The carriage left the estate shortly after noon.
Richard sat by the window, leaning back against the seat, silently watching the familiar road slowly fall behind.
The wheels beat a steady rhythm against the frozen ground, occasionally jolting over uneven patches of road.
Beyond the glass, frost-covered trees drifted past, along with the occasional snow-covered field and familiar hedgerows.
The winter forest was soon left behind.
Gradually, the dense trees began to thin, giving way to open fields and small settlements.
At first, there were only isolated houses, but then they became more numerous.
With every turn, the road grew busier, until at last the first city streets appeared ahead.
Richard looked at them differently now.
The last time he had come here, he had been a man still trying to understand the world around him—its rules, its people, and the place he himself was meant to occupy among them.
Now he was returning in a different capacity.
As its master.
The thought was simple, almost self-evident, yet for some reason it only made the weight upon his shoulders heavier.
Beyond the city walls were people he now had to take into consideration.
Their problems, decisions, and mistakes would, from now on, in one way or another, become his responsibility.
Richard slowly shifted his gaze from the street to his reflection in the glass.
Sebastian sat opposite him, calm and composed as always.
Cain was seated beside the carriage door.
He hardly moved, only occasionally casting a brief glance outside as he listened to the sounds of the road.
For several minutes, silence reigned inside the carriage.
It was not uncomfortable, but neither could Richard call it peaceful.
Each of them seemed lost in his own thoughts as the scenery beyond the window gradually changed and the city drew ever closer.
At last, Richard broke the silence.
“How long has the city administrator effectively been running the city?” Sebastian shifted slightly before answering.
“Almost three years.” Richard considered this for a moment.
“Since the death of the previous administrator?” “Yes.” Richard looked out the window again.
The city streets were already beginning to close in around the carriage, and now passersby, merchants, and carriages flashed past the glass.
He was silent for another second before asking his next question.
“And the House never intervened all this time?” Sebastian looked at him.
For an instant, something difficult to discern flickered in his eyes before his expression returned to its usual composure.
He clearly understood where Richard was leading the conversation.
“Sometimes,” Sebastian finally replied.
Richard frowned slightly.
“Sometimes?” “When the situation became too serious.” The answer was calm, almost matter-of-fact, yet Richard caught what Sebastian had deliberately left unsaid.
It seemed the House preferred not to intervene until the problems began threatening not merely individuals, but the very order of the city.
Richard pondered this for a moment, watching the streets flash past outside the window.
“And now?” Sebastian paused briefly.
“Now it has become too serious.” Richard turned back toward the window.
For several moments, he silently watched the city, as though trying to determine from its appearance just how much had changed during the years the House had been absent.
Yet from the outside, everything looked familiar.
People hurried about their business, merchants took their places beside their stalls, and carriages made their way through the busy streets.
Ordinary life continued as though nothing unusual was happening.
But Richard now knew that something far greater lay hidden beneath that outward calm.
He looked at Sebastian again.
“What is his name?” “Edgar Vale.” The name meant nothing to him.
Richard frowned slightly as he considered his next question.
“What family is he from?” “None.” Richard turned his head.
“A merchant?” “A former city official.” That was somewhat more interesting than he had expected.
Richard glanced at the street again.
So a man with no ties to a noble house had managed to gain enough influence to effectively rule an entire city.
And not for a month or a year, but for nearly three years.
“And he managed to run the city for three years without our intervention?” “He is a capable administrator.” Richard gave a faint smirk.
“But he doesn’t like the Ravenharts?” This time, Sebastian did not answer immediately.
He remained silent for a moment, as though carefully choosing words that were not meant to be spoken too hastily.
At that moment, massive city buildings came into view beyond the window, and the noise of the streets grew noticeably louder.
The carriage continued forward, carrying them deeper into the city.
Richard waited for an answer, his eyes fixed on Sebastian.
“He believes the Ravenharts are no longer capable of ruling the city.” Richard raised an eyebrow slightly.
“That is not the same thing.” “To him, it is almost the same.” A faint smile appeared on Richard’s lips.
“Then this should be interesting.” He did not continue the conversation.
Sebastian’s answer had been telling enough, and Richard preferred to see everything else with his own eyes.
Meanwhile, the carriage slowed and soon came to a stop.
The wheels ceased turning, and for a few moments silence settled inside, broken only by the muffled sounds of the street outside the door.
Cain was the first to step out.
Richard waited for him to clear the way, then took the cane lying beside him and slowly rose to his feet.
His movements remained calm and measured, but there was now a certain caution in each of them—the caution of a man who understood perfectly well that people would look at him differently from now on.
He stepped down onto the street.
The city greeted him with noise.
The voices of passersby, the clatter of wheels, the cries of merchants, and the sound of horses’ hooves blended into the familiar hum of city life.
Yet today, that noise felt entirely different.
When Richard had first arrived here, the city had paid little attention to him.
People had been occupied with their own affairs, occasionally casting curious glances at the unfamiliar aristocrat.
Now everything had changed.
The moment he stepped out of the carriage, several passersby slowed their pace.
Some looked at the crest adorning the carriage.
Others shifted their gaze to Sebastian.
And some fixed their eyes directly on Richard.
One glance followed another.
People exchanged looks, murmuring quietly among themselves, and gradually the general din of the street began to change.
Conversations grew quieter.
Eyes became more attentive.
Richard noticed it almost immediately.
He had done nothing to draw attention to himself, yet the Ravenhart crest alone had been enough.
The city already knew who had returned.
And judging by those looks, not everyone was pleased to see him back.
“Is that him?” “Lord Ravenhart?” “I thought he was dead.” “They say he’s ill.” “He looks older than I expected.” Richard caught only fragments of the conversations drifting through the crowd.
Some spoke loudly enough for him to hear, while others immediately lowered their voices whenever he turned his head.
He chose not to react.
And yet he could not decide what irritated him more.
The fact that people were discussing him right behind his back?
Or the fact that they genuinely doubted whether he was even alive?
Richard merely tightened his fingers around the handle of his cane and continued walking.
The noise of the street gradually faded behind them.
Together with Sebastian and Cain, he made his way toward the administrative building, which towered over the surrounding structures with its austere stone architecture.
It was noticeably quieter here than on the main street, though a few passersby still glanced in their direction.
Two guards met them at the entrance.
At first, both regarded the approaching group with ordinary indifference.
But the moment one of them noticed the Ravenhart crest, his expression changed.
First, he looked at the crest.
Then he shifted his gaze to Richard.
Only after that did he straighten, as though he had just remembered whom he was standing before.
“My lord.” Richard stopped in front of him.
“Is the administrator expecting me?” “Yes, my lord.” The answer came quickly, without unnecessary words.
Richard held the guard’s gaze for a moment before studying his uniform.
It was the first thing he noticed upon reaching the building.
The uniform was neat, but clearly not new.
Signs of long service had already appeared in the fabric, while certain pieces of equipment noticeably differed from one another.
Richard instinctively took note of these details, trying to understand what they might reveal about the condition of the city guard.
He said nothing.
For now, he was simply memorizing everything.
The condition of the uniform spoke for itself.
The old breastplate had lost its former sheen in places, with signs of long use visible along its edges.
The hilt of the sword had been worn dark by years of hands gripping it, and Richard noticed that one of the clasps was missing from the guard’s belt.
He studied the guard intently.
“How many of you are on duty today?” The guard hesitated ever so slightly, as though he already knew the answer was unlikely to make a good impression.
“Twelve, my lord.” Richard frowned slightly.
“In the entire city?” “On this shift.” Richard said nothing more.
Twelve.
Just twelve men on duty for a city of this size.
He glanced once more at the guard’s worn equipment before turning his attention to the entrance of the administrative building.
He was beginning to understand why criminals here felt like they owned the streets.
If the city guard was truly in such a state, it was hardly surprising that order had gradually fallen into other hands.
Richard stepped inside.
The corridors of the administrative building greeted them with cool air and muted sounds.
Somewhere beyond the walls, the voices of officials could be heard, along with the rustling of papers and hurried footsteps.
Yet everything here seemed considerably calmer than one might expect from a city in which, judging by all appearances, quite a few problems had accumulated.
Before long, Richard found himself standing outside the administrator’s office.
He had expected to see a completely different sort of man.
In his mind, Edgar Vale would have been a frightened official who had already prepared a list of excuses for the returning lord.
Perhaps Richard had even expected to see nervousness or hurried displays of deference.
But reality was quite different.
Edgar Vale stood behind a massive desk.
He was a man in his fifties, with neatly trimmed gray hair and a tired, somewhat stern face.
There was neither confusion nor any obvious fear in his appearance.
He looked like a man who had spent far too long dealing with other people’s problems and had long since grown accustomed to relying on himself.
Spread out across the desk before him were maps of the city.
Several lay fully unfolded, while others were partially covering stacks of documents.
Judging by the sheer amount of paperwork, Edgar clearly had no intention of meeting Richard empty-handed.
Richard stopped in the doorway and studied him carefully.
It seemed their conversation was going to be far more interesting than he had expected on the way here.
At the edge of the desk lay several books, each open to a different page, while a neat stack of documents stood beside them.
Some of the pages were covered in small handwritten notes, while others bore old seals and signatures.
Altogether, it gave the impression of a workspace belonging to a man who had grown accustomed to spending far more time there than he would have liked.
Upon noticing Richard, Vale rose.
“My lord.” He bowed.
The bow was exactly what it should have been: respectful enough to observe proper decorum, yet without any excessive submission.
Not too deep.
But not defiant either.
Richard noticed it.
He did not comment on the gesture, merely replied calmly: “Mr.
Vale.” “I’m glad to see you in good health.” Richard studied him for several seconds, trying to determine how sincere those words were.
“Are you really?” A faint smile crossed the administrator’s face.
“I’m glad to see a living lord.” The answer was so direct that Richard could not help but hold his gaze.
Vale, however, did not look away or attempt to soften his words.
“And if I had not come?” Richard asked.
The smile disappeared from the administrator’s face.
“Then I would have continued doing what I have been doing for the past three years.” Silence fell over the office for a moment.
Richard said nothing.
He simply stepped away from the door and took the seat that had been offered to him, slowly lowering himself into the chair across from the desk.
Now the city maps, books, and stack of documents lay between them.
And behind all of it stood three years during which Edgar Vale had effectively governed the Ravenhart lands without their involvement.
Richard placed his cane beside the chair and looked at the administrator once more.
Vale remained standing.
It seemed they both understood that the polite greetings were over, and it was now time to discuss what had truly been happening in the city.
Sebastian and Cain remained by the door, keeping out of the conversation.
Richard studied the maps spread out before him in silence for a while, then raised his eyes to the administrator.
“And what exactly have you been doing?” Vale did not answer immediately.
Instead, he reached for one of the maps and pointed to a marked area.
“Trying to keep the city from falling apart.” Richard frowned slightly.
“From whom?” “From hunger.” Vale’s finger moved to another section of the map.
“From debt.” Then he pointed to another.
“From gangs.” Each word was brief and dry, without any attempt to exaggerate the situation.
Yet beneath that restraint, Richard could sense just how difficult the circumstances had been.
Finally, Vale withdrew his hand from the map and looked directly at Richard.
“And from your House.” The office fell silent at once.
Sebastian frowned, his gaze growing noticeably colder.
Cain also shifted slightly, though he remained by the door.
Richard noticed both reactions.
He raised a hand, preventing either of them from intervening.
“Continue.” Vale’s expression changed ever so slightly.
He had clearly expected an entirely different reaction.
After such a direct accusation, he had probably expected anger, objections, or at the very least some pressure from Richard.
But Richard merely continued to look at him calmly.
“Continue,” Richard repeated, more quietly this time.
“I want to hear everything.” The surprise on Vale’s face became more pronounced.
For several seconds, he remained silent, as though for the first time in a long while, he did not know whether he should say more.
Then his gaze dropped to the maps.
“Very well, my lord.” He slowly ran a hand along the edge of the desk before leaning over the papers spread out before him once more.
It seemed the conversation was truly beginning now.
Vale continued to look at Richard for several more seconds, as though trying to determine whether he truly intended to hear him out to the end.
Then, at last, he complied.
“When the previous Lord Ravenhart fell ill, the support stopped coming.” Richard frowned.
“What kind of support?” Vale began listing them, counting on his fingers.
“Money.” He folded down the first finger.
“Guards.” The second.
“Justice.” The third.
“Trade agreements.” The fourth.
“Even repairs to the city walls.” Those final words carried a particular weight.
Richard slowly exhaled and lowered his gaze to the map for a few moments.
Now the details he had noticed on the way here were beginning to fall into place: the guards’ worn uniforms, the shortage of men, the condition of the city, and the tension he had sensed even in the most ordinary conversations.
He raised his eyes.
“Why didn’t you write?” Vale glanced at Sebastian.
The look was brief, but expressive enough.
“We did.” Richard slowly turned his head toward Sebastian.
Sebastian said nothing.
He neither offered an excuse nor attempted to interrupt the administrator.
Richard looked back at Vale.
“How many letters?” “Dozens.” Silence once again settled over the office.
“And?” Vale pressed his lips together slightly.
“Most of them received no reply.” Richard fell silent.
He slowly leaned back in his chair, continuing to stare at the maps spread out before him.
Until this moment, he had assumed that the city had simply been neglected because of the House’s long absence.
But now an entirely different picture was taking shape before him.
For three years, people had been trying to reach the Ravenharts.
And for most of that time, no one had answered.
That feeling returned.
Brief, almost imperceptible, but no less unpleasant for it.
For a moment, a чужое memory appeared before Richard’s eyes.
Young Richard was sitting in this very office—or at least one very much like it.
A letter lay before him.
He did not even bother to read it.
He merely glanced at it with indifference and tossed it aside.
The next letter.
Then another.
The stack of papers continued to grow, while the young Richard made no attempt to learn what any of them contained.
“Later.” One short word.
Then the memory vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Richard clenched his fingers, grounding himself in the present.
“I see.” Vale watched him carefully.
The administrator had clearly noticed the change in his expression, but he did not rush to ask unnecessary questions.
“My lord?” “Nothing.” Richard looked away and turned his attention to the map, trying to focus on what was happening now.
If the memory had not deceived him, the answer was obvious.
But for now, he had no intention of sharing it with either Vale or Sebastian.
Richard’s gaze moved across the districts marked on the map before stopping on several areas highlighted in ink.
“Tell me about the gangs.” Vale immediately grew more serious.
Only moments ago, a trace of weariness had remained on his face, but now it was replaced by concentration.
He pulled the map closer and ran a finger over one of the marked districts.
“The gangs are far worse than they appear at first glance.” Richard studied him intently.
It seemed he was about to discover yet another side of the city that the Ravenhart House had preferred not to see.
“There are several,” Vale began.
“And things between them are not exactly peaceful either.” Richard studied the map carefully.
“The main one?” “The Gray Hounds.” The name was marked on one of the sheets beside several districts of the city.
“How many members?” Vale shook his head slightly.
“No one knows for certain.” “Who leads them?” “A man named Garrett Crowe.” Until that moment, Cain had been standing silently by the door, showing little interest in the conversation.
But upon hearing the name, he spoke for the first time.
“Crowe?” Vale immediately turned his gaze toward him.
“You know the name?” Cain did not answer at once.
He merely frowned slightly, as though searching through old memories, trying to determine exactly where he had heard the name before.
“I’ve heard it.” Vale straightened.
“Where?” “In the north.” Silence once again filled the office.
Richard shifted his gaze from Cain to Vale.
The administrator was now looking at Cain quite differently, a wary attentiveness appearing on his face.
“What was he doing there?” Vale asked.
Cain did not answer immediately.
He remained by the door, staring thoughtfully ahead, as though whatever memory was tied to that name was not something he wished to share hastily.
Richard did not press him either.
For the first time since the conversation began, he had the feeling that Garrett Crowe’s name might be connected to something far greater than an ordinary city gang.
“Weapons trafficking.” Cain’s answer was calm, but somehow the room seemed to grow colder.
Richard slowly looked at him.
“And now he’s here?” “Apparently.” Vale nodded, confirming what he had heard.
“Over the past two months, the attacks have become far more organized.” Richard turned his gaze to the administrator.
“How much more?” Vale ran a finger across the map, pausing over several marked districts.
“They’re not just robbing people.” Richard frowned slightly.
“What else?” “They’re targeting specific people.” “Who?” “Merchants who refuse to pay.” Vale paused briefly.
“And people who assist the city guard.” Richard’s frown deepened.
“And?” This time, Vale did not answer immediately.
He slowly raised his eyes from the map and looked Richard directly in the eye.
There was no longer any trace of tired courtesy or his earlier restrained confidence on his face.
Only seriousness.
The kind that made it clear the next piece of information was something Richard would not like.
“Those who publicly say that the Ravenharts should return.” Richard froze.
For several seconds, he simply stared at Vale without saying a word.
Until now, they had been talking about robberies, extortion, and the struggle for influence.
But now everything looked different.
This was no longer ordinary crime.
Someone was deliberately eliminating those who openly supported the Ravenharts’ return.
“How many have died?” Richard asked.
“Seven.” Richard did not immediately believe what he had heard.
“In two months?” “Yes.” Vale’s brief answer sounded especially heavy in the silence that followed.
Richard turned his gaze to the map.
“And the guard?” A brief smile appeared on Vale’s lips, devoid of even a hint of amusement.
“The guard is trying.” “But?” The administrator looked away for a moment.
“They’re afraid.” Richard said nothing.
He looked at the map again, but now he saw it in an entirely different light.
The streets he had been traveling through with Sebastian and Cain only minutes ago.
The market, where people continued to trade, talk, and pretend that life in the city was carrying on as usual.
The northern gates, through which merchant caravans entered the city—and perhaps those whom its residents preferred not to speak of aloud.
All these places had suddenly ceased to be mere points on a map.
There were people behind every street.
Every district had its own fears, debts, and arrangements.
And somewhere among them, the Gray Hounds were operating.
Richard slowly ran his finger along the edge of the map.
Now he understood why Edgar Vale had said that everything had become worse over the past two months.
Someone was not merely taking control of the city.
Someone was preparing for something much bigger.
“Where are they gathering?” Without a word, Vale pointed to an area of the map closer to the outskirts of the city, where the old warehouse district began.
“Here.” Cain stepped away from the door and approached the desk.
Leaning over the map, he carefully studied the marked area.
“The old port.” “Exactly.” Cain traced the streets with his eyes, taking note of the buildings, alleys, and routes leading to the water.
“Plenty of exits.” “Four,” Vale replied.
Cain gave a brief nod.
“Convenient.” Richard looked at him.
“For what?” Cain lifted his gaze from the map.
“To disappear.” Vale nodded silently.
“We’ve tried raiding the place several times.” Richard turned his attention to him.
“And?” “They knew in advance every time.” Silence fell over the office once again.
But this time, it was different.
Richard slowly raised his eyes from the map and looked first at Vale, then at Sebastian.
If the Gray Hounds truly knew about every raid in advance, then this was more than just a well-organized gang.
They had a source of information.
And judging by everything they had heard, that source was close enough to those who were supposed to stop them.
“They knew in advance?” “Yes.” Cain studied the map for several more seconds before raising his eyes to Vale.
“You have a traitor.” Vale did not argue.
“I know.” Cain narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Who?” “I don’t know.” The answer was calm, but there was a trace of irritation in it—the frustration of a man who had tried more than once to find the source of the leaks, only to reach a dead end every time.
Richard fell into thought.
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the map again, but now he no longer saw a collection of separate problems before him.
He saw an entire system, its pieces gradually beginning to fit together.
Now this was getting interesting.
Gangs.
A weak city guard.
Bribery.
Information leaks.
Letters that no one had answered.
The Blackthorns.
And the death of the previous Richard.
That last thought lingered in his mind longer than the others.
Too many coincidences.
Too many events that could each be explained away as chance, incompetence, or an ordinary struggle for power.
But if he put them all together…
Richard slowly shifted his gaze to Vale.
For the first time since returning to the city, he felt that he was not simply looking at a neglected domain that needed to be put back in order.
Something was happening here.
And perhaps it had been happening for a very long time.
All that remained was to understand just how deeply it had managed to infiltrate the Ravenhart House.
Too many coincidences.
Richard stared at the map for several more moments, as though hoping to find an answer hidden among its lines.
But the longer he thought, the clearer it became: there was no point in remaining in the office and building theories.
He rose to his feet.
“I want to see the old port.” Vale frowned.
“Now?” “Yes.” “It’s dangerous.” Richard looked at him calmly.
“That’s precisely why.” Vale said nothing.
Sebastian, standing nearby, watched Richard carefully.
“My lord…” There was a warning in his voice.
Richard already knew what he was going to say.
“I’m not planning to take the entire garrison there.” Cain seemed to understand his intention even sooner.
“I’ll go.” Richard turned his gaze to him.
“Just you?” “That will be enough.” Cain said it so calmly that one might have thought they were discussing an ordinary walk rather than a place where an armed gang might be hiding.
Richard considered it for a moment, then looked at Sebastian.
“And Sebastian?” “He’ll stay here.” A faint smile appeared on Sebastian’s face.
“Thank you.” Richard sighed.
He understood perfectly well that arguing with the two of them now would be pointless.
“Fine.” He turned to Vale.
“Then show us the way to the old port.” “And you?” Vale frowned slightly.
“Me?” “You’ll stay here.” The administrator looked at him in surprise.
“Why?” Richard did not answer immediately.
He glanced at the maps once more before turning his attention back to Vale.
“Because if someone inside your administration is feeding information to the gangs, I want him to keep thinking that everything is going on as usual.” The room fell silent.
Richard’s words hung in the air, forcing everyone present to consider their implications.
Cain looked at him.
For the first time, something new flickered in his eyes.
Not trust.
But interest.
It seemed Cain was beginning to see Richard as more than just the man he had been assigned to escort.
Richard took his cane and headed for the door.
After a few steps, he stopped.
“One more thing.” Vale raised his eyes.
“Tomorrow, I want a complete list of the city guard.” “All right.” Richard turned his head slightly.
“And everyone who pays the Gray Hounds.” Vale nodded.
“It will be done.” Richard moved toward the exit again.
However, just as his hand closed around the doorknob, he stopped.
For a moment, his expression grew thoughtful.
Too much was happening around him, and now, for the first time in a long while, he intended to intervene personally.
“And, Mr.
Vale…” The administrator looked up.
Richard slowly turned around.
“If one of those lists contains the name of someone you trust, don’t remove it.” Vale frowned.
“Why?” A faint smile touched Richard’s lips.
“Because a traitor should feel safe until we find out who he’s passing the information to.” “Mr.
Vale.” “Yes?” Richard looked at the administrator.
For several moments, he remained silent, as though choosing words he wanted to say not only to Vale, but to himself.
“I don’t know what the previous lord was like.” Vale said nothing.
He simply listened attentively.
“But I know what he should have been.” Richard turned his gaze to the map of the city still lying on the desk.
It marked the streets, districts, market, walls, and the old port.
Everything the Ravenhart House had once been meant to govern, and which had gradually been left to fend for itself.
“And I’m not going to let this place die.” For the first time, Vale looked at him differently.
Not as an old, ailing lord whose return might prove temporary.
Not as a ghost from the past who had unexpectedly appeared at the city’s doorstep.
But as a man who truly intended to change something.
Richard did not wait for his response.
He left the office with Cain, leaving Sebastian behind.
The old port greeted them with silence.
Far too much silence for a city that was once supposed to be full of life.
There were almost no people here.
Only the occasional footprints in the snow served as a reminder that anyone still walked these streets.
Closed warehouses stretched along both sides of the road.
Their wooden walls had darkened with age and dampness, while some of the shutters hung crookedly, barely clinging to their old hinges.
The street lamps were mostly out.
Several had long since been broken, while the others barely let through a dim glow behind their murky glass.
Creaking wooden walkways stretched toward the water, groaning beneath the gusts of wind.
A thin layer of snow covered the rooftops, piled by the wind along the edges of the streets.
From time to time, another gust swept it from the sagging roofs, sending tiny snowflakes swirling through the air.
The wind drove scraps of old paper along the empty street.
Richard walked beside Cain, slowly tapping his cane against the frozen ground.
He carefully surveyed the port.
Something was wrong here.
Far too quiet.
Far too empty.
And that was precisely why Richard could not shake the feeling that someone was watching them from somewhere beyond the silence.
“Are you sure?” Cain looked at him.
“About what?” “That it’s safe here.” Not a muscle moved on Cain’s face.
“No.” Richard gave a faint smile.
“Good answer.” They continued onward.
Their footsteps echoed dully along the empty street, while the wind occasionally stirred the old signs above the shuttered warehouses.
Richard continued to survey his surroundings carefully, making sure not to overlook the slightest detail.
They walked another few dozen paces.
Suddenly, Cain stopped.
Richard took one more step before noticing and coming to a halt as well.
“What is it?” Cain raised a hand, signaling him to be silent.
They both fell quiet.
For several seconds, Richard listened.
Nothing.
Only the wind slipping between the buildings and the occasional creak of the wooden structures by the water.
“I don’t hear anything.” “Exactly.” Cain slowly raised his eyes toward the rooftops of the nearby warehouses.
“There should be rats here.” Richard frowned.
“And?” “There aren’t any.” He spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, but there was now a note of caution in his voice.
Cain placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Which means someone was here recently.” Richard slowly surveyed the street.
At first, he noticed nothing unusual.
Empty windows, closed doors, old crates stacked against the walls, traces of snow across the wooden walkways.
Then his gaze stopped.
A symbol had been painted on the wall of one of the warehouses.
It looked fresh.
The dark paint stood out sharply against the old, faded wood, as though it had been applied only recently.
Richard stared at it in silence for several seconds.
The mark was simple, but it clearly carried a specific meaning.
“Cain…” Cain had already noticed it as well.
He slowly removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and stepped forward, studying the image carefully.
“Looks like we weren’t the first ones here.” It was a raven.
But not the Ravenhart crest.
The bird’s wings were spread wide, as though it were about to take flight.
Beneath it was a wolf with a crossed-out eye.
Richard stopped.
He stared at the symbol, unable to look away.
Something inside him twisted painfully.
Then, for a moment, the world disappeared.
A flash.
Blood.
A scream.
Young Richard stood beside this very wall.
But back then, the symbol looked fresh, not yet faded by rain and snow.
Another person stood beside him.
Richard could not see the man’s face.
“You have to choose a side.” Young Richard remained silent for only a few seconds before answering: “I already have.” The vision vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
Richard staggered.
Cain was instantly at his side, gripping his shoulder firmly to keep him from falling.
“My lord.” Richard breathed heavily, trying to regain control of himself.
For several moments, fragments of what he had seen remained before his eyes: blood, the wall, a stranger’s voice, and young Richard speaking words the present Richard had no memory of ever saying.
“I’ve seen this symbol.” Cain looked at him intently.
“Where?” Richard slowly raised his eyes to the wall.
“Here.” “When?” He fell silent.
The question was more difficult than it seemed.
Richard looked at the image of the raven and wolf once more.
“Before.” Cain froze.
Tension appeared in his gaze.
He wanted to ask something else, but Richard was already looking at the other side of the wall.
Only now did he notice that the old wood there was covered in scratches.
Most had darkened with age and nearly blended into the surface.
But among them, two short lines stood out.
Richard stepped closer.
Someone had scratched two words into the other side of the wall.
“He has returned.” Cain stepped closer and read the inscription.
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Then he slowly looked at Richard.
Richard said nothing.
He continued staring at those two words, feeling that strange, unsettling sensation rising within him once again.
Someone had been waiting for his return.
And judging by everything around them, they had been waiting for a very long time.
Cain’s expression changed for the first time.
Only slightly.
But Richard noticed.
A flicker of tension appeared in his eyes, and for a moment his face grew noticeably paler.
Richard studied him carefully.
“Do you know who wrote it?” Cain slowly drew his sword.
The movement was calm, almost casual, but Richard immediately understood that Cain took what was happening far more seriously than he had let on.
“No.” Richard shifted his gaze from the sword to Cain’s face.
“Then why did you go pale?” Cain did not answer.
He continued staring over Richard’s shoulder, as though trying to make something out in the empty street.
At that moment, the sound of footsteps came from the dark alley ahead.
One.
Two.
Three.
The footsteps drew closer, slow and utterly unhurried.
Richard tightened his grip on his cane and straightened, keeping his eyes fixed on the alley.
The wind died down.
For several moments, the old port fell into such complete silence that the crunch of snow beneath someone’s boots could be heard clearly.
Then a voice calmly emerged from the darkness.
“Lord Ravenhart.” Richard felt Cain tense beside him.
He did not answer.
A man stepped out of the shadows.
He wore dark clothing that almost blended into the surrounding walls.
His face was uncovered, and a calm, almost friendly smile played across his features.
Far too calm for a man who had just stepped out to confront armed men in an empty alley.
The man stopped a few paces away.
His gaze settled on Richard.
“We’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” Richard said nothing.
He merely tightened his grip on the cane and studied the stranger carefully.
Now he understood completely: they had not come to the old port to find a trace of the Gray Hounds.
Someone had wanted Richard to find them.
And this man already knew that he had returned.