The stronghold’s stables were nestled against the eastern wall, their dark stone architecture matching the fortress’s ominous presence. The structure stood three stories tall, with elegant spires and grotesque gargoyles perched along its roof.

Inside, the stables defied every expectation I’d formed from my previous life. Where I’d always known stables to be filthy places reeking of manure and wet hay, these chambers were immaculate. The obsidian floor gleamed like polished glass, so pristine that one could eat off of it. No trace of dirt or debris marred its perfect surface. Even the air was clean and fresh, carrying only the faintest hint of leather and fresh hay.

The sight and smell of this place was a stark contrast to my past experiences. In my former world, stables had been grimy places where young stable boys fought a losing battle against the inevitable mess of housing large animals. But here, it seemed that a combination of magic and meticulous care maintained an impossible standard of cleanliness.

As Corvus and I made our preparations, I admired the magnificent steeds in their stalls. These were no ordinary horses, but nightmare steeds bred for power and endurance. Their pure-black coats were darker than the deepest shadow, and their eyes, which held an unnatural intelligence, glowed with the same purple fire that burned in the stronghold’s braziers. Each beast stood perfectly groomed, and even their hooves gleamed like polished obsidian.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Corvus said, his blindfolded face turning toward the nearest horse. “These nightmares are bred specifically for our order. They can run for days without tiring and see perfectly in darkness.” He reached out and stroked his mount’s neck with gentle care. The horse nickered softly and pressed its muzzle against his shoulder.

I approached my own mount, a stallion slightly larger than Corvus’s mare. The horse regarded me with its fiery eyes as it assessed my worth. There was something both beautiful and terrible about the creature, a darkness that resonated with my own transformed nature. I reached out hesitantly, giving it time to accept or reject my presence. The horse stared at my hand with careful consideration, neither fearful nor immediately trusting. Finally, it lowered its head slightly, granting me permission. When I touched its neck, the coat felt like silk over steel, and I could sense the raw power in its muscles.

“They choose their riders,” Corvus explained as he checked his saddle straps. “If they don’t accept you, they won’t let you near them, much less ride them.”

The stable master, a hunched figure whose face remained hidden beneath a deep hood, brought us our travel supplies. Everything was already packed in saddlebags of black leather, the contents carefully arranged for maximum efficiency. I noticed extra feed for the horses had been included and wondered what sort of sustenance these otherworldly creatures required.

We mounted up and rode out through the stronghold’s eastern gate. The massive doors opened silently at our approach, revealing the desolate landscape touched by Aetheria’s eternal twilight.

The ground beneath our horses’ hooves was ash-grey, and each step sent up small puffs of dust that sparkled with an unsettling purple sheen. Strange sounds echoed across the plains—whispers that might have been wind through dead branches, or perhaps the voices of things best left undisturbed.

As we rode, I noticed how our steeds seemed completely at ease in this hostile environment. They moved with a fluid grace that seemed impossible for creatures their size.

“The journey to Ebonheart takes six about hours,” Corvus said. “Though these lands can make it feel much longer.” His crows circled overhead, occasionally swooping down to perch on his shoulders before taking flight again.

I glanced sideways at Corvus’s profile. The question that had burned in my mind since our first meeting months ago finally found voice. “You never did answer my question… About whether you’re truly blind.”

Corvus was quiet for a long moment. Then his head tilted slightly. “And you never answered mine about whether you’re truly of noble blood.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my saddle. The tension between us thickened like congealing blood. “I asked first.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “So you did. But deflection is a common tactic among those with something to hide, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m not deflecting,” I protested, though the words felt hollow even to my ears.

“No?” His blindfolded face turned toward me with unnerving accuracy. “Then perhaps you’d care to explain why a nobleman’s son moves with the practiced stealth of someone used to avoiding members of authority? Or why you attacked your food like a starving street rat that first morning?”

My throat tightened. “I... had a unique upbringing.”

“Indeed.” The word dripped with intense skepticism.

My mind swarmed with thoughts. How much did he know? How long has he known? More importantly, how much had he told Malachai?

“Your silence speaks volumes,” Corvus said after a moment. “Though not as loudly as your instincts do. No noble-born warrior moves the way you do, Caelum. You came to us possessing habits of someone who learned to fight in dark alleys, not training yards.”

I gritted my teeth. “Fine. You want the truth? I’m no nobleman. I was a street rat who worked his way into the city watch, then got framed for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“I know.”

I blinked. Those two words hit me like a physical blow. “You... knew?”

“From the moment you arrived.” A crow landed on his shoulder, cawing softly. “The shadows cannot be deceived, Caelum. They remember everything about us—our past, our lies, our truths.”

Fear gripped my heart. I wondered how much he really did know. If he was aware that I was not of this world. That I had been a chosen vessel of Valic long before undergoing the dark rite. “Does Malachai know?” I asked, my voice tight with concern.

Corvus gave a light shrug. “Malachai knows what he needs to know. Your worth to the order isn’t determined by your bloodline, but by your potential.”

“You knew all this time, and you’re just telling me now?”

“Trust must flow both ways, Caelum.” Corvus adjusted his grip on his reins as his mount navigated around a tree. “You asked about my blindness. I suppose it is only fair that I answer with truth in return.”

The landscape around us seemed to grow darker, as if responding to the weight of the coming revelation. The crows swooped down and settled on his shoulders, melding with the shadowy blackness of his cloak.

“I wasn’t always blind,” Corvus began, his voice taking on a distant quality. “Once, I could see as well as any other. I was known for my keen eye in battle, my ability to spot weaknesses others missed.” A bitter smile crossed his lips. “Pride comes before the fall, as they say.

“I was young and ambitious, convinced that power was the only thing that mattered. When I heard whispers of a being that could grant incredible abilities in exchange for service, I didn’t hesitate.” He inclined his head. “The fiend appeared to me in a form of terrible beauty, offering me power beyond my wildest dreams.”

“What kind of power?” I asked.

“The power to see truth in all things. To peer beyond the veil of reality itself. To know the deepest secrets of those around me.” His voice grew rigid. “The price seemed simple enough—I would serve as the fiend’s eyes in this realm, sharing everything I witnessed. But I was young and foolish, not understanding that such beings twist every bargain to their advantage.

“The power was intoxicating at first. I could see things no mortal was meant to witness—the true forms of beings that walked among us, the threads of fate that bound all things together, the very fabric of reality itself.”

Our horses continued their silent journey as he spoke, their hooves kicking up glittering ash with each step. In the distance, dark lightning split the sky, illuminating the jagged mountains for brief moments.

“But the fiend’s true purpose soon became clear,” Corvus continued. “It didn’t want just any observer—it wanted someone who could witness the most terrible truths of existence. Each vision became more horrifying than the last. I saw things that would drive most men mad, truths that would shatter the strongest minds.”

He fell silent for a moment, and I noticed his hands tighten on the reins. Even his crows let out agitated caws.

“The breaking point came when the fiend demanded I watch as it destroyed an entire village. Not just their deaths—it wanted me to witness the corruption of their very souls, to see how each person’s essence was twisted and torn apart. Men, women, children... animals... every essence of mortal life.” His voice grew hoarse. “I couldn’t do it. I refused to be party to such horror.”

I exhaled a breath I had been inadvertently holding. “What happened then?”

“The fiend was... displeased. It reminded me that our pact was binding, that I had sworn to be its eyes in this realm. So I made a choice.” His hand touched the blindfold. “I bound my eyes with this cloth, thinking I could outsmart the fiend by refusing to witness such atrocities. But the fiend turned my own pride against me. Now this blindfold is forever bound to my flesh, a constant reminder that sometimes our attempts to escape darkness only bind us tighter to it.”

The implications of his words hung heavy in the air between us. Our mounts seemed to sense the weight of the moment, and their steps becoming more silent, as if trying not to disturb the story’s flow.

“If I ever attempt to remove it,” he continued. “if I ever try to see the world again through mortal eyes, I’ll face a fate worse than death.” A grim smile crossed his face. “But in losing my physical sight, I gained something else. The fiend’s curse became a strange blessing. I learned to see through the eyes of my crows, to perceive the world through shadows themselves. Every dark corner, every patch of shade became a window through which I could observe the world.”

One of the crows on his shoulder preened his hair with surprising gentleness. “These aren’t ordinary birds,” Corvus explained. “They’re extensions of my will, bound to me by the same dark power that took my sight. Through them, I see more clearly than I ever did with mortal eyes. They show me the world as it truly is, stripped of illusion and pretense.”

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“Is that how you got your name?” I asked. “Because of your connection to these birds?”

Corvus was quiet for a moment. His head tilted slightly as if lost in distant memories. “After the pact and losing my sight, I realized I could no longer be the person I once was. That life, that identity... it belonged to someone else. Someone who died the moment he made a bargain with a fiend.”

“I denounced everything about my former self—my name, my past, my connections to the mortal world. I made myself forget who I had been, because that person no longer existed. That life no longer mattered.”

“You deliberately forgot your own name?” The irony of willingly erasing one’s identity wasn’t lost on me. It seemed there was much I could learn from the blind warrior about how to overcome life’s obstacles.

“Names have power,” Corvus replied. “To truly become something new, I had to let go of everything I had been. When these crows found me, when they first showed me how to see through their eyes, I knew I needed a name that reflected this new existence.

“They chose me as much as I chose them. It seemed fitting to take a name that honored that connection. Corvus is a simple name, but one that represents everything I’ve become.”

The crows on his shoulders ruffled their feathers and cawed in response, their black eyes gleaming with unnatural intelligence.

“But my powers are not limited solely in these birds,” Corvus added. “The shadows themselves speak to me now. Every darkened corner, every patch of shade holds secrets that most can never perceive. I see the currents of power that flow through Aetheria, the threads of destiny that bind all things together.” He made a slight head nod towards our left. “There. Three hundred paces out. A nest of shade wyverns sleep just beneath the surface. Their dreams taste of blood and darkness.”

His description sounded too precise to be inaccurate, and I could indeed feel a subtle disturbance in that direction, though I would have never noticed it without his guidance.

“The fiend whom I’d made the pact still watches,” Corvus continued after a long silence. “It waits for me to fail, to remove the blindfold in a moment of weakness. But it doesn’t understand that what it meant as a curse has become my greatest strength.”

I considered his words carefully. “Do you ever regret making the pact?”

“Regret is a luxury we can’t afford,” he said. “Every choice, every sacrifice shapes what we become. The question isn’t whether we regret our past, but how we use it to forge our future.”

The wisdom in his words struck a chord within me. How many times had I questioned my own path, wondered if different choices might have led to a better fate? But those questions seemed meaningless now, in this realm of eternal twilight, where power and purpose had replaced conventional morality.

Our steeds continued their silent journey through the increasingly hostile terrain. The path narrowed as we entered what appeared to be an ancient battlefield, though any signs of actual combat had long since been swallowed by the grey dust. Occasionally, our horses’ hooves would strike something solid beneath the ashen ground—perhaps a fragment of armor or a shattered weapon, now buried under the accumulation of time.

“The Battle of Scarlet Dawn was fought here,” Corvus said, his blindfolded face turning to survey the desolate plain. “Ten thousand warriors fell in a single day, and their blood fed the soil until it turned black with corruption. Now their essence feeds the shadows that guard these lands.”

As if in response to his words, I noticed movement in the ash around us. Vague shapes formed and dissolved—suggestions of armored figures, ghostly weapons raised in eternal combat. The air grew colder, and my mount snorted nervously, its ears flicking back and forth.

“Your past deception about your origins,” Corvus continued, smoothly changing the subject, “it wasn’t just about survival, was it? You were testing us, as much as we were testing you.”

I considered denying it, but there was no point now. “Old habits,” I admitted. “In my previous life, information was power. The less others knew about you, the safer you were.”

“And now?”

“Now...” I paused and considered my words carefully. “Now I’m beginning to understand that true power lies in mastering what we are, not hiding from it.”

Corvus nodded. “The shadows truly speak through you, brother. Perhaps that’s why they accepted you so readily.” His crows took flight again and circled overhead, their caws echoing strangely in the heavy air. I noticed how they moved in perfect coordination, like pieces of a larger consciousness. “Few initiates adapt so quickly to our ways. Fewer still earn the right to bear artifacts like the Talons of Twilight.”

The mention of my weapons sent a pulse of energy through my veins. The kukris, secured at my sides, hummed in response to my thoughts.

“The Talons chose you,” Corvus continued. “Just as these crows chose me after my sight was taken. We don’t always understand the paths laid before us, but we must walk them nonetheless.”

Two hours passed. The landscape continued to change as we rode deeper into Aetheria’s haunted wilderness. The gnarled trees gave way to fields of dark-brown grass that hissed in the wind. Tiny white flowers with drooping blooms were dotted throughout. Their melancholy appearance matched the grim fields that felt like death.

Our steeds advanced with increased caution now, their powerful muscles tensing beneath their midnight coats. The stallion beneath me tossed his head occasionally and flared its nostrils. It seemed to have scented something in the air that my human senses couldn’t detect.

“We’re entering the Mourning Fields,” Corvus explained. “The boundary between life and death grows thin here. Watch the shadows carefully—they hunger for the unwary.”

As if to emphasize his warning, I noticed small tendrils of moving shadows reach for us as we passed. Our steeds stomped their way through in a nervous, yet courageous gesture that seemed to keep the living shadows at bay.

The sight of those reaching shadows made my skin crawl. Even with my newfound powers, there was something deeply unsettling about the way they moved—not like the shadows I could control, but like hungry things that existed between life and death.

“What are all these strange looking flowers?” I asked.

“Those are Widow’s Tears,” Corvus said. “They only grow where great sorrow has touched the land. Legend says they spring from the tears of those who’ve lost everything to darkness. The more numerous they are, the greater the tragedy that occurred there.”

I looked around at the vast field of white flowers stretching to the horizon, their numbers too great to count. There must have been unimaginable suffering here. “You seem to know these lands well.”

“I’ve traveled these routes countless times,” he replied, guiding his mount around the hazards with practiced ease. “Each region of Aetheria has its own dangers and secrets. The Mourning Fields are particularly treacherous—the shadows here aren’t just darkness, they’re echoes of those who’ve died in this realm.”

A tendril of shadow suddenly reached for my boot, like a clawed hand extending from the ground. My stallion instinctively danced sideways, avoiding the contact. The intelligence in these animals was remarkable.

“Malachai often sends me to various corners of Aetheria,” Corvus continued. “Sometimes for missions like this one, other times to gather intelligence or make contact with our agents in different territories. My... unique way of seeing things makes me particularly suited for such tasks.”

“You mean, your crows.” I glanced at the birds circling overhead.

He nodded. “They can travel where others cannot, see things that most would miss. Through them, I’ve mapped every dangerous path, every safe haven between here and the nine kingdoms.” A slight smile crossed his face. “It’s amazing what people will say or do when they think they’re alone with just a few birds watching.”

“No one is ever the wiser.”

“The crows remember everything. They’ve shown me visions of battles fought centuries ago, of kingdoms rising and falling, of powers beyond mortal comprehension.” He turned his blindfolded face toward me. “That’s why Malachai values my reconnaissance so highly. Through my crows, I can observe without being noticed, gather intelligence that would be impossible to obtain through conventional means.”

“How many territories have you mapped?”

“All nine kingdoms, plus the spaces between them. Each has its own dangers, its own rules.” He adjusted his grip on the reins as his mare navigated around a shadowy depression in the ground. “The Skull Wastes to the north, where the very air burns with dark fire. The Fallen Peaks to the west, where corrupted Dragons nest in caves of pure darkness. The Crimson Marshes to the east, where reality itself seems to dissolve.”

The way he spoke of these places made them feel real and immediate, despite their distance. His intimate knowledge of Aetheria’s geography was impressive, especially considering his blindness—or perhaps because of it.

A crow suddenly dove from above and landed on Corvus’s shoulder with unusual urgency. The blind warrior tilted his head, as if receiving some silent message.

“Something approaches,” he said at last. “Something that doesn’t belong in these lands.”

I scanned the horizon, my enhanced senses stretching out to probe the shadows. At first, I detected nothing unusual—just the endless fields of dead grass and white flowers. Then, as I concentrated harder, I felt something, a disturbance in the natural flow of dark energy, like a stone dropped into a still pond.

“Travelers,” Corvus confirmed, his face oriented precisely towards the disturbance. “A merchant caravan, by the feel of it. Five wagons, heavily guarded. They’re taking the lower road, trying to avoid the main paths to Ebonheart.”

“Smugglers?”

“Most likely. The legal trade routes don’t come this far into the Mourning Fields.” He paused, considering. “They’re either very brave or very foolish.”

We guided our steeds off the path and into a copse of trees. From this vantage point, we could observe without being detected.

The caravan came into view several minutes later. The wagons were weather-beaten but sturdy, their canvas covers stained with the grey dust of travel. Armed guards walked alongside, their weapons held ready. They moved with the wary precision of experienced mercenaries, but I could see the fear in their postures. They knew they didn’t belong here.

Clusters of shadows suddenly moved beneath the wagons and reached up with eager tendrils. The guards tightened their formation, clearly sensing the growing danger. But they apparently couldn’t see its source.

I felt the Talons of Twilight pulse eagerly at my sides. “Should we intervene?”

Corvus was silent for a moment, his head tilted as his crows circled the caravan from high above. “No,” he finally decided. “The Mourning Fields will exact their own toll. We have more pressing matters in Ebonheart. Besides…” he added with a grim smile, “it would be rude to interfere with the natural order of things.”

As we turned our mounts back towards our original path, a blood-curdling scream split the air. Despite Corvus’s warning about not interfering, I couldn’t help but look back.

One of the rear guards, a young man barely out of his teens, was being dragged down by the shadowy tendrils. They had wrapped around his ankles like black serpents, pulling him into the ground. His swung his sword in a frenzy, but the weapon passed through the darkness without effect.

He reached out desperately for his companions. “Help me!”

Two other guards rushed to his aid, grabbing his arms and trying to pull him free. But for every shadow they managed to tear away, three more took its place.

I was unable to tear my gaze away from the horrific scene. The shadows began to seep into the young guard’s flesh. Dark veins spread up his legs like a corrupted spiderweb, and his screams took on a different quality—not just fear, but agony. His skin began to grey and crack, as if he was rapidly aging decades.

The other guards redoubled their efforts to save him, but their boots were beginning to sink into the black-liquid ground. The shadows had them too, I realized. They just didn’t know it yet.

“No!” the young guard cried as his companions were forced to release their grip. “Please don’t leave me!”

But it was already too late. The shadows pulled him under with frightening speed, and his final scream was cut off as the darkness claimed him. The last thing I saw was his hand, reaching up through the black earth before it too was dragged down into the abyss.

The remaining guards scrambled back to the wagons, shouting orders and trying to pick up their pace. But I could see the shadows following them, patient and hungry. The Mourning Fields would claim them all before the day was done.

My stomach churned at the scene. Despite my own dark powers, despite everything I’d learned about embracing shadow, there was something uniquely horrifying about watching someone be consumed by darkness they couldn’t fight. It was one thing to wield and master the shadows as tools of power. It was another entirely to witness them act with such predatory intelligence, such cruel purpose.

Corvus sat motionless atop his mount and kept his face orientated on the path ahead despite the grisly scene behind us. He hadn’t reacted to the guard’s death screams, hadn’t even flinched at the sound of his companions’ futile rescue attempts. It was as if he’d already seen it happen through his crows’ eyes, had already accepted the inevitability of their fate.

“The shadows here hunger for life,” he said at last in an emotionless tone. “They remember what it was to be flesh and blood, and they yearn to experience it again. My crows can already taste their fates. The Mourning Fields do not suffer intruders lightly, and by nightfall, there will be five more abandoned wagons adding to the desolation of this haunted place.”

I swallowed back the tightness in my throat. The sight and sounds of the young guard’s final moments remained etched in my mind. The way the shadows had seeped into his flesh, the look of absolute terror on his face as he realized what was happening... It was a stark reminder that for all my growing mastery over darkness, there were older, hungrier shadows in this realm that cared nothing for rank or power.