Early in the morning, Richard awoke before the first stroke of the bell had sounded throughout the estate.
For several seconds, he lay motionless, staring at the gray ceiling of his bedroom and trying to remember where he was.
Outside the windows, the world was still cloaked in the dimness of early dawn, while the cold light of morning barely filtered through the heavy curtains.
Then the memories returned.
The estate.
The letter.
Yesterday’s conversation.
The vision.
The tree.
And the young man he had been in that vision.
Richard slowly sat up in bed.
His body immediately responded with its familiar weakness: an unpleasant pull in his chest, heaviness in his legs after sleep, and his hand instinctively reaching for the cane beside the bed.
He took it and carefully rose.
For several moments, he simply stood there, waiting for the weakness to pass.
Richard suddenly found the thought almost amusing.
Yesterday, he had seen himself young—strong, swift, a man who needed neither a cane nor caution with every step.
Today, he was once again what he was now: an aging man who needed several seconds just to grow accustomed to his own body after sleep.
He slowly approached the mirror.
An old face looked back at him, calm and almost indifferent.
Gray hair.
Deep lines around the eyes.
A weary gaze.
A man clearly past sixty.
Richard raised a hand and carefully touched his cheek.
“So this is who I am now…” Nothing changed in the mirror.
He gave a faint smile, though there was little amusement in it.
“Or who you are.” Richard himself did not know whom he was speaking to.
Himself?
The Richard he had once been?
Or the man whose memories continued to enter his mind without permission, as though someone else’s life were gradually trying to take the place of his own?
He stared at his reflection for several more seconds, then turned away.
For the first time, he had a real purpose.
Not merely to inspect the estate.
Not merely to understand what had happened during the years of his absence.
Not merely to grow accustomed to the name Richard Ravenhart and to the people who continued to regard him as the same man they had known before.
He wanted to know what the former master of this body had been hiding.
And why, shortly before his death, he had gone north.
By the time Richard came down for breakfast, Sebastian was already waiting for him.
The butler stood beside a tall window, several sheets of paper in his hands.
Plates, cutlery, and a cup of fresh coffee had been arranged on the table, a thin aroma rising from it.
Sebastian looked up as soon as Richard entered.
“You slept poorly, my lord.” Richard stopped beside the table.
“You always noticed things like that?” “Usually.” “Even before?” Sebastian hesitated almost imperceptibly.
“Especially before.” Richard did not like the answer.
Not because there was anything sinister in it.
Quite the opposite—the calmness with which Sebastian spoke was what troubled him most.
The butler spoke as though the man standing before him really were someone he had known for decades.
And Richard was becoming increasingly aware of how much of a stranger he was to everyone around him.
He sat down at the table and looked at the papers lying before Sebastian.
“Kain?” “Already in the courtyard.” “And the horses?” “Prepared.” Richard picked up the cup and took a sip.
The coffee was too bitter.
He involuntarily grimaced.
Sebastian noticed almost immediately.
“You used to like it that way.” Richard slowly raised his eyes to him.
“So I used to be a man who liked this coffee?” “Yes.” Richard set the cup back on its saucer.
“Then I suppose I will have to get used to new tastes.” A faint smile appeared on Sebastian’s face.
“Perhaps.” For several minutes, they remained silent.
Richard did not hurry to finish breakfast.
He watched the butler, trying to understand how much he noticed and how little he considered worth saying.
At last, he asked: “Yesterday you said you no longer knew whom you could trust.” “Yes.” “Do you trust me?” Sebastian did not answer immediately.
Richard noticed the silence.
“Honestly.” The butler carefully placed the papers on the table.
“I trust the man you used to be.” Richard frowned.
“And the man I have become?” Sebastian looked him directly in the eyes.
“I do not know yet.” Richard had expected those words to irritate him.
Instead, he felt a strange sense of relief.
At least Sebastian was not trying to flatter him.
He was not telling Richard what he wanted to hear, nor pretending that the master’s return had automatically restored the relationship they once had.
“Good,” Richard said calmly.
He rose from the table and took his cane.
“Then try to find out.” Sebastian bowed his head.
“I will.” Richard was already heading toward the door when he heard his voice.
“My lord.” He turned.
“Yes?” “If you truly intend to go north, take Kain with you.” Richard looked at him with mild confusion.
“That was my intention.” “And do not stray far from him.” Richard was silent for several seconds.
“Is that an order?” “A request.” Richard studied Sebastian carefully.
“Are you afraid of that place?” The butler slowly shifted his gaze toward the window.
Snow continued to fall beyond the glass, covering the garden in a thick white blanket.
“I am afraid of what your former self was trying to find there.” Richard said nothing.
He merely nodded and left.
Kain was waiting in the courtyard.
He wore dark winter clothing beneath a long cloak that protected him from the snow and wind.
Richard immediately noticed one detail.
There was no sword.
He stopped beside Kain.
“You are unarmed?” Kain calmly looked at him.
“I will not need it.” “Are you sure?” This time, Kain gave the faintest of smiles.
“No.” Richard smiled as well.
“Good answer.” Kain allowed himself a genuine smile for the first time that morning.
“You are beginning to understand.” Two saddled horses stood nearby.
One was large and completely black, with a thick mane and a calm, attentive gaze.
The other was gray, slightly smaller but sturdy and enduring.
Richard looked at the black horse.
Something stirred inside him.
It was not a full memory.
More like a vague sensation, as though he had once stood beside this animal and known it far better than he should have.
He approached and ran a hand along the horse’s neck.
The animal calmly lowered its head, as though recognizing a familiar touch.
Then, for an instant, an image flashed before Richard’s eyes.
Snow.
The same horse, only younger and stronger.
Richard was sitting in the saddle.
Kain rode beside him.
They were arguing about something.
Kain said something, and Richard laughed.
The vision vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Richard withdrew his hand.
“Is she mine?” “Yes.” “What is her name?” “Raven.” Richard looked at the horse and shook his head despite himself.
“Of course.” Kain was already mounting his horse.
“What?” “Nothing.” Richard carefully grasped the saddle and, with some difficulty, climbed onto the horse.
For several moments he adjusted himself, growing accustomed to the unfamiliar strain in his legs.
When he finally straightened, he felt somewhat better.
For the first time that morning.
He still did not know exactly where he was going.
He did not know what he would find in the north.
He did not know what memories would meet him there, or whether he would even be able to distinguish the past from what was happening now.
But for the first time in recent days, he had the feeling that he was no longer chasing answers someone else was willing to give him.
He was moving toward answers he would have to uncover himself.
The estate gates slowly opened.
The horses stepped onto the snow-covered road.
Behind them remained the Ravenhart estate.
After some time, Richard looked back.
From the high hill, the estate seemed even more enormous than it had from within.
The towers disappeared into the morning mist, some of the windows remained dark, and the northern wing was almost completely concealed behind the tall trees.
The House banner flew from the main tower.
A raven.
A wolf.
Richard lingered on it.
Suddenly, he had the impression that something else should have stood between the two beasts.
Something third.
He could not remember what.
“My lord.” Kain’s voice brought him back to the road.
“We should go.” Richard stared at the estate for another moment, then turned away.
“Yes.” They headed north.
The first several hours of the journey passed peacefully.
The estate gradually disappeared behind the forest, then the cultivated fields came to an end, and the familiar traces of human presence began to fade.
The road narrowed.
Snow lay deeper, branches hung over the path, and the old pines grew taller and denser.
Even the wind sounded different here, moving dully between the trunks and lifting fine snow from the ground.
Kain rode ahead.
From time to time, he stopped, dismounted, and examined the snow.
Richard noticed it for the third time.
“What are you looking for?” Kain continued studying the ground.
“Tracks.” “Whose?” “People’s.” Richard looked around the deserted forest.
“And?” Kain straightened.
“No one has passed through here in several days.” Richard frowned.
“Is that bad?” Kain looked at him for several seconds.
“If we are truly heading where I think we are—yes.” “Why?” Kain said nothing.
He mounted his horse again and continued onward.
Richard did not press him.
Some time later, he noticed the first strange tracks.
They crossed the road and disappeared into the forest.
The prints were large, deep, and clearly belonged to a creature far heavier than an ordinary wolf.
Richard stopped Raven.
“What is that?” Kain stopped as well.
He studied the tracks for a while, then dismounted and crouched beside the nearest print.
“I don’t know.” Richard looked at him.
“You are obviously lying.” Kain ran his fingers along the edge of the print, brushing away the fresh snow.
“Fresh.” “How fresh?” “A few hours.” Richard slowly looked toward the forest.
“Is it still here?” Kain rose.
“Possibly.” “Then why are we continuing?” Kain looked at him.
“Because if it is truly what I think it is, it will not attack.” Richard gave a faint smile.
“Reassuring.” “I wasn’t trying to be.” The smile quickly disappeared from Richard’s face.
A sharp crack came from the forest.
A branch had broken.
Kain tensed instantly, one hand going to the hilt of a concealed weapon.
Richard froze.
For several seconds, they both stared toward the trees.
Nothing.
Only the wind gently moving the snow-covered branches.
“A wolf?” Richard asked quietly.
Kain did not take his eyes from the forest.
“No.” “Then what?” “A wolf does not leave tracks like those.” Richard wanted to ask another question, but Kain was already moving forward.
By evening, they reached an old stone road.
Once, it had clearly been an important route, but now the stones were almost completely buried beneath snow, while the roots of ancient trees had grown between them.
Broken columns rose on either side of the road.
Some lay directly in the snow; others had sunk halfway into the earth.
Richard slowed his horse.
“There was a settlement here?” “No.” “Then what?” Kain pointed ahead.
“A sanctuary.” Ancient stone walls gradually emerged between the trees.
They were half ruined.
In several places, the masonry had collapsed, while thick roots had pierced straight through it, as though the earth itself were trying to reclaim the ruins.
Ancient symbols remained on some of the stones.
Richard dismounted.
He approached the nearest wall and studied the faded carvings.
Then he saw the crest.
A raven.
A wolf.
And between them… A tree.
Richard froze.
This time, the memory came immediately.
He saw himself young again.
The same Richard he had once been.
He wore a black cloak dusted with fine snow.
Before him stood another man—older, with a weary face and a heavy gaze.
“Arthur was wrong,” the man said.
Young Richard did not look away.
“No.” “You do not understand.” “Then explain.” The old man was silent for several moments, as though he himself did not know how to find the right words.
“The Tree does not choose by blood.” Richard drew a sharp breath.
The vision vanished.
He was once again standing beside the ancient wall, his palm resting against the cold stone.
Kain watched him with obvious concern.
“Did you see something?” Richard slowly withdrew his hand.
“Yes.” “What?” He stared at the image of the tree for several more seconds.
“Arthur was here.” Kain frowned.
“Arthur died more than eight hundred years ago.” “I know.” “Then how…” Richard did not answer.
He looked deeper into the ruins.
Through the broken walls, the inner part of the sanctuary was visible.
“There is something else here.” Kain looked ahead warily.
“What?” “I don’t know.” Richard took a step forward.
Kain followed.
Inside the sanctuary, the air was noticeably colder than outside.
It seemed as though the walls had preserved the icy breath of centuries past.
An altar stood in the center of the ruined chamber.
Most of it had been destroyed, but its base remained almost completely intact.
A stone rested upon it.
Black.
Smooth.
Unusually even, as though its surface had not been polished by human hands.
A thin silver line ran through the very center of the stone.
Richard took another step.
“Don’t touch it.” He stopped.
“Why?” For the first time, Kain looked genuinely tense.
“Because your father…” He fell silent.
Richard slowly turned toward him.
“My father?” Kain looked away.
“No.” He closed his eyes for a moment.
“I’m sorry.” Richard understood.
“You meant my former self.” Kain nodded.
“Yes.” “What did he do?” Kain looked at the black stone.
“He touched it.” “And?” “Afterward, he did not speak for three days.” Richard frowned.
“Why?” Kain was silent for a while before answering: “On the fourth day, he said only one thing.” “What?” Kain raised his eyes to Richard.
“‘It is waking.'” Richard felt cold.
This time, it had nothing to do with the temperature.
The cold came from within.
He looked at the silver line in the center of the stone.
It trembled.
Barely.
Richard froze.
Kain noticed it too.
“You saw that?” “Yes.” The line trembled again.
This time, the movement was more pronounced.
Then, somewhere deep beneath the ground, a low, drawn-out rumble sounded.
Snow fell from the ruined walls.
Richard looked up.
“What is happening?” Kain drew his weapon.
“I don’t know.” The rumble grew stronger.
It felt as though something enormous were slowly awakening beneath them, something so ancient that the building itself could no longer keep it buried underground.
And then a howl came from the forest.
It was not a wolf’s howl.
The sound was too deep, too long, and so low that Richard felt it not only in his ears but in his chest.
He slowly turned toward the entrance.
For a moment, two golden eyes appeared between the trees.
They were looking directly at him.
Not at Kain.
Not at the ruins.
At him.
Then the eyes disappeared.
Richard slowly tightened his fingers around the handle of his cane.
A new memory flashed through his mind.
Young Richard.
Blood on the snow.
The old man beside the Tree.
And a voice, so close that it seemed the speaker was standing directly behind him: “When they return, Ravenhart must be ready.” Richard opened his eyes.
Now he knew what he had to do.
Not run.
Not turn back.
First, he had to discover who exactly was returning.
And why the Ravenhart House was connected to them.
Kain watched him carefully.
“My lord.” Richard raised his eyes.
For several seconds, they simply looked at each other.
Then Richard said: “We stay.” Kain said nothing.
He merely nodded slowly, tightening his grip on the weapon in his hand.
“Good.” Somewhere far away in the forest, the same long, mournful howl sounded again.
And beneath the ancient stone, the silver line continued to glow softly, as though answering a call from deep within the earth.