The gates of the Somner Estate loomed like a gilded threat.
Polished obsidian columns stretched skyward, adorned with carvings of swirling soundwaves—an homage to the Sirentone power passed down for generations. The family crest, a singing lark encircled by a gold ring, was proudly etched into the arch above. But what caught Hermes' eye was the parade of statues that lined the estate's perimeter.
All of them were of Somners. Past heirs. From Somner I to Somner XCIX.
Each one sculpted in a dramatic pose: arms spread like messiahs, faces chiseled with noble arrogance. Their cheekbones were dagger-sharp, brows eternally furrowed in faux solemnity. They were all the same man in different centuries. Like the world's most self-indulgent cloning experiment.
Hermes stared at them, then muttered. "Okay… yeah, he definitely came from a long line of theater kids."
There was one thing, though. All these statues felt like wax figures compared to the boy he knew.
Somner C—Somner the 100th.
