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“This door here, Lifis,” Leif whispers, pointing toward the lock as the tall thief scurries forward. The scratches of tools against stone last for a moment before Lifis tries the ornate knob, which grinds slowly in place before finally budging. Leif smiles, shouldering the door open a crack.
“Careful,” Finn warns behind them, back turned to the boys as he glances back and forth at the ends of the hallway. Who could say when more dark priests would arrive to reinforce the falling prison… the place seemed to be quieting down now, but the group could never be too safe.
Leif nods at the man before poking his head inside the room. It’s dark, and the smell of dust fills the air. “Can I get a light, Lifis?”
“Sure thing, boss.” The thief roots through his satchel, producing a short, unburned torch. Striking a match against the underside of his boot, he hands the lit beacon over to the prince before stomping the ignitor into the floor.
“Finn, guard the entrance, would you?”
“Of course, Lord Leif. Please be careful.”
“Mmm. The rest should be along soon, so keep an eye out for them,” Leif mumbles as he slowly begins to shoulder the massive door the rest of the way open. The light of the torch dances on the carved walls as the boy slides inside, eyes darting around for the enemy. No cloaked figures jump out from the blackness, so he steps further into the room.
The light touches something at the far end of the room and Leif’s heart jumps as his eyes land on the curve of a face, still and unmoving in the darkness. “Fuck-”
Finn is in the room in an instant, leaving Lifis squawking by the door as the larger man pushes past him. He’s in front of Leif with his sword and shield readied before the prince can waive him back.
“Finn, the door-”
“I got it, don’t sweat,” Lifis says, slipping outside.
The face at the end of the room doesn’t move, and it’s with a great exhale that Leif realizes that the face is connected to an equally unmoving body, cast in mottled grey.
“Calm down, Finn. It’s just a statue.”
The knight lowers his shield a bit. “So it is.”
“Aren’t we here looking for statues?” Lifis says, poking his head back inside the room. Leif glares at him.
“Watch the hall, not us!”
“Yessir.”
Finn is gone from his personal space when Leif turns back around. The man stands closer to the statue, eyes squinting in the low light as he tries to figure out who this unfortunate soul might be. Leif approaches, holding the torch up to their face.
“A woman,” Finn whispers.
“Not Eyvel,” Leif responds.
“Not Eyvel.”
“Still,” the prince says with a shrug, “it would be cruel to leave her here like this. Once we find Eyvel, let’s make sure to come back for her.” Leif turns on his heel, expecting a word of confirmation from his companion. The sound never comes.
“Finn?”
The man stares up at the statue on the pedestal, studying the worn rock of the woman’s face and hair. Pieces have been cracked off with time, and her body shows obvious signs of age; as if she had been left out in a sandstorm for some time. The sharp ends of her bangs have been worn down into round nubs; some clumps shattered off and scattered into chunks on the ground.
“Finn?”
Finn is not an emotive man. Rarely does he express sorrow or fear, but now a dark emotion crosses his face, casting a shadow over his eyes.
“Finn, do you know this woman?”
“... I believe so.”
“Oh? Who is she?”
Finn swallows thickly. His eyes are dry, but his hands shake; gauntlet rattling against his shield in the quiet of the room. Leif nudges the man on the shoulder before looking back to the statue, wracking his brain for memories of this woman’s vaguely familiar face.
What remains of Lachesis of Nordian stares back at him, her stare set in empty grey.