Nine Star Academy’s aging coachman would never remember the boy who decided to kill the Titan. Nor would he recall the student with no pool, the one who came to humiliate his teachers. The old man would never connect his passenger to the one who intended to solve Panka’s riddle and free the Sleeping Devil from her cocoon.

No, Simon LeGee wouldn’t remember the person sitting in his wagon for any of those things. The memory destined to forever linger in his mind as he looked back at his young fare was something trivial, yet, at the same time, far more frightening.

He would remember the way Raven Whitesong sat in silence.

The hours-long course up Mount Chappelle took Simon’s wagon over mounds of snow, pushing through vile, blustery winds intent on turning them back. Bitter cold enclosed him in a shell, seeping through every layer of clothing. This winter would never see its equal, and any other passenger would have demanded the journey’s cancellation by now.

But not this boy. Donned in simple robes, Raven sat with the patience Simon never would have believed had he not seen it for himself. Snow piled inside the open carriage, reaching to the young man’s knees and coating his body. Bursts of fog expelled from under his hood with each steady breath, and his hands were so pale, the blue tint of a cadaver surfaced beneath his skin.

Yet, he never moved an inch. Simon looked back many times, sure that the boy would be frozen stiff. But the steady fog bursts never stopped. A shiver unrelated to the cold ran up Simon’s spine, and he longed for their destination. He never wished more to hurry the wagon along, but the Bomfrosts couldn’t keep up with so much snow, and his pandora were too limited in such weather.

In place of horses, four angel-like statues of stone floated before the carriage, pulling it along by chains. Coprophim. The stone was old, chipped in some places and broken in others. Wings were missing, and faces were weathered by time. In each of the angels’ cupped hands, a silver, rectangular object like a card hovered in place, rotating on its edge and shining with soft brilliance.

A potent flurry blasted the wagon. Simon gasped, bundling further within his cloak. Every part of his body felt numb, yet a terrible feeling gripped his heart. He knew he should never have agreed to go back up the mountain. But the boy offered him so much money, he couldn’t refuse. Now the bag of coins felt heavy in his pocket. If throwing the money into the wind would have stopped its relentless assault, he’d have done it by now.

Just when he was convinced he would die today, Simon spotted a black speck on the side of the mountain, and his fearful heart lurched with hope. It was definitely the tunnel road to Reyk Roespeye. Finally! He sat up in his seat and whipped the reins of chain metal. The statues jumped a tad before continuing at their slow, floating pace.

Simon cursed his lousy pandora before looking back again. Still, the boy sat in silence. Snow piled over his arms now and up to his chest. If the wagon driver wasn’t so frightened, he would have found the picture comical. But there was nothing funny about this. In fact, he would have bet all the money he’d just earned that the city of Roespeye was about to regret the boy’s mere presence.

Everything about this day was vile. The city, with its towering structures of ancient architecture, appeared as a faint outline through the bluster. A disguise of shadows atop the mountain.

Even the Bomfrost Trees seemed sinister. Normally, Simon possessed nothing but pleasant feelings about them. The way their thick roots burst from the ground to reach out and swallow up snow in his way. Slithering like snakes, they picked up large piles and stowed it all away among sturdy branches. But the trees were acting differently. With so much snow, the roots ate greedily, making the whole forest crawl with their constant slithering motion. And they stored so much snow in their treetops, the branches creaked and groaned, threatening to snap under all the weight.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It seemed forever, but the wagon finally reached the wooden tunnel that sheltered the road and led safer passage to the city. Simon’s floating statues assumed a swifter speed, and the wagon rolled across the stone path with ease. He exhaled in small relief, but he knew he would find no other comfort until they arrived. Shadows came and went as the wagon passed under the pandora lights floating above.

Simon noticed a certain shadow on the wall shift, and he looked back. For the first time since they started the trek up the mountain, his passenger moved. Raven still made no attempt to unbury himself from all the snow, but his head lifted to look at the floating pandora of the tunnel ceiling. From the higher vantage, Simon finally got a good look at his face. He couldn’t be sure if he was normally so pale or if his pallor was a result of the cold, but there was nothing natural about the color of the boy’s eyes.

Lifeless gray. Blanched. Horribly drab. There were numerous ways to describe his eyes, but nothing to perfectly express how cold they were or the sharp consideration behind them. Raven looked at the pandora with interest, and his eyes narrowed as if he despised the card-shaped objects providing meager, unceasing light to the tunnel. A gaze of pure, deliberate wrath that soaked up the very cold around him and converted it into something even more harrowing.

Simon shivered again. In the new silence of the tunnel, he knew he had to break the tension lest he go insane. But what could he possibly say?

“Uh… aren’t you cold there, son?” he croaked. The words scratched his throat, and he instantly regretted them.

Raven looked at him briefly before resuming to watch the pandora. It was a horrific moment, so intense was the sensation it delivered. But the silence was worse still, and the pounding of Simon’s heart urged him to speak yet again.

“We were… quite delayed, weren’t we? If these pandora are lighting the way… it means it’s almost the end of the day. I apologize…”

No response.

Simon tugged at his scarf. Somehow, it now felt like a furnace beneath the layers. “You’re a new student, right? Well, no need to worry, son. I have heard the masters are usually lenient under such circumstances.”

Raven bowed his head, hiding his face yet again. The snow coating his hood had melted, revealing the intense black of his robes. The wagon driver looked ahead, figuring the boy had no intention of saying anything. Only the rickety wheels laboring over the road offered any relief from the silence. Each second ticked by in agonizing fashion, and the tunnel’s end seemed a torment to Simon’s already fragile state of mind.

Then, Raven spoke.

Or rather… he began to chant. In a haunting hush of a mantra, like the possessed drone of a cultic chieftain. Simon slowly looked back, eyes wide in fear of what he might find. Raven’s eyes smoldered, filled with a controlled kind of fury bent on vengeance. His hand lifted out of the mound of snow, holding a pandora between two fingers. A pair of black wings decorated the card, complete with a twisted halo. The pandora glowed with otherworldly force, impressing a demon’s grip on Simon’s throat. Never had he known a pandora of such power.

Raven repeated the chant, and each syllable drove straight to Simon’s marrow, gnawing with savage hunger. And he knew in that moment, no matter how many years he had left to live on this earth, he would never forget the words Raven Whitesong spoke:

A year upon the learners’ door. Asleep to bide the time.

Release the Devil, take back her soul, and end the trickster’s chime.

Thief of Life, yon Titan. Come claim your wicked prize.

The soul I take, a different sort, concealed to greedy eyes.

Beyond the grave, the Raven crows. Black Stare on Reyk Provote.

Rare bird pursues your wretched life, to seize it by the throat.

Rogue puppet hides beneath your watch. Save for me, he dares not yield.

The day draws near when you shall die by mind and sword and shield.