Later that week, Beatriss and her companions returned
to the Monastery of the Two-Fold Path, choosing a different route of
entry. The air was thick with decay, and heavy rains had transformed
parts of the ruined compound into swampy, unstable mire. In one
collapsed chamber, half-filled with water and debris, they found deep clawed
footprints—large, reptilian, and trailing up the crumbled wall. The message
was clear: something ancient and monstrous had made this place its den.
The creature moved slowly, almost lazily—its lizard-like
body armored in thick, stone-colored scales—but its eyes gleamed with alien
stillness, dragging dread into the hearts of the living. The party tried to
fight without looking directly at it, using peripheral glances and blind
strikes.
On the broken stone steps, Beatriss slipped. For just
a moment, her eyes met the creature’s.
She froze—a perfect statue, blade in hand, breath suspended forever.
The others fought on. Naron slashed at the beast’s
flanks while Bayan darted in and out of reach, her strikes quick and
desperate. Feng Feng, ever fearless, charged up the steps. But in the
final moments, the dying basilisk thrashed violently, its claws latching onto
Feng Feng’s robe and dragging him forward—face to face. He, too, turned
to stone.
Jumay knelt beside Beatriss’s statue, lips moving in
prayer, while Bayan stood trembling, trying to speak through clenched
teeth.
“There’s another one,” Naron said, pointing down a
corridor.
It was true. Another basilisk lurked just beyond.
They fled.
Back in the Imperial City, they delivered their grim
news. The Emperor listened, thoughtful, and then gave a single command:
“Summon Cair.”
Cair, a foreign wizard long kept in “residence” at
the palace, arrived with his companion Myrrha, a pale-robed priestess.
The Emperor instructed them to assist in recovering and restoring the petrified
warriors.
Cair accepted the task, saying little but watching Bayan
closely.
Before they left, Bayan made a request: “We need
mirrors. Polished ones.”
“To fight a basilisk,” she explained, “you don’t need to see
it. It needs to see itself.”
The Second Basilisk
This time, their approach was surgical. The second basilisk
appeared, just as expected. In perfect coordination, the group raised their
mirrors—forcing the beast to meet its own reflection.
It solidified instantly. Stone stared back at them.
But when Cair attempted to restore Beatriss, his
magic failed.
“The conditions aren’t right,” he muttered. “I need
materials. I need coin. If we could just get them to the coast—my ship—”
“No,” Bayan interrupted, her voice steel. “You said you could do it. You
lied. You won’t get another chance.”
Cair bowed his head—then began to cast again.
This time, not at the statue—but at himself.
Carrying the Fallen
Cair transformed, growing into a towering figure,
muscles and robes swelling with arcane energy. He lifted Beatriss and Feng Feng
with care, one in each arm, and carried them from the ruins. He did the same
for the others, ferrying them out one by one.
When they reached the city, the guards refused to open
the gates to a giant, no matter whose name he carried. So the party spent
the night in a tavern outside the walls, Cair shrinking back to human
form. A cart was hired at dawn.
A Statue in the Inner Palace
The Emperor ordered Feng Feng’s statue placed
in a ceremonial courtyard, where scholars and officials could admire his
“eternal watchfulness.”
Beatriss, however, was taken into the Emperor’s
private quarters—a place where only the most trusted and powerful were
allowed. She was displayed not merely as a fallen hero, but as a figure of
fascination, mystery, and perhaps unspoken desire.
And at the base of the dais where she stood, sword still in
hand, a lone warrior kept silent vigil—Bayan, dressed in
red-accented armor, eyes never straying far from her mentor’s frozen face.
She said nothing.
But everyone knew she would be the first to act—if anyone dared touch the
statue without cause.
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