Page 48
As Derek turns back to his laptop, he winks.
My brain stops.
Completely.
I stare at him.
He keeps typing like he didn’t just alter the trajectory of my entire life.
Kain stands behind me through all of it, his presence steady at my back. When I check, his arms are folded across his chest, dry amusement in the slight curl of his mouth.
He gives me a small gesture of reassurance, and I turn back to the table as someone pulls up an old dialogue tree that never made it into the game.
And my world implodes, blue-screening right out.
I could die happy now.
Eventually, the developers have to get back to work, and I leave riding an emotional high with plans to visit again.
Geeking out with people who speak my language leaves a current humming under my skin, so different from the polite interest of those who only indulge my passion.
Julian guides us down a narrow hallway that branches away from the open workspace.
A shelf runs along the right wall, crowded with physical awards. Tarnished plaques with dates that match my earliest memories of the game sit beside dust-covered figurines and a glass paperweight engraved with the Lantern Key logo. The metal has oxidized along the edges, turning the engraved dates a soft greenish-black.
“Most of these lived in a box until last year,” Julian says. “When we started the revival, I dug everything out. Figured it deserved to be on display again. We clearly need to be better at dusting it, though.”
A corkboard hangs at the end of the hallway, its surface yellowed with age. A faded sprint schedule from fifteen years ago hangs pinned to it, dates handwritten in fading marker, tasks crossed out with different-colored pens. Someone has drawn a frowny face next to “SENTINEL DECLARATION SCENE — FINAL POLISH.”
I stop walking.
The frowny face. I recognize that frowny face.
It’s in the game files, buried in the texture assets for the Sentinel’s cloak buckle. A developer’s easter egg that I found six years ago and assumed was a glitch.
“It’s real,” I say.
Julian catches me studying the corkboard and laughs. “Oh, that. Yeah, Derek was having a week. The declaration scene took three rewrites, and he threatened to quit twice.”
“He didn’t quit.”
“No. But he made that face at every meeting for a month.”
The hallway opens into a small alcove tucked between two support columns. Soft track lighting illuminates a glass case set into the wall, and inside it is the Sentinel.
The life-size figure is rendered in three dimensions, his cloak a deep purple fabric that’s faded at the base where the model meets the stand.
His head is turned at a three-quarter angle, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other extended palm-up in an offering gesture.
The paint on his gauntlets has chipped along the knuckles, revealing dull gray primer beneath.
The air in my lungs goes still.
Julian stops beside me, with Kain a half-step behind.
Neither of them speaks.
I study the model. The way the light catches the worn edge of his cloak. The chip in the paint on his right index finger.
