Evelyn hadn't expected Grace to lead them to the mouth of a hidden tunnel, its entrance swallowed by shadows. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something older—something secret.
Beside her, Ruth let out an involuntary gulp, her fingers tightening around Evelyn's sleeve. The tunnel stretched before them, an endless throat of darkness, its walls slick with unseen moisture.
Evelyn had explored many strange places before, but this… this felt different. Like the tunnel had been waiting for her.
"It looks a little dangerous in here..." Ruth muttered, her voice caught between a joke and a plea.
Grace watched them with quiet amusement, her lips curling into a knowing smile. Without a word, she flicked her wrist, and firelight bloomed along the passage—torches flaring to life one by one, their golden glow peeling back the darkness. The eerie stillness softened, replaced by a warm, flickering embrace.
The group fell into formation: Grace and Jew at the front, their steps sure and steady; Melody and July in the center, their usual chatter now hushed; and Evelyn and Ruth at the rear, their breaths shallow with lingering trepidation.
As they ventured deeper, Evelyn's eyes widened. The walls of the passage were lined with sculptures—countless women carved from stone.
Their forms rising from the shadows like sentinels. Each was unique: some wore the robes of scholars, others the armor of warriors, some with hands calloused from labor, others holding pens, tools, or children. Their faces bore different scars, different smiles, different sorrows—but their eyes were the same. Unbroken. Defiant.
Evelyn's chest tightened. She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until the words left her lips, soft but sure:
"These are all women."
"Huh?" Melody echoed, her voice laced with genuine bewilderment. Apparently she didn't quite get Evelyn.
"I mean." Evelyn explained, her tone subdued. "It's just.. This is the first time I've seen a statue complex dedicated entirely to women. I've seen Hero's Plaza is filled with monuments—great generals, legendary kings, brilliant scholars—but they're all men." She hesitated, her fingers brushing against one of the statue as if seeking reassurance. "These women... are they heroes too? How come I don't recognize them? Why have I never heard their stories?"
The group fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the distant drip of water echoing through the tunnel. Even the torchlight seemed to dim, as if the passage itself was holding its breath.
Grace exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. When she spoke, her voice was quiet—not with shame, but with a deep, weary sorrow.
"In this day and age, few believe that women's deeds are worth remembering. ..But you're right, they are heroes. Warriors, scholars, healers, leaders—women who shaped history, only to have their names scraped from its pages..."
Grace paused. Then, softer: "If you are interested... I will tell you their stories. One by one."
Evelyn kept walking while hearing. Her feet had carried her forward without thought, stopping before a towering statue near the center of the passage.
The figure stood taller than the others, clad in a flowing battle dress of sculpted crimson stone, one hand resting on the pommel of a sword, the other outstretched as if offering something—a warning, a challenge, a promise.
Her breath hitched.
The face—that face—was one she knew. Not from history, not from portraits, but from the edges of her dreams, where fire and shadow clashed and a woman's voice cut through the chaos: "Stand up, Astrid, you are a warrior."
Ruth pressed close behind her, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread creeping down Evelyn's spine. "Your Highness?" Ruth whispered, her fingers lightly gripping Evelyn's elbow. "What's wrong? Is there... something about this statue?"
Evelyn didn't answer. She couldn't. Her throat had closed around the words, her pulse a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.
Evelyn was a little excited and her voice was unconsciously louder.
"Sister Grace, may I ask who this sculpture is? Why is it here?"
Hearing Evelyn's inquiry, Grace and Melody's group also turned back. Looking at the statue, Grace gently caressed its face with her hand, as if she was remembering an old friend.
She replied, "This is Earl Wright."
Evelyn carefully recalled the name from the book she had read last night, and after realizing that the name of the character in the book didn't match up, she quietly sighed in relief, though she didn't even know why.
"What does she do?" Ruth interjected suddenly.
"Tell us as we go." Melody looked at the statue as well and gave the command. So they set off again, heading deeper into the tunnel, with Grace's calm, gentle voice the only thing to be heard on the way.
"Earl Wright was a former Royal Squire."
"Is there really a woman who could be a royal squire?" Evelyn exclaimed, again ghosting the book she'd read.
"Before King Winfred's reign, under the late King Wayne, there were plenty of female officers."
Grace went on to explain:
"It's understandable if you struggle to imagine—or accept—such a reality. Twenty years under King Winfred's rule have erased what was once commonplace. You're only seventeen now, in your lifetime, female officials have all but vanished, save for those serving the royal women. Even Princess Melody, raised in the palace, refused to believe women could ever be knighted when I first told her."
Melody turned to Evelyn with a snicker. "See? This is why I told you: if you want to learn anything real, you'll have to flee this palace."
""What happened to Earl Wright then?" Evelyn asked.
Grace's voice turned to ice. "Dead. Betrayed by the man she trusted most."
Evelyn's heart sank. Somehow, she'd expected this ending—yet hearing it aloud left a dull ache throbbing in her chest.
"She..." Evelyn's voice faltered. She wanted to ask why the Earl had died, but an invisible weight pressed the question back into her throat. Some instinct warned her—ask this, and your life will fracture. The fear of that upheaval silenced her.
Grace, sensing her hesitation, said nothing more and moved forward in silence.
Evelyn's fingers brushed the outstretched hands of the statues flanking the hall—cold marble heroes forgotten by history. Ruth, noticing her reverence, mirrored the gesture, tracing a statue's arm with solemn care.
Melody glanced back at them, her gaze lingering for a moment before she lowered her eyes—just long enough for Grace to catch the shadow of sorrow crossing her face. Then, without warning, warmth enveloped her.
Grace's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. She didn't speak, didn't ask. She simply knew, as she always did, her hand moving in slow, soothing pets Melody's back.
Melody exhaled, letting her forehead rest against Grace's shoulder. Her voice, when it came, was soft and thick with memory. "It's okay, Grace. I got over it a long time ago."
Ahead, Evelyn and Ruth remained unaware, still lost in the silent company of the statues. By the time they turned, Grace and Melody were already stepping through the far doorway, their attendants trailing behind like ghosts. With a shared glance, the two girls hurried after them, the echoes of their footsteps the only sound in the hollow hall.