I wasn’t sure what to expect when we entered the room beyond the large, yet simple and unadorned doors. Emilia had described it as a tomb, a final resting place, and I now understood that all of those before us had come to pay their respects to this individual, whomever they had been.

So it was with appropriate solemnity but not a little curiosity that I waited for our turn and then stepped within, my head lowered, but eyes darting.

What I found inside quite took my breath away.

I have said before that the Colony has shown a surprisingly adept hand, or mandible, when it comes to aesthetics. Despite their own interests being almost purely functional, they have created breathtaking and skillful works of art, from frescos, carvings, statues, all the way up to architectural marvels that have taken me quite off guard.

As a resident of the Silver City, reader, I am no stranger to beautiful surroundings, living in what is widely considered the most appealing and wondrous city in the world!

However, what I saw in the chamber struck me to the core.

It wasn’t too large. There was no enormous, vaulted ceiling supported by pillars rising up hundreds of metres. The scale of the chamber spoke to the humility of the one interred within. I sensed immediately that the ants had built it to be as large as they could without offending the sensibilities of the individual they chose to honour.

Nor was it too decorative. They could have covered every inch of it with detailed carvings and paintings if they so chose, and I sensed that they would have, if they thought it would have been appropriate. They did not memorialise an ostentatious person here, one who appreciated a simple sort of beauty.

It was a circular chamber, with the memorial and burial site sitting in the centre, a single column rising up from it to support the roof. Using magic, it was softly lit from every angle, recessed globes of light directing one's focus always towards the centre of the room.

Reader, the quiet beauty and serenity of that place struck me right to the heart. I felt tears come, unbidden, as I took in the deep, deep sorrow and commensurate love that had gone into its design and construction. Gently, Emilia pulled me aside, and we moved toward the outer wall of the chamber. There, she showed me a series of stained glass windows, each lit from behind, showing me important scenes of this person’s life.

Around the outside of the chamber, the windows told a story, wrought in vibrant glass and intricate iron threads. Beneath each, an inscription rested detailing the events depicted.

The first showed a young boy with brown skin, wooden sword in hand training with an older woman. The inscription read: Age five, delver training begins.

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We moved quietly to the next window and I silently took it in. Another scene, forward in time. Older now, perhaps in his mid-teens, the young man was shown doing battle within the Dungeon, fighting a centipede and skewering it with his blade. Age fourteen, the first Dungeon Delve.

Ten windows in all and it appeared indeed that this man had lived a worthy life, getting married, growing old together with his wife before passing away, a respected and worthy Delver.

Yet, I was confused. No ant had been depicted in any of the scenes. Why was this person so deeply revered by the Colony?

Emilia saw my confusion.

“We’ve only gone half way around,” she whispered to me. “There are two people buried here.”

It was true, we had not yet completed our circuit of the chamber. The second half indeed depicted another life, another individual and soon I realised that this was the woman who had married the dashing delver, the window depicting their wedding was exactly the same.

Yet her story continued after he passed away, the scene of her meeting the Eldest of the Colony revealed the moment her life had intersected with the Colony’s. It was for her that they had built this space.

Silently, I walked the remainder of the perimeter, and then by silent agreement, Emilia and I approached the memorial in the centre of the room.

A woman sat in a chair, advanced in years, but with energy and vigour in her face. There was a fierce intelligence in her eyes and a warm smile on her lips. One hand rested on the arm of her chair while the other was raised to her chin, giving her the impression of assessing whoever had come before her. The weighing gaze of a merchant at heart.

Behind her stood her husband, powerfully built, sword on his back and hand resting on her shoulder protectively. He too looked down with an intense gaze but a welcoming expression. The couple radiated a warmth and comfort that was almost palpable.

At the foot of the statue sat a garden of luscious flowers and sweet smelling herbs that ringed the memorial.

“There are tributes here from many people engraved on the floor, but there are two you should see,” Emilia whispered.

Startled, I looked down and indeed, there were words of loss and praise engraved on the tiled floor that I hadn’t noticed. Emilia brought us right to the foot of the statue and directed my gaze to the floor. To the left I saw the first inscription.

“Beloved teacher. I wish you hadn’t gone - Merchant.”

To the right, I saw the second.

“Two-legged mother to us all. None can replace you - Anthony.”

Above these, at the statue’s base, a plaque could be read.

Here lie Enid and Derrion Ruther

Rest together, with all our blessings

AMATUS SINE METU

Loved Without Fear

“They found her husband and moved his remains so that they might be buried here together,” Emilia said softly. “People are afraid of the Colony and what they might do, but this is how much they love those who are prepared to love them back.”

She bowed low at the waist towards the statue, and I did the same, offering my regards to what must have been a truly remarkable woman.

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