The morning at the estate began earlier than usual.
Richard awoke before dawn and lay still for some time, staring at the greyish ceiling above him.
Sleep receded slowly, leaving behind a strange sense of emptiness, and for the first few seconds, he could not understand where he was or why the room around him felt both unfamiliar and almost familiar at the same time.
Then his memories returned.
The Ravenhart estate.
The city.
Garrett Crow.
The North.
Eldarion.
Everything that had happened over the past few days came crashing back all at once, driving away the last remnants of sleep.
Richard slowly sat up in bed and lowered his gaze to his hands.
Old.
Weak.
Covered in faint age spots and prominent veins, they still felt чужими to him, despite having to see them before him more and more with each passing day.
He slowly curled his fingers.
Yesterday’s reflection still lingered in his mind.
A young man with dark hair and brown eyes had looked back at him from the mirror for only a few moments, yet that had been enough for the image to carve itself deeply into his memory.
There had been nothing in that face that resembled his current frail body, his heavy gait, or the constant need to rely on a cane.
Only strength.
Youth.
And the same gaze Richard knew all too well.
Even now, he did not understand what exactly he had seen.
Had it been another memory, a strange illusion, or something for which he simply had no explanation yet?
Yet the feeling that remained after that brief moment was far too real to dismiss.
Richard wanted his body back.
Not merely to free himself from old age and weakness.
He wanted to regain his strength, to move freely without pain and heaviness accompanying every step, to be able to fight and, if the day ever came when it was truly necessary, to protect the people who now looked to him as the head of their House.
People he had not even known until recently.
And yet, despite that, they were gradually becoming his family.
That thought lingered in his mind a little longer than the others.
Richard slowly rose from the bed.
His body greeted the movement with its familiar heaviness, but today he refused to let frustration take hold.
His cane stood beside the bed, leaning against its frame, and after taking it in hand, he made his way toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the estate was gradually awakening.
The sky above the northern lands remained grey, but the night was already retreating before the approaching morning.
Workers were clearing away the fresh snow in the courtyard, leaving long strips of dark stone behind them.
Muffled voices and the restless neighing of horses drifted from the stables, while farther away, in the inner courtyard, several knights had already begun their morning training.
Richard’s gaze lingered on them.
Among the armed men, he almost immediately noticed a familiar figure.
Lloyd.
He stood opposite two young men, and even from a distance, it was clear that their morning had begun anything but peacefully.
Even from a distance, it was clear how different his movements were from those of the others.
Lloyd fought with only one hand, and the patch covering his left eye, together with the old scars crossing his face and neck, spoke silently of the war he had survived.
Yet neither the years nor his injuries had managed to take away the one thing that mattered most—the thing that could never be gained through strength or training alone.
Experience.
Every movement he made was precise and economical, free of unnecessary haste.
He did not try to impress his students with speed or brute strength, yet even from the window, Richard could see how effortlessly Lloyd noticed every mistake they made.
At one point, the old knight stopped and said something to the two young men standing before him.
One of them—a loud, reddish-haired youth—immediately began to argue, gesturing animatedly and, judging by the expression on his face, thoroughly disagreeing with whatever he had just heard.
The other responded far more calmly, though Richard could tell from his posture that he was not entirely convinced by his mentor either.
Richard could not hear a single word.
Yet he immediately knew who they were.
Roy and Sean.
The two young knights he had already heard about.
The future of House Ravenhart.
Richard watched them for a little longer.
They were young, inexperienced, and likely still understood far too little about the world around them, yet they possessed something the estate itself had lacked for many years.
A future.
Then movement near the far wall of the inner courtyard caught his attention.
Cain stood there.
He was neither training nor involving himself in Lloyd’s conversation with the students, merely observing everything with his usual silence.
His gaze followed each movement of the young knights, as though he were judging not only their present abilities, but also what they might become in the years ahead.
Richard watched him for some time, and his thoughts inevitably returned to yesterday’s conversation.
Cain did not trust him.
And, if he were honest, he had every right not to.
The man everyone around him had known as Richard Ravenhart was not the same man he had become.
The old Richard had made decisions whose consequences still echoed throughout the city and the estate, and Cain could not simply forget the past because his lord had suddenly begun to speak and act differently.
Trust could not be restored with words.
It had to be earned.
Richard slowly turned his gaze back to the courtyard, where the young knights had once again taken up their practice swords.
If he truly intended to restore House Ravenhart to its former strength, desire alone would not be enough.
He had to act.
First—the city.
The people his House had once been meant to protect, yet whom it had allowed to remain without support.
Then—the estate itself, and those who had remained by his side.
And after that…
Eldarion.
Richard still did not know where the ancient Tree was, or whether there was even a path that would allow him to reconnect with it.
He did not understand why the memories of this body’s former owner had begun to awaken only now, nor what role the raven, the wolves, and the strange symbols that had followed him since his awakening played in all of this.
But for the first time since opening his eyes in an old body that did not belong to him, he had found a purpose greater than simply surviving.
Richard was no longer going to merely exist while trying to make sense of someone else’s life.
He wanted to change it.
He wanted to restore to the Ravenharts everything they had lost.
And above all— their name.
And then there was one question he still needed to answer, a question that troubled him more with each passing day.
Why had he been given a second chance?
Why had the death he had already accepted as the inevitable end suddenly brought him here—to another world, into the body of a man named Richard Ravenhart?
By the time Richard finally descended to the dining room, morning at the estate was already unfolding as usual.
Beyond the tall windows, daylight was slowly breaking through, the cold winter light spilling across the long table while a fire crackled softly in the hearth.
Sebastian and Claudia were already inside.
Claudia held several letters in her hands, evidently delivered only recently, and was going through them with her usual attentiveness.
When she noticed Richard, she looked up.
“Good morning, milord.” “Good morning.” Richard took his place at the table, feeling the familiar heaviness in his body after waking.
Almost immediately, Sebastian placed a cup of hot tea before him, but instead of returning to his duties, he lingered nearby.
“You slept poorly.” Richard looked up at him.
“I’m an old man.
I suppose I’m allowed to sleep poorly.” A faint smile appeared on the butler’s face.
“That still does not explain why you were talking in your sleep.” Richard’s hand froze above the cup.
For several seconds, he stared silently at Sebastian.
“What did I do?” “Nothing particularly important.” “Sebastian.” The man calmly poured himself some tea, as though they were discussing something utterly insignificant.
“You said one word.” Richard slowly set the cup back down.
“What word?” This time, Sebastian looked directly at him.
“Eldarion.” Richard’s fingers went still.
Claudia, who had continued reading the letters until then, also raised her eyes.
The dining room fell unusually quiet.
“Are you certain?” “Yes, milord.” “What exactly did I say?” “Only that name.” Richard slowly leaned back in his chair.
Eldarion again.
It was beginning to follow him even when he was not consciously thinking about it.
The name appeared in conversations, surfaced in memories, and now, apparently, had even entered his dreams.
There were too many coincidences for it to be a coincidence.
He turned his gaze toward Claudia.
“What do you know about Eldarion?” She did not answer immediately.
Instead, Claudia placed the letters on the table and studied him thoughtfully for a moment, as though deciding how much she should reveal.
“Not as much as a mage would like to know.” Richard frowned slightly.
“And the old man?” “He knows more.” “But not everything?” Claudia shook her head.
“No one knows everything.” Richard fell silent.
He did not like the answer, but Claudia was right about one thing: expecting a single person to provide answers to all his questions would have been far too simple.
He slowly picked up his cup, took a small sip, and looked at her again.
“Then we’ll find someone who knows more.” This time, Claudia actually smiled.
“Now you’re starting to sound like a Ravenhart.” Richard did not return her smile.
His gaze dropped briefly to his own old hands.
“I’m not sure I want to be like the man I was before.” Claudia’s smile softened.
She studied him carefully, without surprise or any attempt to argue.
“Perhaps you don’t need to be.” Richard raised his head.
“What?” “Perhaps the House doesn’t need the old Richard.” She spoke calmly, but every word carried an unexpected weight.
“The old Richard already made his choices and lived his life as he believed was right.
Perhaps some of those decisions brought the House to where it stands today.” Claudia paused for a moment.
“But you are no longer the man you once were.” Richard watched her intently.
“And who do you suggest I become?” She tilted her head slightly.
“Yourself.” Richard remained silent for several seconds.
Then Claudia quietly added: “Perhaps the Ravenharts don’t need the old Richard.” “They need a new one.” The words lingered between them.
Richard said nothing.
Yet as he sat at the long table, watching the winter light slowly rise over the estate, one thought returned to him again and again.
Perhaps that was why he had been given a second chance.
Not to live someone else’s life in the place of its former owner.
And not to correct every mistake of the past.
But to do what the old Richard no longer could.
To create not a continuation of his story.
But a new one.
After breakfast, Richard made his way into the courtyard.
Morning had already settled over the estate: sunlight fell across the stone paving, while the cool air gradually filled with the sounds of training weapons and the voices of the students.
Lloyd noticed him first.
He had been standing slightly to the side, watching the training, and the moment he saw Richard approaching, he straightened.
“My lord.” The training came to a near-immediate halt.
Roy lowered his wooden sword and quickly straightened, while Sean merely adjusted his stance slightly, continuing to watch the situation with quiet attention.
Richard stopped in front of them and calmly surveyed the courtyard.
“Continue.” Lloyd frowned slightly, as though he had not expected such an order.
“Are you certain?” “Yes.” Roy exchanged a glance with Sean, as if trying to determine whether Richard truly intended to stay and watch their training.
Finally, he looked back at him.
“My lord…” “What is it?” Roy shrugged slightly.
“We thought you were just going to watch.” A faint smile appeared on Richard’s face.
“I am watching.” Roy grinned, feeling a little more at ease.
“Then I’ll try not to embarrass myself.” Sean could not resist adding quietly, “That might be difficult.” Roy’s head snapped toward him.
“What did you say?” Sean calmly looked away.
“Nothing.” Lloyd let out a heavy sigh, clearly already accustomed to their bickering.
“Again.” At his command, both students returned to their positions.
Roy tightened his grip on the wooden sword, while Sean bent his knees slightly, settling into a defensive stance.
For a few moments, the courtyard fell quiet, save for the distant sounds of other training sessions.
Richard remained off to the side, watching them closely.
Roy attacked first.
He surged forward with speed and force, putting nearly all his strength into his opening strike.
The wooden sword cut through the air with a dull whistle, but Sean managed to step back rather than take the blow head-on.
Roy did not stop.
He immediately followed with another strike, then another, continuing to drive his opponent backward.
At first glance, it seemed as though he had complete control over the fight.
But Richard quickly noticed something Roy himself had yet to understand: he was rushing to end the match.
Sean made no attempt to answer every attack.
He simply retreated, blocked the strikes, and waited for the right moment.
Within seconds, it became obvious that Roy was gradually losing his advantage.
His movements grew increasingly sharp and uncontrolled, while his breathing became heavier.
He was no longer attacking with technique so much as emotion, desperate to claim victory as quickly as possible.
Sean, on the other hand, remained calm.
He waited.
And when Roy once again swung too wide, Sean instantly stepped to the side, slipping off the line of attack, and with a short, precise movement, tapped Roy on the shoulder with his wooden sword.
Roy froze.
For several seconds, he simply stared at Sean, as though he could not quite believe what had happened.
“Damn.” Lloyd allowed himself a faint smile.
“What did you do wrong?” Roy lowered his sword and rubbed his shoulder irritably.
“I swung too wide.” “Anything else?” Roy thought for a moment, but no answer came immediately.
“I don’t know.” Sean, standing opposite him, calmly said, “You wanted to win with a single strike.” Roy frowned and shot him an irritated look.
“And you wanted to win without throwing a single strike.” This time, Lloyd made no attempt to hide his smile.
“That is precisely why you are both still students.” Richard chuckled quietly as he watched them.
In that brief training session, he had already seen enough to understand that each of them had their own strengths, but also their own obvious weaknesses.
Which meant Lloyd’s work had only just begun.
Both young men looked at Richard, waiting to hear what he would say next.
Roy immediately straightened, as though suddenly determined to prove that his recent mistake had meant nothing.
“My lord, I can do better.” Richard looked at him calmly.
“I have no doubt.” Roy visibly brightened.
He tightened his grip on the wooden sword and, after a brief hesitation, asked, “Would you like to try?” Lloyd’s head snapped toward him.
“Roy.” “What?” “Don’t challenge your lord to a fight.” Only then did Roy seem to realize how his words had sounded.
His expression turned awkward, and he quickly lowered the sword.
“I didn’t…” Richard gave a quiet chuckle, not allowing the awkwardness to linger.
“It’s all right.” His gaze shifted to the wooden sword in Roy’s hand, then to the cane resting in his own.
For a few moments, Richard grew thoughtful.
And, unexpectedly, a familiar irritation stirred within him.
He could have.
Once, he had been able to.
Richard knew that all too well.
He did not merely remember how to hold a weapon.
His body remembered the movements on its own, even before his mind had time to consciously process them.
It was a kind of memory that years alone could never erase.
His fingers shifted almost imperceptibly against the cane.
Just slightly.
But Lloyd noticed.
“My lord?” Richard raised his eyes.
“Nothing.” He looked back at the two students.
Yet now, he saw them differently.
They were no longer simply two young men swinging wooden swords in a courtyard.
He saw Roy’s stance.
The distance between them.
The way his weight was distributed.
The angle of every movement.
The overly forceful swing, the impatient desire to break through his opponent’s defense with a single decisive strike.
Then Richard turned his attention to Sean.
He was more cautious.
Much calmer.
He had a good sense for when to defend, knew how to wait for an opening, and did not allow himself to be overwhelmed by pressure.
But he had a weakness too.
Richard noticed it almost immediately.
And suddenly, he realized that he could tell them how to correct it.
Not because he had once read the right books.
Not because he had watched dozens of training sessions from the sidelines.
But because he had once stood where they were standing.
He had held a weapon in his own hands.
He had learned to feel the distance between himself and an opponent, to recognize the smallest shifts in movement, and to understand just how little it took for a single mistake to decide the outcome of a fight.
Richard was silent for a moment before addressing Roy.
“Roy.” “Yes?” The young man immediately turned toward him, now listening much more carefully to every word.
“You’re putting too much weight forward.” Roy blinked in surprise.
“What?” Richard nodded toward his feet.
“When you attack, you’re already thinking about your next strike.
Because of that, your first one becomes predictable.” Roy instinctively looked down, as though only now thinking to examine his own stance.
Then he glanced toward Lloyd.
Lloyd said nothing.
And somehow, that silence was answer enough.
Roy looked back at Richard, this time without the confidence he had shown moments earlier.
Richard, meanwhile, shifted his attention to the other student.
“And you…” Sean straightened slightly.
“Yes, my lord?” “You wait too much.” Sean frowned slightly.
“I’m defending myself.” “No.” Richard shook his head calmly.
His voice remained gentle, but there was a quiet certainty in it now—the certainty of someone who knew exactly what he was talking about.
“You’re afraid of making a mistake.” Sean froze.
For several seconds, he seemed to forget that he was still holding the wooden sword.
Lloyd watched Richard closely.
There was something different in his gaze now.
It was no longer simple curiosity.
He was trying to understand where, exactly, Richard had learned all of this.
“Run it again.” Richard said it calmly, almost casually, but both students immediately understood that this time he expected more than just another attempt.
Roy and Sean exchanged a glance.
“Now?” Roy asked uncertainly.
“When else?” Lloyd replied.
Roy snorted but did not argue.
He raised his wooden sword again and returned to his starting position.
Sean did the same, though there was a noticeable focus in his movements now.
For several moments, they simply stood facing one another.
Then Roy moved forward.
But this time, he did not charge recklessly into the attack.
He took a step, stopped, assessed the distance, and only then struck.
Sean met the blow with his sword, but he did not retreat as far as before.
He had changed as well.
Now he was not simply waiting for Roy to make a mistake.
He was actively looking for an opportunity to seize the initiative.
Wooden swords clashed again and again across the courtyard.
Richard watched every movement carefully.
There were still mistakes.
Roy still relied too heavily on strength, while Sean sometimes remained on the defensive for too long.
But at least now they were beginning to recognize their own weaknesses.
Several minutes later, Roy lost again.
He stood there breathing heavily, his sword lowered as he stared at Sean with obvious displeasure.
“Again.” “Again,” Sean calmly agreed.
Roy opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself.
This time, the defeat had not been nearly as decisive.
He had lasted longer, forced Sean to retreat several times, and, most importantly, had not lost control of himself after his first few failed attacks.
Richard smiled faintly.
“Better.” Roy lifted his head.
“Really?” There was so much genuine hope in his voice that Richard could not help but smile.
“Really.
At least you stopped trying to end the fight within the first few seconds.” Roy huffed.
“That happened once.” Sean glanced sideways at him.
“Today?” Roy had already opened his mouth to answer when Lloyd cleared his throat, reminding them that they were still in the middle of training.
Richard’s smile widened slightly.
“Take a rest.” The students stepped aside, continuing to discuss something quietly between themselves.
Richard was about to follow when he noticed Lloyd’s gaze.
He was watching him intently.
“What?” Richard asked.
Lloyd remained silent for a moment, as though carefully choosing his words.
“How do you know?” Richard looked at him.
“Know what?” “The sword.” Lloyd nodded toward the courtyard.
“You noticed Roy’s mistakes almost immediately.
And Sean’s as well.
You didn’t just see what they were doing wrong.
You understood why they were doing it.” Richard lowered his gaze to the hand wrapped around his cane.
“I don’t know.” The answer came too quickly.
Lloyd noticed, but he did not press the matter.
Richard knew himself that it was not entirely true.
He knew.
He simply did not want to talk about it.
Later, as Richard was returning to his chambers, Lloyd caught up with him in the corridor.
“My lord.” Richard stopped and turned.
“Yes?” Lloyd walked beside him in silence for several moments before finally speaking.
“You really do understand the sword.” Richard gave a faint smile.
“I used to.” Lloyd glanced at his cane.
“Then you still do.” “Don’t exaggerate.” “I saw the way you watched them.” Richard stopped.
Lloyd stopped a few steps behind him.
“You looked as though you were standing on that training ground yourself.” Richard said nothing.
Lloyd tilted his head slightly.
“Do you want to return to training?” Richard looked at him, then down at his cane.
A faint, almost bitter smile touched his lips.
“Look at me.” Lloyd did not look away.
“I am.” Richard let out a quiet breath.
“Then you know the answer.” “No, my lord.” Lloyd shook his head.
“I know something else.” Richard frowned.
“What?” Lloyd hesitated for a moment.
“You’re still standing.” Richard looked at him more closely.
There was no pity in Lloyd’s words, nor any attempt to comfort him.
It was simply a statement of fact.
Lloyd continued, “After what happened to you, most people wouldn’t have even left their room.
Some would have decided that everything was over.
Others would have simply let someone else make their decisions for them.” He paused briefly.
“And yet you’re already thinking about how to restore the House.” Richard lowered his gaze.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
“Lloyd.” “Yes?” Richard raised his eyes.
“Why did you stay?” The question caught Lloyd off guard.
He clearly had not expected it.
For a moment, his expression became thoughtful.
Then he walked over to the window and looked out into the courtyard.
Snow still lay in a thin white layer across the stones.
Several students had already finished training and were putting away their weapons.
“Because I had nowhere else to go,” Lloyd finally said.
Richard did not rush him.
Lloyd continued to stare through the window.
“At first, I thought I would simply wait it out.
Help you until you could manage things on your own, and then leave.” A faint smile crossed his face, though there was no humor in it.
“But time passed, and somehow, I never left.” Richard remained silent.
Lloyd lowered his gaze to his empty sleeve and absently touched it.
“I suppose at some point, I realized it wasn’t really about having nowhere else to go.” He turned toward Richard.
“I didn’t need to leave.” Richard watched him carefully.
“This is my home,” Lloyd said quietly.
“Even if it looks completely different now.” For several moments, they stood in silence.
Then Richard slowly nodded.
“I understand.” Lloyd said nothing more.
He simply gave a short bow and walked away down the corridor, leaving Richard alone.
Richard watched him go for a while.
Then he turned toward the window.
Beyond the glass lay the snow-covered courtyard, where Roy and Sean had crossed wooden swords only moments ago.
The estate seemed unusually quiet.
Empty.
But for the first time in a long while, Richard found himself thinking that perhaps this silence did not necessarily mean the end.
The Ravenhart House was not dead yet.
It had simply gone too long without people who could remind it of what it had once been.
And perhaps, of what it could still become.