as before.

Relieved, I sheathed my sword and pushed the door open.

The temple's interior was extraordinarily vast, even larger than it appeared from outside. It contained few decorative elements, which meant any small sound would be amplified infinitely. No lighting had been left inside—only faint moonlight filtered through the glass windows.

The sense of emptiness made me slightly dizzy the moment I entered.

I leaned against the wall just inside the door, waiting for the vertigo to pass before beginning my walk toward the temple's center.

The interior followed a spiral structure. From my entry point, a corridor curved inward, leading me deeper. With each section I traversed, the corridor's arc grew tighter. I moved slowly. My footsteps created soft echoes in the passage.

I heard no other footsteps.

If the old priest was still on duty, he would be at the main entrance outside, not inside.

The corridor ended after the third revolution, depositing me in the temple's central chamber. This was a circular hall without a roof. Moonlight fell directly from above. Small altars, benches, and religious paintings filled the space, making it feel less empty.

At the very center of the hall stood the Oracle Statue—the place where I hoped to find answers.

The statue was larger than any other I'd seen throughout the city.

Its height equaled approximately five people stacked. It was carved from the same translucent pale gray stone as the large statue in the square, but within this one I could see a fainter light flowing. That light radiated outward from the statue's core.

However, its form differed from the square's statue.

The square statue had its hands spread open, palms upward. This statue's hands hung naturally at its sides. Its left hand gripped the rod of a scale, with circular pans suspended from each end, perfectly level in the moonlight. Its right hand held a scroll, half-unfurled, the other half hanging beyond its wrist. Both the scale and scroll were carved from the same continuous piece of stone as the statue itself.

These were the instruments of fairness and truth.

There was one other crucial difference—the Oracle Statue's face had a veil, but it didn't cover the entire face.

The veil descended from the forehead, draping over the bridge of the nose and chin, leaving only the eyes exposed. Though carved from stone like everything else, the sculptor's technique made it appear to have fabric's texture, even reproducing the slight, wind-stirred curve at the veil's edges.

Those eyes gazed at me quietly in the moonlight, as if alive.

I took a deep breath and approached the statue, looking up into its eyes. I could only hope this wasn't an elaborate hoax.

I steadied my breathing as the conversation I'd overheard in the tavern echoed in my mind.

"A question that truly matters to this person."

"That prophecy about the Rift." I finally spoke.

My voice created faint echoes in the hall.

"Is it real."

After speaking, I waited, staring intently at the hollows where the statue's eyes should be, ensuring I wouldn't miss even the slightest change.

But those hollows remained unchanged.

I waited several more minutes, then repeated my question. This time I spoke more slowly, more carefully.

"That prophecy about the Rift—is it real."

The statue still showed no reaction.

I found myself trapped in the awkwardness of talking to myself. I tried rephrasing.

"Am I the person from the prophecy."

No response.

"Is the king's daughter the one who will close the Rift."

No response.

"Does 'the bloodline of one the king protects' refer to Mireiya."

No response.

I didn't give up. Over the following minutes, I asked every question I could formulate.

About the curse, about Osric's sealed letter, about the images in the meditation water, about Father's expression, even about Cade and Rendell.

After each question, those stone-carved eyes showed no change—they neither glowed nor closed.

I stepped back, and that silence accumulated before me into disappointment.

All my efforts since leaving Aldenmere, all the wounds, all the judgments, all the choices—the sum total of everything I'd accomplished culminated in this moment, in this silence.

I had walked here.

I had crossed the birch forest.

I had left Cade lying in the physician's clinic.

I had left Sevan weeping before a gravestone.

Everything I'd gambled, wagered, and sacrificed—when it all fell into this temple, this was the answer I received.

I felt something rising in my chest.

It wasn't my familiar capacity for judgment.

It was something I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a very long time.

After sneaking out of court at age eleven, I had locked that thing away in a fixed place within my chest. At twelve, I'd kept it there. At seventeen, I'd kept it there. When I drank that tea before leaving Aldenmere, I'd kept it there.

Now that thing was surfacing.