The man stopped a few paces away from them.
Now Richard could get a better look at him.
He appeared to be around forty.
Tall and lean, with an upright posture and confident movements.
He wore a dark coat that fit far too well for a man accustomed to spending his days among old warehouses, filthy alleyways, and port docks.
Leather gloves covered his hands.
A short scar crossed his left eyebrow and extended slightly downward toward his temple.
He was smiling.
But his eyes remained cold.
Two more men emerged from the darkness behind him.
Then another.
They did not hurry forward, merely taking up positions around the alley as though they already knew exactly where to stand and which escape routes to cut off.
Kain did not move.
Only his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
Richard noticed it out of the corner of his eye but did not allow himself to be distracted from the stranger.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The man smirked.
There was neither surprise nor offense in his smile.
Rather, there was a strange pleasure in hearing the question.
“You don’t remember?” Something unpleasant stirred inside Richard.
Again.
The same sensation that surfaced whenever the past tried to break through the emptiness in his memory.
As though somewhere very close, there was a locked door.
There was something behind it.
He could feel it.
Almost see it.
But the moment he tried to approach, the memory vanished, leaving behind only unease and a vague sense of recognition.
Richard did not look away from the man.
The stranger seemed to notice his hesitation.
And his smile widened.
He could not open it.
No matter how hard Richard tried to remember, the past remained on the other side of that invisible boundary.
He could feel its presence, catch fragments of it, but he could not piece them together.
“Should I?” Richard asked calmly.
The man tilted his head slightly.
“Once, you knew me.” He slowly removed one of his gloves.
The movement was deliberately unhurried, as though he wanted to give Richard time to examine what he was about to reveal.
An old brand marked the back of his right hand.
A raven.
Richard frowned.
The symbol was familiar to him, but not in the same way as his House’s crest.
This image evoked something entirely different—a sense of unease, of danger, as though his memory were desperately trying to grasp onto something.
“You served the House?” The man glanced at the mark, then looked back at Richard.
“Once.” There was a faint trace of bitterness in his voice.
Kain spoke for the first time since their encounter.
“Liar.” The man slowly turned his gaze toward him.
A hint of a smile returned to his face.
“But you remember me.” Cain remained silent.
His fingers still gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
The man took a barely perceptible step forward.
“Then tell him.” “That’s not for you to decide.” The smile vanished from the man’s face.
A cold, heavy expression replaced it.
For several seconds, the two men stared at each other.
Richard’s gaze moved between them as he realized that there was a history between the two of them—one he knew nothing about.
And judging by the tension in Cain, it was a history he would have preferred to leave in the past.
But it seemed the past had decided to return on its own.
“Still the same Kain.” Richard slowly turned his gaze toward his bodyguard.
There was no way to tell what Cain was feeling from his expression, but the tension in his posture spoke for itself.
“You really know him?” “Yes.” Richard watched him for several seconds, waiting for him to continue.
But Cain remained silent.
The man then stepped forward himself.
“My name is Garrett Crowe.” Richard felt everything inside him tense at once.
Crowe.
A name he had heard only moments ago.
The leader of the Gray Hounds.
The man Edgar Vale had spoken of with such caution.
The very man Kain had once encountered in the north.
And now he was standing right in front of them.
“So you’re Garrett.” “I’m glad you at least remember that much.” There was a faint note of mockery in Crowe’s voice.
Richard did not respond.
“I don’t remember you.” “I know.” Garrett tilted his head slightly.
This time, there was no surprise in his eyes.
It seemed he had expected exactly that answer.
“That’s precisely why things turned out far more interesting than I anticipated.” Cain shifted slightly forward, instinctively placing himself between Richard and the man.
Garrett noticed the movement but merely looked at him calmly.
“Don’t worry, Cain.
If I wanted him dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Cain said nothing.
Richard, however, continued to study Crowe carefully.
Everything about this was too strange.
This man knew his past.
Kain knew him.
There was a raven branded on his hand.
And Richard remembered nothing.
The longer he looked at Garrett, the stronger the feeling became that behind the locked door of his memory lay something far more dangerous than he had imagined.
“But your father knew me once.” Richard froze.
Those words immediately put him on alert.
“My father?” “Yes.” “And how?” Garrett smirked, as though the answer was both simple and too old to need explaining.
“He saved my life.” Cain turned his head sharply.
Richard noticed the movement and immediately looked at him.
“You knew?” “No.” Richard narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Kain.” The bodyguard held his gaze, then calmly replied: “I’ve heard the story.” “From whom?” “From Garrett himself.” Garrett gave a quiet laugh.
There was no amusement in it.
If anything, it sounded tired, as though the story belonged to a distant past.
“You see?
Some things do survive the passage of time.” Richard kept his eyes on him.
Garrett’s words would not leave his mind.
His father had saved this man’s life.
Kain knew about it.
And Richard did not.
Just like so many other things that had apparently happened before his current memories became the only thing he could rely on.
“If my father saved your life,” Richard finally said, “why are you standing before me now with a gang?” This time, Garrett’s smile changed.
It became quieter.
Almost sad.
He lowered his gaze to the snow beneath his feet before looking back at Richard.
“Because your House died long before you decided to return.” Richard felt a flash of irritation.
Garrett’s words struck deeper than he wanted to show.
“My House is not dead.” Garrett looked him directly in the eyes.
“Do you truly believe that?” Richard said nothing.
Behind Garrett, the members of the Gray Hounds stood silently.
The wind swept through the old warehouses once again, sending several scraps of paper skittering across the ground.
And suddenly Richard understood that this was not merely a meeting with the leader of a gang.
Garrett Crowe had not come here to frighten him.
He wanted to make him remember.
“Then why are you here?” Garrett remained silent for several seconds, studying Richard as though trying to see in him the man he had once known.
“To see whether a dead man could truly become his master again.” Richard felt irritation rising within him, but outwardly he remained calm.
“And what have you seen?” Garrett’s gaze slowly dropped to the cane in Richard’s hand.
Then it returned to his face.
“Nothing so far.” Kain took a step forward.
His voice was cold.
“Watch your tongue.” Garrett turned his gaze toward him and smirked.
“And you’re still protecting him.” “I’m protecting the House.” “Not anymore.” Cain said nothing.
For several seconds, a heavy silence settled between them.
It was obvious that the brief exchange concealed far more than Richard had yet managed to understand.
Garrett looked at him again.
“You truly don’t remember anything?” “Almost nothing.” “Then you should be more careful.” Richard narrowed his eyes slightly.
“About what?” Garrett hesitated.
“With people who claim they know you.” Those words immediately put Richard on guard.
He had already begun to notice how much of what surrounded him was connected to a past he could not remember.
Too many people knew the old Richard, too many spoke as though the Richard standing before them now was merely a shadow of the man they had once known.
“Are you implying Sebastian?” Kain tensed almost imperceptibly.
Richard noticed it immediately.
Garrett noticed it too.
That same enigmatic smile appeared on his face once more, but this time he did not answer right away.
Garrett noticed the barely perceptible change in Cain’s expression.
But he made no comment.
“I’m not implying anything, my lord.” He paused briefly, as though deliberately leaving his words unfinished.
“Not yet.” Richard felt irritation rising in his chest.
He wanted to demand an explanation, to force Garrett to speak plainly, but he suppressed the impulse.
Not now.
Not in front of people he barely knew.
And certainly not when so much about this city remained a mystery to him.
Richard turned his gaze to Garrett.
“Have you killed people in this city?” Garrett looked at him calmly.
“Yes.” Not a trace of hesitation.
Richard remained silent for several seconds, trying to comprehend the simplicity of the answer.
“Why?” “Because they were in the way.” The answer was so matter-of-fact that Richard felt uneasy.
No excuses.
No attempt to portray himself as innocent.
Simply a statement of fact.
“And you’re proud of it?” “No.” “Then why do you keep doing it?” Garrett shrugged slightly.
“Because no one else does what needs to be done.” Richard gave a humorless smile.
“That’s what people usually say when they’re trying to justify their own crimes.” “Perhaps.” Garrett shrugged again.
His calmness irritated Richard more than any excuse could have.
Richard studied him, becoming increasingly convinced that the man before him had long since stopped dividing the world into simple categories of “good” and “evil.” For Garrett, there was only necessity.
And if blood had to be spilled to achieve it, he considered that an acceptable price.
Richard was about to ask another question when Cain spoke quietly.
“My lord.” There was a warning in his voice.
Richard froze and listened.
Somewhere in the distance, between the warehouses, came the faint metallic sound of something shifting.
Someone was moving.
And this time, they were not alone.
“But sometimes a criminal really does what the law is incapable of doing.” Kain slowly drew his sword.
Steel rang softly as the blade slipped free of its sheath, gleaming coldly in the gray winter light.
“The conversation is over.” Garrett turned his gaze toward him.
For several seconds, he silently studied the drawn sword before looking up again.
“Are you sure?” “Yes.” Cain took another step forward, never taking his eyes off him.
Garrett did not retreat.
“Then tell your lord one thing.” Cain stopped.
Garrett looked at Richard again.
“People in this city no longer believe in the Ravenharts.” Richard answered calmly: “I know.” Garrett slowly shook his head.
“No.” For the first time, there was genuine seriousness in his voice, stripped of its earlier mockery.
“You don’t understand.” He raised a hand and gestured toward the streets of the old port.
The shuttered warehouses.
The empty roads.
The city that from the outside seemed merely poor and forgotten, but which Richard now saw as something entirely different.
“They haven’t simply stopped trusting you, my lord.” Garrett paused briefly.
“They’ve learned to live without you.” Richard said nothing.
Those words were more unpleasant than any accusation.
Because there was truth in them.
Over the past three years, the city had truly changed.
Its people had found other protectors, other rules, and others they had been forced to trust in place of the Ravenharts.
And now he had returned, expecting a single crest to be enough to put everything back the way it was.
Garrett lowered his hand.
“That’s what you don’t understand.” He looked Richard directly in the eyes.
“You didn’t return to your city.” For a moment, silence hung between them.
“You returned to a city that has already learned to live without you.” “They don’t hate you.” Richard said nothing.
“They don’t care.” The words were spoken almost matter-of-factly.
Garrett paused briefly before adding: “Worse.” Richard looked up at him.
“They’re indifferent.” Those words carried an unexpected weight.
Not because they were accusatory.
On the contrary, there was neither anger nor contempt in them.
That was precisely what made them hurt.
Garrett continued: “When a man hates his lord, it means he still considers him important.” He looked directly at Richard.
“But when he doesn’t care—that’s the end.” Richard slowly tightened his fingers around his cane.
He did not want to acknowledge what he had heard.
He did not want to agree with a man who had only moments ago openly told him that his House was dead.
Yet somewhere deep inside, he already understood: there was truth in those words.
The city had not risen against the Ravenharts.
No one had taken to the streets with weapons, demanded their expulsion, or shouted for their downfall.
People had simply stopped waiting.
Stopped hoping for help.
Stopped thinking of the House whenever problems arose.
After three years, the Ravenharts’ absence had become normal to them.
Richard looked at the empty street, the shuttered warehouses, and the few passersby who had no idea what conversation was taking place only a few steps away.
Garrett was right.
The city had not turned against the Ravenharts.
It had simply learned to live without them.
And now Richard would have to find out whether he could make this city believe in its lord again.
“Then why show yourself to me?” Richard asked.
Garrett smiled.
This time, there was neither mockery nor threat in his smile.
If anything, it held curiosity—as though Richard were not an enemy, but a man whose actions he wanted to watch.
“Because I want to see what you do.” Richard took a step forward.
“And if I fail?” “Then the city will finally belong to no one.” Richard stopped.
“And if I succeed?” Garrett looked him directly in the eyes.
For several seconds, he said nothing, as though he were genuinely considering the answer.
“Then perhaps I’ll become your enemy again.” Richard frowned.
“Perhaps?” “I haven’t decided yet.” Garrett turned away.
The men behind him immediately began moving back toward the alley without a word.
“Leave.” Cain did not lower his sword.
“You’re letting us go?” Garrett stopped but did not turn around completely.
“Today.” “Why?” Garrett glanced back over his shoulder.
His gaze settled on Richard.
“Because you didn’t come here with an army.” He paused briefly.
“You came here to look.” Richard said nothing.
Garrett continued watching him for several seconds.
“Seen enough?” Richard slowly nodded.
“Yes.” A faint smile appeared on Garrett’s face.
“Then decide.” He disappeared into the alley first.
The others followed almost immediately.
One by one, they vanished among the old warehouses until the sound of their footsteps finally faded into the distance.
Cain remained motionless for a while, still holding his sword at the ready.
Richard stared at the place where Garrett had disappeared.
The encounter was over.
But there were now more questions than before.
At last, Cain sheathed his sword.
“My lord.” Richard did not turn around.
“What?” “We should return.” Richard looked once more at the raven and wolf symbol, then at the words carved into the wall.
He had returned.
“Yes,” he answered quietly.
“We really should return.” After a few seconds, the street was empty again.
The footsteps of Garrett’s men gradually faded somewhere deep within the old port, leaving only the wind wandering between the warehouses, sending scraps of paper skittering across the ground.
Cain sheathed his sword.
Richard continued staring at the place where Garrett had disappeared.
“He could have killed us.” “Yes.” “But he didn’t.” “Yes.” Richard was silent for a moment.
“Why?” Cain looked at him.
For several seconds, he said nothing, as though searching for the right words.
“Because he wanted you to hear him.” Richard turned his gaze toward him.
“Hear what, exactly?” Cain was silent for a moment.
“That the city no longer belongs to the Ravenharts.” Richard lowered his gaze.
He had already heard those words from Garrett, but now they sounded different.
Not like the mockery of an enemy, but like a simple statement of what had happened during the years of the House’s absence.
He slowly tightened his fingers around his cane.
“Then we’ll take it back.” Cain looked at him longer than usual.
There was still no complete trust in his eyes, but now there was something else—as though, for the first time, he was genuinely trying to understand what kind of man Richard had become.
“It won’t be easy.” “I know.” “We may have to shed blood.” Richard looked up.
“Not for power.” Cain said nothing.
Richard looked down the empty street.
“If we protect people only because they belong to us,” he continued, “then we’re no better than those who control them now.” For the first time, Cain did not answer immediately.
He simply stared at Richard, as though he had heard something he had never expected from him.
Richard turned away.
“Let’s go back.” “To the estate?” “Yes.” He took several steps along the snow-covered street.
But soon he stopped.
Richard thought for a moment, then slowly turned his head.
“No.” Cain looked at him.
“Where, then?” “The barracks first.” “Why?” Richard turned his gaze toward the city, which he now saw in an entirely different light.
Somewhere here lived people who walked these streets every day despite their fear.
People the city guard was supposed to protect.
And people who would now have to decide whether they were willing to believe in the Ravenhart name again.
“I want to see the people who will have to take this city back.” The barracks smelled of damp wood, metal, and old sweat.
The smell was heavy and deeply ingrained, clinging to the walls, wooden benches, and worn straps of the equipment.
There had long been no place here for the order and prosperity Richard had come to associate with the holdings of a great House.
He entered without warning.
The conversations fell silent almost immediately.
Several guards, noticing the lord who had entered, hurriedly rose from their seats.
One nearly dropped his mug, while another hastily tried to fasten his belt, as though only now remembering what he looked like.
Richard stopped in the middle of the room and looked them over carefully.
“How many of you are there?” One of the guards straightened.
“Nineteen, my lord.” Richard frowned slightly.
“Vale told me twelve.” The guard hesitated.
“The others were out on patrol.” “Where?” “Different districts.” Richard watched him for several seconds.
“Did they all return?” Silence fell over the barracks.
No one answered.
Richard did not raise his voice, but repeated the question more firmly.
“I asked you a question.” The guard lowered his gaze.
“No.” Richard felt an unpleasant tightness in his chest.
“How many didn’t return?” The guard hesitated.
“Three.” Richard drew a slow breath.
Three.
Just three men out of those who were supposed to walk the streets every day and return safely.
He looked around the room.
No one met his eyes.
“And you’re still standing here?” No answer came.
Richard walked several steps along the line, carefully examining the guards.
Tired faces.
Worn clothing.
Old boots.
Some stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, while others shifted nervously from foot to foot.
Richard turned his attention to their weapons.
Old.
Worn.
Some blades had long since lost their former shine, scratches marked the scabbards, and the leather grips had been worn smooth from constant use.
But the weapons were still serviceable.
Not useless.
And neither did the men standing before him look useless.
They looked like men who had been left on their own for far too long.
Richard stopped.
“Who commands this shift?” An older man stepped out of the line.
“I do, my lord.” Richard looked him directly in the eyes.
“How long?” “Two years.” “And how many men have you lost in that time?” The man’s expression darkened.
“Too many.” Richard slowly nodded.
Now he was beginning to understand why the guards were afraid.
They were not cowards.
They had simply been fighting alone for far too long.
“Who is the captain?” For several seconds, no one moved.
Then a man at the far end of the room stepped forward.
He was older than most of the others, with a tired face and pronounced dark circles beneath his eyes.
“I am.” Richard studied him carefully.
There was no captain’s insignia on his uniform.
Richard noticed it almost immediately.
“Where is your insignia?” The man hesitated for a moment before answering.
“I sold it.” Richard frowned.
“Why?” The captain lowered his gaze.
“To buy medicine for my daughter.” The barracks fell completely silent.
No one said a word.
Richard remained silent as well.
He looked at the man before him, then at his uniform, his old weapon, and his worn boots.
The captain apparently assumed punishment would follow.
“I’ll repay the money,” he said quietly.
Richard looked up.
“No.” The man stared at him in surprise.
“My lord?” “You won’t.” The captain clearly did not understand what Richard meant.
Richard turned to Sebastian.
“Tomorrow, a physician from the estate will come here.” Sebastian nodded without asking any questions.
“Of course.” Richard looked back at the captain.
“And you’ll get a new uniform.” The man blinked in confusion.
“But—” “And a new weapon.” The captain fell silent.
A faint rustle passed through the barracks.
The guards exchanged glances.
Some looked at their comrades, others at Richard, as though trying to determine whether they had heard correctly.
Richard saw those looks.
They had not expected help.
Perhaps, over the past few years, they had simply stopped expecting it altogether.
“Tomorrow morning,” Richard continued, “I want to see every one of you in full uniform.” One of the guards hesitantly raised his head.
“My lord…” “What?” “What if we can’t afford new uniforms?” Richard looked at him calmly.
“Then you’re in luck.” The guard stared at him in confusion.
“Because that is no longer your concern.” Richard slowly swept his gaze across the room.
For several moments, he said nothing, as though giving each person present time to absorb what he had said.
“I am not going to demand that you defend the city if the House is not prepared to give you what you need to do so.” A heavy silence fell over the room.
No one dared to speak first.
Richard took a few steps forward and stopped in front of the captain.
“But in return, I want one thing.” The captain straightened, watching him closely.
“What?” “The next time someone comes for a person you are sworn to protect, I want you not to stand by and do nothing.” The guard standing nearby visibly tensed and clenched his fist.
“We did not stand by.” Richard turned his gaze toward him.
“Then prove it.” He said nothing more.
He turned and walked toward the door, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
His hand was already on the handle when he heard a voice behind him.
“My lord.” Richard stopped and turned.
The captain was looking at him differently now—without the wariness he had shown before, though doubt still lingered in his eyes.
“Will you truly return?” Richard was silent for several seconds.
Then he slowly nodded.
“I already have.” He opened the door and walked out without waiting for a reply.
By evening, the carriage was already approaching the estate.
Dusk was slowly gathering beyond the windows, while the last rays of sunset barely pierced the heavy clouds.
The road was almost deserted, and the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves was the only thing that broke the silence from time to time.
Richard spoke very little.
He sat back against the seat, gazing out the window, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
The city.
Garrett.
Claudia.
The Blackthorns.
His father.
And that strange mark left on the wall.
A raven.
A wolf.
A crossed-out eye.
The thought of it would not leave him.
Richard had already tried several times to remember where he might have seen it, but each time the memory seemed to slip away, leaving behind only the vague sensation of something he had known long ago.
There was one thing he knew for certain.
It had not been a dream.
Nor was it an ordinary memory.
He had seen that mark somewhere else.
Much earlier.
Somewhere deeper than his memory could reach.
At last, the carriage slowed and soon came to a stop before the estate gates.
Richard raised his eyes to the familiar outline of the house, but the uneasy feeling inside him did not fade.
If anything, it had only grown stronger.
Richard stepped out of the carriage, barely waiting for the coachman to bring the horses to a complete stop.
The cold evening air immediately brushed against his face.
He was about to make his way toward the house when he noticed something strange.
Sebastian was standing by the gates.
Alone.
Richard’s gaze lingered on him before he frowned.
— Where is Kain?
Sebastian looked at him but did not answer immediately.
There was something unusual in his expression—a tension he usually tried to conceal.
— He went inside earlier.
Richard took a step toward him.
— Why?
— He said he noticed some tracks.
Richard stopped.
— What kind of tracks?
Sebastian said nothing.
Instead, he slowly raised a hand and pointed toward the snow-covered ground near the gates.
Richard stepped closer.
The snow here was almost untouched.
Its white surface appeared pristine, save for one detail.
Tracks.
Human ones.
They were clearly imprinted in the snow, one after another, leading away from the road and toward the estate grounds.
Richard crouched down, studying them carefully.
The tracks began beyond the gates.
And led inside.
The tracks continued farther, leading straight toward the estate grounds before gradually disappearing into the snow.
Yet beside them, Richard noticed another trail of prints, much smaller than the first and remarkably similar to those of a wolf.
He slowly crouched down, steadying himself with his cane, and spent several moments examining the snow around them.
The surface remained completely undisturbed, untouched by any recent snowfall or human footsteps, while the prints themselves were so clear that they appeared to have been left only moments ago.
Far too recently.
Richard followed the trail with his eyes, trying to determine exactly where it led, then raised his head.
“Was there a wolf here?” Sebastian, standing nearby, shifted his gaze from the ground to the dark line of the forest, where dusk was already beginning to gather between the trees.
“I don’t think so.” Richard frowned slightly.
“Why?” “Because wolves do not come this close to the estate.” The answer was calm, yet carried such certainty that Richard instinctively looked back at the tracks.
Something about them unsettled him.
They certainly resembled those of a wolf, but they were too small, and more importantly, they did not fit with what he had just been told.
He was about to rise when a faint sound drifted from deep within the forest.
Richard froze.
It was not a growl, nor did it resemble the familiar howl of a wolf.
Rather, it was a short, almost plaintive sound, barely audible beneath the rustling branches, as though some small creature had called out before immediately retreating into the darkness.
Richard slowly raised his head.
Something moved between the trees.
At first, he noticed only the faintest shift among the dark trunks.
Then, deep within the forest, two eyes appeared—pale, almost silver, staring directly at him without moving.
For several seconds, everything around him seemed to stand still.
Richard did not look away, trying to make out whoever was hiding among the trees, but the dark silhouette remained almost impossible to distinguish.
And before he could take even a single step toward it, Kain appeared beside him without making a sound.
His hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword.
“Milord.” The warning was quiet, but Richard did not move.
He continued staring toward the forest, his eyes fixed on the two silver points that still glimmered motionlessly between the dark trunks.
A few moments later, a small white muzzle emerged from the depths of the forest.
Richard instinctively held his breath.
Its fur was so pale that it almost blended into the snow, yet in the gathering dusk the creature seemed somehow unnatural—far too white, almost impossibly so for an ordinary northern wolf.
He cautiously took a step forward.
Then another.
Only now could Richard see the creature in its entirety.
A wolf pup.
Very young, thin, and covered in snow, its fur matted in places from moisture and the long journey.
From the way it moved its paws and breathed heavily, it was obvious that the little creature was exhausted, perhaps having travelled much farther than its strength should have allowed.
And yet it did not run.
It did not hide.
It showed no fear.
It simply stared at Richard, as though he were the one it had been searching for among this vast, snow-covered estate.
Kain frowned, his hand still resting on his sword.
“Strange.” Richard did not take his eyes off the creature.
“What is?” “Wolves from the north do not approach people.” For the first time, there was unmistakable caution in his voice.
Richard could feel it himself.
Something about this was wrong.
He slowly extended his hand, careful not to make any sudden movement.
The wolf pup stopped.
For several seconds, they simply stared at one another, an unnatural silence settling between them, broken only by the faint rustling of the branches and the sound of Richard’s own breathing.
The creature did not retreat.
Neither did Richard.
And then something stirred inside him.
Not a memory—not at least, not like the vision he had experienced in the study.
Not pain.
Not fear.
This feeling was entirely different.
Warm.
Almost imperceptible, yet strangely familiar, as though somewhere far beyond the boundaries of his own memory, something had recognized this creature long before he had.
Richard froze, trying to understand where the feeling could have come from.
And then a raven cried out above the forest.
The sharp call tore through the silence and made the wolf pup lift its head.
Richard followed its gaze.
Perched on the branch of an old tree, almost hidden among the gathering dusk, sat a black bird.
It was completely still.
The raven was staring directly at him.
Not at Kain.
Not at the wolf pup.
Only at Richard.
And in that moment, something inside him went cold.
He had seen this raven before.
Not here.
Not today.
But he had seen it.
In that strange dream that had preceded his awakening in this world, when everything had seemed like nothing more than a disjointed stream of images and his consciousness had still been clinging to the final moments of his former life.
He remembered those eyes.
He remembered the black wings against the white snow.
He remembered the feeling he had been unable to explain.
Now, for the first time, the connection began to emerge.
The raven.
The snow.
The North.
Richard slowly lowered his hand, unaware that his fingers had curled into a tight fist.
The bird continued to watch him for several moments before spreading its wings.
The black silhouette glided over the snow-covered trees, gradually gaining altitude before turning north.
Richard watched until the raven disappeared into the grey winter sky.
Only then did he understand what sent a chill down his spine.
He had seen this raven before.
And if his memory was not deceiving him…
The raven had already led him here once before.