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Refenial woke slowly, scrunching his eyes tight as he rolled over, enjoying the comfort and warmth of his bed, its divinely soft mattress and the gentle embrace of the covers.

Despite the relaxing comfort, something felt wrong. A gentle concern nagged at the back of his half-asleep mind. He began to drift asleep once more before everything suddenly connected. His eyes opened, expecting to see the open sky of the ruins above him.

Instead, above him were wooden rafters. He fidgeted slightly. The bed he lay in was by far the most comfortable piece of furniture he'd ever experienced. Not even a single strand of straw was beneath poking into him.

He sat up and looked around. The room was of respectable size but not huge, with wooden floors and walls. Across from the bed, light entered from a glass-paned window. The room what furnished with basic wooden furniture but lacked any sense of personal touch that one would expect in a typical bedroom.

He glanced over. On the bedside table were a metal whistle, a leather pouch and two letters stacked one upon the other. The topmost had 'Read me' written on it in plain handwriting.

He closed his eyes and opened them again, half expecting this to all be some strange dream. He closed his eyes and looked inwards towards his soul, surprised to note as he did that he lacked any of the aches and pains he'd expected from the night at the village and ruins.

His focus moved down, and his soul's eyes opened. He carefully examined his soul. It had reformed once more, but as he looked more closely, he shivered. Dark specks were visible along its surface, tiny fragments of the thing mixed into his own soul. He could feel a faint connection with it and was sure it could now communicate with him if it so desired. It seemed happy to wait certainly of its own inevitability.

He wasn't sure what it meant or how to fix this. He wondered if the Old Mother would know. Thoughts of her instantly brought back memories of Maxit, the village, Obit, and the image he'd seen in the ruin.

He clenched his fists tightly as he closed his soul's eyes. He looked down, realizing that his right hand was fully healed, though where his body had healed, the skin looked visibly paler. It was fresh and as yet untouched by the sun. He opened and closed the hand a few times but found no flaw in its movement.

The letters still sat there unread, taunting with their possibility of answers.

He reached over and picked up the one with 'Read me' written on it. It was a simple unsealed sheet of paper, so he unfolded it and began to read

Refenial,

It is sad that the villagers and Maxit died, but I am not sorry for my actions. I won't explain why I did what I did through a letter, and I don't think you're ready to hear me yet anyway.

Thanks to you, my power is back, and I am stronger than ever. Griselda took Obit. She is an evil monster who uses people like tools and weapons. She hides behind a kind and loving act, so Obit will be safe for now, especially while he believes her.

I will eventually be going after her. I want her dead.

If you want to help me and try to break Obit away from her, you will need to be stronger. I was involved in founding an academy in the capital a long time ago, and my recommendation, the other letter here, will carry enough weight for you to get in.

If you want to be strong enough to fight against Griselda and get Obit back, then you will attend.

I have left enough money for you in a pouch to get there safely. I would take you myself, but I have too much I need to do to get ready for the battle against Griselda, besides you need time before you will be prepared to listen.

I also acquired a magic whistle for you to use for your title. It has a spellform carved into it. If you infuse it with mana while you play, it will create a sound attack that will harm people nearby.

Hildegard Crowchild

Ps. Remember not to trust Griselda.

Refenial angrily crumpled the letter in his hand before smoothing it out again in case he needed to look at it again later.

He put it back on the table and picked up the reference. It was a thin sheet of paper folded over and sealed with a black wax seal. An ornate coat of arms had been pressed into the wax.

He checked the money next. He'd seen very little money while in the village, but one of the books he'd read had included a description of coinage in the kingdom. It was a dizzying mess. There were well over 30 different types of coins in the kingdom, each with their own unique value and odd exchange rate to one another. Most of the coins also had different names and slang terms, just to make the whole system even more convoluted. He gently poured the contents of the pouch on the bed. There were a fair few coins there. He was unsure of the value of some, but from those he did know, this would have been a fortune in the village. He guessed there probably was enough there for someone to live comfortably for six months to a year, twice that if they were frugal.

He carefully returned the coins to the pouch, making sure not to lose any, especially the tiny gold coins called 'false kings' that were barely larger than a fingernail.

Lastly, he looked at the whistle. It was a simple instrument meant to be played with two hands. He didn't recognize the metal it was made from. The instrument was well made, with a pattern of leaves carefully embossed across its surface. He closed his eyes and opened his soul's eyes, curious of what he would see. He was disappointed at first as it seemed like a normal, if well made, instrument. He held it up and glanced inside and saw the inside had row upon row of tiny indents running up as far as he could see. He looked closely at it and could just make out that each indent was the rune of a spellform perfectly carved into the metal.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He closed his soul's eyes and opened his normal eyes, nearly dropping the whistle as there was a rap-tap tapping at his window.

He looked around. A crow was sitting outside on the window sill, gently leaning one way then the other as if too impatient to sit still.

Refenial put the instrument back and stood, the darned patches of his socks giving much-needed grip on the smooth wooden floor.

He walked to the window. Outside he could see a city or maybe a town. The building he was in seemed slightly taller than most, and it gave him a view of snowy grey slate rooves atop buildings of wood and stone stretched out higglety pigglety before him. Smoke gently drifted up from the chimneys of most buildings as it was slowly lost to the bright blue of the sky. At the town's edge, he could see the tall masts of ships and even a set of large white sails of a vessel on the move.

The crow tapped once more impatiently.

The latch on the window was stiff from unuse. It took a moment of struggling before he managed to open the window.

The crow took flight and landed back upon the sill so as to allow the window to be opened.

Refenial wrinkled his nose in disgust as the window opened. The smell of the city was eyewatering. It was a smell of rancid fat, open sewers, and thousands of unwashed bodies drifting through the window.

The crow turned its head inquisitively at his reaction.

Refenial looked down at the bird as the bird looked up.

The crow began to cough, splutter and retch. It retched down at the sill and regurgitated a rolled scroll and a small silver bell, both much too large to have fitted down the bird's gullet.

Refenial realized that the smell of the city was now only the second most disgusting thing he'd experienced today.

The bird poked at the scroll with its beak, looked up at him, poked the scroll, and once more looked at him.

Refenial gently touched the scroll, expecting it to feel wet, but it didn't. He carefully picked it up, and as he did so, he noticed this was also sealed with wax. The wax was pure white, and the symbol imprinted upon it was a crow sitting on a skull.

He undid the scroll and began to read.

To my dearest Refenial Crowchild,

both Obit and I were distraught at the thought we might have lost you.

However, we were much relieved to have discovered your survival.

I am sorry that you have been through so much and that I could not reach the village in time to save its people from Hildegard.

As the apprentice of my daughter, you are like a grandson to me, and I know Obit views you as a brother.

He knows my daughter tricked you and places all blame for what happened with her.

I would like you to come live with me. Obit wants you to too. The world is a dangerous place, especially for a small child like yourself.

I'm sure Hildegard has told you many lies about me, so it will take time for you to trust me. That is why I've also sent the silver bell with the crow.

Simply infuse the bell with mana while ringing it.

I know my daughter taught you how, despite how negligent a teacher she has been otherwise.

If you do that, it will summon a crow. Tell it what you need, and it will be done.

Money, food, or to let me know you're ready to come home. Ring the bell whenever you need help, as often as you want, and if it is within my power, I'll make sure it happens.

With Much love,

Griselda the Crow Queen, and Obit

Refenial finished reading the scroll and lowered it. The crow gave a satisfied nod and flew away.

Griselda seemed nice, but it felt wrong. It reminded him of the wolf when it had pretended to be a sweet merchant in the forest. He wondered if she would turn on him like the wolf had when the children refused to play along with its act.

He gently picked up the bell and examined it with both sets of eyes. It was polished silver with an ivory handle. Inside the bell, like with the whistle, the tiny symbols of a spellform covered its surface.

He closed the window and set the bell, and scroll by the bedside table. Sitting on the bed as he thought.

So much had happened, and so much sat at the back of his mind. He pushed it away, though. That was a problem for tomorrow, a problem for a different him at a different time. He needed to work out what to do today, travel to this magic school, or go to Griselda. He considered both options. Neither seemed right. Maybe tomorrow, he'd do one or the other. Today though, he needed to work to understand this world. If he failed to understand, he'd just be another victim of collateral damage as people like Hecate or Hildegard, as she was going by now, and Griselda fought.

"I need power," he said to himself, then looked down as he heard his stomach rumble.

"I need food. Then I need power." He corrected himself.

He took the coin purse, pulling the string tight. Its string was long enough to place around his neck, so he did so. He considered taking the other items with him but didn't have a way of carrying them, so instead hid them around the room.

He put on his clogs and opened the door to the room, stepping out.

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He was on a landing that formed a square around a large room. At its centre, a glass chandelier hung. Daylight streamed down from a skylight above the chandelier.

He stepped to the edge holding tightly to the handrail as he looked down.

He was two floors up. Below was a spotless stone-flagged floor, surrounded by four walls of brown varnished wood. A lady walked arm in arm with a man. Both wore the finest clothes he'd ever seen.

He pulled back and quickly found the carpeted stairs that led to the ground floor.

As he stepped into the building's foyer, he looked around. The couple he'd seen from upstairs gave him a disgusted grimace before turning away from him.

There was a fine wood counter that he'd missed before because he'd been standing directly above it. An older man in his late 50s with an impeccable sense of dress stood with an air of relaxed formality behind the counter. He noticed Refenial and gave a warm nod and smile to him.

Refenial approached the man and the counter.

"The young lady said you might be confused when you wake, young master. I can help if you have any questions." He said to Refenial warmly

Refenial wrinkled his brow in confusion "Young lady?"

"yes, she went by the name Hildegard. She said she rescued you after your village was attacked but that you'd received a nasty blow to the head.

She paid for your stay here until the end of the week, another four days."

"Oh." He said, trying to match the phrase 'young lady' with his mental image of his decrepit mentor.

"If I might be so bold, young master, I can send some food up to your room and a bath. I can also send for a tailor." the man said, the kindly look on his face taking the sting out of the implication of his words.

Refenial looked down at his clothes. Even before the attack, they had been dirty, threadbare and covered with patches crudely sown over their many holes.

Now, however, they were much worse. They were covered in dirt, blood and ash, his skin poking out in several places from tears. His hands, he realized, were not much cleaner.

He frowned, thinking about how much this would set back his coin purse.

The man seemed to read his thoughts. "The young lady paid quite generously for your stay, also the 'the white rose gardens'; this establishment takes pride in its hospitality. You won't need to pay for these services during your stay."

"Thanks. I'll head upstairs." Refenial said, heading back up.

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