By evening, the estate had gradually sunk into twilight.
Snow continued to fall beyond the windows, concealing the tracks left by the recent journey and gently covering the inner courtyard with a white blanket.
The lanterns along the paths had already been lit, their warm glow barely piercing the heavy snowfall.
After the long journey, Richard had finally returned to the house, yet the feeling of unease refused to leave him.
The North was behind him, but he had brought back more than just an injured wolf cub.
Now he had even more questions, and nearly every one of them, in one way or another, led him back to a past he had not yet managed to remember in its entirety.
The wolf cub was sleeping peacefully in his arms, wrapped in a dark cloak.
Richard had already considered handing him over to the servants several times, but each time, for some reason, he postponed the decision.
The creature was surprisingly light, almost weightless, and its calm breathing had a strangely soothing effect on Richard.
Perhaps he simply did not want to let go of the only creature in this house that expected nothing from him.
The wolf cub did not expect him to remember the past.
Did not expect him to become the man he had once been again.
He had simply trusted him.
Richard lowered his gaze and smiled faintly.
“You’re a strange creature.” The wolf cub snorted softly in his sleep, as if objecting.
“I’m talking to you,” Richard added quietly.
“My lord.” Richard looked up.
Sebastian was standing at the foot of the stairs.
The butler held a tray with medicines and a small bowl of warm water.
“The healer is already waiting.” “Good.” Richard carefully handed the wolf cub to one of the servants, who approached at Sebastian’s signal.
The animal immediately stirred, sensing the change, and Richard let his palm rest on its head for a moment.
“Be careful with him.” The servant bowed respectfully and carried the creature toward the prepared room.
Sebastian watched them go, then turned his attention back to Richard.
“It seems the North has brought you quite a few new troubles.” “And only one wolf.” “For now, only one.” A faint smile appeared on Sebastian’s lips.
Richard was about to answer, but at that moment, a quiet creak came from the stairs above.
He looked up.
A boy was standing on the staircase.
He was about three years old.
Dark, slightly tousled hair, still disheveled from sleep, framed his small face, while large brown eyes gazed intently down at him.
Richard froze.
He needed neither a name, nor a memory, nor a hint from Sebastian.
He simply knew him.
Theo.
His son.
And at the same time—the most unexpected reflection of Richard himself as he had once been.
The boy held the banister with one hand and silently studied the man he was accustomed to seeing as someone entirely different.
Then he asked softly, “Papa?” Richard did not answer at once.
Something tightened painfully in his chest.
Over the past few days, he had seen countless faces from the past, heard unfamiliar voices, and experienced memories belonging to a man whose life he was now forced to continue.
But the figure standing before him was not a ghost from the past.
He was a living child.
And that child was calling him father.
Sebastian said quietly, “Theo.” The boy did not even look at him.
All his attention remained fixed on Richard.
He slowly descended one step.
“Papa?” This time, Richard forced himself to answer.
“Yes.” His voice sounded hoarse, and even Richard felt that the single word carried too much within it: confusion, pain, guilt, and some strange warmth he did not yet fully understand.
Theo studied him carefully.
“Are you sick?” Richard smiled faintly.
“Yes.” “Very?” “Very.” The boy thought for a moment, examining his face with childish seriousness.
“Is that why you got old?” Sebastian turned away, hiding a smile.
Richard noticed, but did not argue.
“Apparently.” Theo thought about that for another moment.
“Will you become young again?” The question caught Richard off guard.
He instinctively glanced at Sebastian, but the latter chose not to interfere.
Richard turned his gaze back to his son.
“I don’t know.” Theo nodded, as though the answer suited him perfectly, and continued down the stairs.
Only a few steps remained between them now.
“Do you remember me?” Richard fell silent.
There it was—the question he feared far more than any questions about the illness, magic, or his own past.
Did a father remember his son?
Richard felt his heart constrict painfully inside his chest.
He wanted to say yes.
He wanted to give the boy a simple, reassuring answer that would free him from doubt.
But he could not lie.
“Not the way I should.” Theo lowered his head.
Richard noticed the small fingers tightening around the edge of his nightshirt.
And then a memory flashed through his mind.
He saw himself as a young man.
Exactly as Theo must have remembered him.
Young Richard sat at a writing desk, going through documents.
Little Theo stood beside him, clutching a wooden horse.
“Papa, look.” Richard continued reading.
“In a minute, Theo.” “But it can jump.” “In a minute.” The boy remained beside him for a little while longer, waiting for his father to finally look up.
But he never did.
Theo slowly walked away.
The memory vanished.
Richard closed his eyes.
He felt sharply what remained in its wake.
Guilt.
Heavy and unpleasant.
It belonged to the Richard of before, yet somehow it now resonated within him as well.
He slowly crouched down, placing his cane beside him.
Now he and Theo were roughly at the same level.
The boy looked at him carefully.
Richard took several seconds to find the right words.
“I forgot you.” Theo said nothing.
“But I want to remember.” The boy continued looking at him.
“Why?” Richard had not expected that question.
He thought for a moment.
The answer was simpler than he had anticipated.
“Because you’re my son.” Theo frowned.
“But if you forgot me…” He fell silent, unable to finish the thought.
Richard waited.
Finally, the boy asked quietly, “Then are you still my papa?” The question was heavier than anything Richard had heard over the past few days.
He looked at the small face before him and, for the first time since awakening, stopped thinking about which of the two Richards was the real one.
Right now, it did not matter.
He simply reached out his hand.
Theo looked at it cautiously, as though unsure whether he was allowed to come closer.
Then he placed his small hand in Richard’s.
Richard froze.
The little fingers were warm.
And unexpectedly, memory came again.
But this time, it was not merely an image.
He felt it.
The way he had once held that hand.
The way Theo had fallen asleep beside him.
The way the little head had rested on his shoulder.
The way, one night long ago, he had brought the boy a toy sword.
Theo had looked sleepily at him and said, “I’ll become a knight.” And young Richard had answered, “Then become the best.” The memory disappeared.
Richard opened his eyes.
Theo was still holding his hand.
“Did you remember?” the boy asked.
Richard nodded.
“A little.” Theo smiled.
And for some reason, that smile frightened Richard more than any memory.
Because Richard suddenly realized how much this child might have lost.
Not only his father.
But also the man he had called his father.
Later, they sat in a small sitting room.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly, driving away the evening chill, while the gentle lamplight fell across the carpet and old furniture.
Theo sat directly on the floor beside the fireplace.
Several wooden figures lay before him, which he seemed to be arranging into some story of his own.
Richard sat in an armchair, watching him.
He had expected the child to be quiet after everything that had happened, but Theo turned out to be nothing of the sort.
“This is a knight.” He held up a wooden figure.
“And this?” “A king.” “And this?” “A dragon.” Richard picked up the figure and examined it carefully.
“Why doesn’t the dragon have a head?” Theo answered calmly, “Roy broke it off.” “Who’s Roy?” “He’s big.” “How big?” Theo thought about it, then spread his arms as wide as he could.
“Like this.” Richard smiled despite himself.
“Very precise description.” Theo picked up another figure.
“And Sean is smart.” “Who’s Sean?” “He wants to be a knight too.” “And you?” Theo looked at him.
“Me too.” Richard remained silent for a while, watching the boy clutch the wooden sword.
“Why?” Theo raised the figure.
“Because Papa said I have to become the best.” Richard froze.
He remembered none of this.
Yet now he knew that the Richard of before had indeed said those words.
And for some reason, that very phrase made him feel, for the first time, not only guilt toward the man he had been, but a certain respect for him as well.
Perhaps the Richard of before had not been a man who could easily be called good.
He had been cold.
Too preoccupied.
Sometimes inattentive.
But he had not been empty.
He had loved his son.
He simply had not always known how to show it.
“Papa?” Richard looked up.
“Yes?” “Do you know how to fight?” Richard glanced at his cane.
“I used to.” “What about now?” “Now I’m better at falling.” Theo burst into laughter.
Richard could not help smiling as well.
Sebastian had been standing in the doorway all this time.
He watched them silently, and for the first time in a long while, there was no worry on his face.
Only a quiet, almost imperceptible smile.
When Theo grew tired, Sebastian took him to his room.
Richard was left alone.
For some time, he simply sat beside the fire, listening to the crackling wood.
Then he rose and walked to the window.
Snow continued to fall beyond the glass.
His old face appeared in the reflection once again.
Yet now another face appeared beside it.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Broad-shouldered.
Strong.
The Richard of before.
Richard slowly turned around.
There was no one in the room.
He looked back at the window.
The young man in the reflection was looking at him too.
Then he spoke.
Not with a voice.
With a memory.
“You must be stronger.” Richard frowned.
“Why?” There was no answer.
Instead, another flash came.
Snow.
Blood.
Arthur.
A tree.
Little Theo.
And then another scene.
Young Richard stood before a man in a black cloak.
On the stranger’s chest was a symbol—a black thorn.
Richard tried to make out his face, but the memory ended before he could.
He opened his eyes sharply.
“Blackthorn?..” The name slipped from his lips on its own.
Richard did not know where it had come from or why it had surfaced now.
But it had already taken root within him.
He looked toward Theo’s room.
Then his gaze shifted to the crest above the fireplace.
A raven.
A wolf.
And for the first time throughout all of this, he thought not about how to regain his youth.
Another question troubled him far more.
What kind of man would he become if he had truly been given a second chance?
He picked up his cane.
And left the room.
Tomorrow, he would begin dealing with the House.
Not the past.
Not only his memories.
The House.
Because now he had someone for whom it was worth preserving.
After Sebastian had taken Theo away, Richard stood by the window for a long time.
Snow fell slowly beyond the glass, settling on the stone railings, the roofs of the outbuildings, and the branches of the old trees.
It gradually concealed the tracks of the road along which Richard had returned from the North only a few hours earlier.
In the courtyard, the servants were tending to the wolf cub.
Richard heard Claudia’s muffled voice several times as she instructed them where to take the warm blankets, prepare water, and summon the healer.
The house was silent.
Too silent for such a large estate.
Richard lowered his gaze to his hands.
Old.
Dry.
The veins standing out prominently beneath the skin.
These hands belonged to a man who had lived far longer than he himself had.
And yet, only a few hours earlier, Theo’s small hand had rested in them as naturally as though it had happened a hundred times before.
Richard slowly clenched his fingers.
The boy’s face appeared in his memory again.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
His own face, only much younger.
He turned away from the window.
“Ridiculous…” The word slipped from his lips.
Richard walked to the armchair and slowly lowered himself into it.
He could not shake the feeling that today he had seen more than just a piece of the past.
He had seen its consequences.
Until now, his memories had come in fragments: faces, places, voices, isolated events, and the emotions of another man that flared in his mind and vanished before he could understand their meaning.
But Theo was different.
Theo existed in the present.
He was not a memory.
He was not part of the past.
He was a living person who looked at Richard and called him father.
And now Richard understood how dangerous his situation was becoming.
If he continued living only through the memories of the Richard who had come before him, one day he might stop understanding where that man ended and where he himself began.
He rose, took his cane, and left the room.
The second-floor corridor was almost empty.
Several candles burned in the wall sconces, casting long shadows across the old portraits.
Outside the windows it was completely dark now, and the snow reflected the faint light of the lanterns.
Richard walked slowly, leaning on his cane, until he stopped before one of the portraits.
It depicted a man in heavy armor.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A long sword in his hands.
The Ravenhart crest upon his chest.
A raven and a wolf.
A small plaque hung beneath the portrait.
Arthur Ravenhart.
Founder of the House.
Richard stepped closer.
He stared at the portrait and felt a strange tension.
Yet his memory remained silent.
No flash.
No voice.
No image.
For some reason, this irritated him.
“So you’re not going to tell me anything?” The portrait, naturally, did not answer.
Richard smirked.
“Fine.” He was about to leave when he noticed something else.
Arthur wore a ring.
Black, with a small stone resembling a frozen drop of blood.
Richard frowned.
He felt as though he had seen this ring before.
Not here.
Somewhere else.
He closed his eyes.
A faint pain appeared in his temples, but the memory still did not come.
“My lord?” Richard turned.
Claudia stood at the far end of the corridor.
She held several folded letters in her hands.
“Have you been here long?” “Long enough.” “And you’ve been watching me for long?” Claudia smiled slightly.
“I would prefer the word ‘observing.'” “The difference?” “If I’m watching you, you might get angry.
If I’m observing you, you can pretend you didn’t notice.” Richard smiled despite himself.
Claudia approached.
“The wolf cub has fallen asleep.” “Good.” “The healer says he’s severely exhausted, but there are no serious injuries.” Richard nodded.
“And Theo?” Claudia stopped.
“Asleep.” “That quickly?” “He was tired of waiting for you.” Richard looked at her.
The words stung.
“He was waiting?” “Almost all day.” Richard lowered his gaze.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” “You had only just returned.” Claudia paused.
“And I wasn’t sure you would want to see him.” Richard frowned.
“Why?” Claudia looked him directly in the eyes.
“Because you often didn’t before.” Silence settled over the corridor.
Richard slowly nodded.
He did not make excuses.
“Was I a bad father?” Claudia lowered her gaze.
“I don’t think you were a bad man.” “That’s not an answer.” She was silent for a moment.
“Then no.
Not a bad one.” Claudia raised her eyes.
“But sometimes you tried so hard to be a good lord that you forgot you had to remain a man first.” Richard fell silent.
The words struck harder than he expected.
Claudia held out the letters.
“They arrived today.” Richard looked at the envelopes.
One was ordinary.
Another bore the seal of a merchant house.
The third immediately caught his attention.
It was sealed with black wax.
Pressed into it was an unfamiliar symbol resembling intertwined branches.
Richard looked up.
“What is this?” “I don’t know.” “Did you open it?” “No.” “Why?” Claudia shrugged slightly.
“Because it’s addressed to you.” Richard took the envelope.
The wax was cold.
Too cold.
He ran his finger over the seal.
At that very moment, a sharp pain shot through him.
An unfamiliar room flashed before his eyes.
A stone table.
A single candle.
Young Richard.
A man in a black cloak stood opposite him.
On the stranger’s hand was the very same ring Richard had just noticed on Arthur’s portrait.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” the stranger said.
Young Richard replied, “I understand perfectly.” “Then you have already chosen.” The memory ended.
Richard drew a heavy breath and pulled his hand away from the seal.
Claudia watched him anxiously.
“My lord?” Richard looked at the letter again.
Black wax.
The same symbolism.
The same strange sensation that arose whenever the past tried to break through.
“Where did you find it?” “A raven brought it.” Richard raised his eyes.
“A raven?” “Yes.” “From where?” “I don’t know.” For the first time, Claudia looked genuinely concerned.
“It flew to the window of your study, left the letter, and flew away.” Richard looked toward the dark window.
“And you simply left it there?” “I decided to wait for you.” “Why?” Claudia was silent for several seconds.
“Because over the past few months, ravens have stopped bringing us good news.” Richard slowly tightened his grip on the letter.
“What does that mean?” “I don’t know yet.” She paused briefly.
“But they used to bring letters from the North.” Richard looked at her.
“And now?” Claudia did not answer immediately.
“Now some of them return without their eyes.” The corridor grew unnaturally quiet.
Richard looked at the black seal again.
Raven.
Wolf.
Tree.
Three symbols that, over the past few days, had somehow begun to intertwine within his mind.
He still did not understand exactly how they were connected.
But now he was certain of one thing: there were no coincidences here.
“Call Sebastian.” Claudia nodded and was already about to leave when Richard stopped her.
“Claudia.” She turned.
“Yes, my lord?” Richard hesitated for a moment.
“Does Theo often ask about me?” Claudia thought about it.
“Every day.” Richard lowered his eyes.
“Good.” Claudia said nothing.
Richard noticed the faint smile on her face.
“Why are you smiling?” “Because for the first time in many years, you asked me about him before asking about the state of the treasury.” Richard smirked.
“Apparently, I’m starting to mend my ways.” “Perhaps.” Claudia left.
Richard remained alone.
The letter lay in his hand.
A raven suddenly croaked outside the window.
Once.
Richard slowly raised his eyes.
A black bird sat on the branch of an old tree.
It was looking directly at him.
And a little lower, near the wall itself, Richard noticed two figures.
One belonged to a man.
The other—a small white wolf.
Richard froze.
The wolf cub raised its head and looked directly at the window.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Then the raven spread its wings and disappeared into the darkness.
Richard looked at the letter again.
His fingers settled over the seal.
This time, he did not hesitate.
He broke the wax, unfolded the paper, and scanned the first lines.
His expression gradually changed.
The letter began with a single sentence: “Richard Ravenhart, if you have truly returned, then the killer has not yet finished what he started.”