A huge storm thundered outside the tower. The wind had been so loud at first that Corvo couldn’t hear Mother’s voice from an inch away. Any work had been put on hold, and the three of them went to the library and lit the fireplace there. Mother held Corvo; he was not an especially anxious child, but the flashing was bright enough to blind him, and the rain came so hard that he was convinced they would all be washed away.

She put the arcane lights out and let the hearth be the only illumination. Then she cast a spell, and though water still splashed through the windows, the wind became much quieter.

“This tower has stood for centuries. It is sturdy enough to withstand this storm,” she said.

Corvo stopped crying after that. But he kept himself clutched to Mother all night.

She and Dorian talked like he wasn’t there.

“Tell me more about him,” he said.

She sighed. “He was dashing. And foolish. Far too brave, and far too empathetic. I do not think he would have wasted his time on me had he not been.”

“Did he ever meet his son?”

“No,” she said quickly. “He would find this twist of fate endlessly amusing, I’m sure. He would have been an excellent father.”

“He died a hero.”

“That is no consolation. It did not have to be this way.”

“At least you have Corvo.”

“I could have had them both.” Mother’s hand tapped on Corvo’s head and pulled back his hair. “They have the same blue eyes.” She sighed again, then said, “But that is quite enough of such sentimental manure. Surely you have more stories to tell from your extraordinarily long life. Stories fit for a young man, also.”

The crackling of the fire filled the vacuum of Dorian’s voice. Corvo saw him shift where he sat.

“None?” Mother said.

“None fit for a young man. None come to mind.”

“Were you ever married? I can tell by your silence that you were.”

“I was,” he said slowly. “I married her for her money.”

“Respectable, though emasculating,” Mother said.

“I didn’t stick around afterward.” The old man relaxed. “Your few years of adventuring accomplished more than I ever did. You know me already. I’m just a rogue.”

“No doubt that you would abandon me as quickly if you could steal what you aimed to take so easily.”

Dorian laughed. “It’s hard to steal beauty. But that isn’t quite all. You’re…”

Corvo’s attention faded. He was too afraid to fall asleep, but he wasn’t interested in his Mother’s conversation. Instead he watched the bookshelves around them. He focused on the way the darkness seemed to dance as the flames moved. The books cast long shadows toward the staircase. It was cozy, and he felt safe in Mother’s arms, but he still feared the dark.

He saw the black move.

It was tar floating through the air, just like the Shadow Man had been: a barely visible shape that cut through wherever the light couldn’t reach. It emerged from the stairs and climbed along the walls, over the broken window, then in their direction across the ground. Corvo’s eyes widened as he stared at it, but Mother and Dorian were still talking—they hadn’t noticed.

The black spot dragged itself along the ground. Lurching closer toward them. When a shaft of light reached it, it moved suddenly one way or another, until it seemed poised to attack.

Then it darted toward the walls. It heaved itself up one shelf, and then another, and another, until it was all the way at the top. It seemed to settle there in the dark.

Corvo blinked.

It disappeared.

He looked away and held Mother more tightly. But he knew she wouldn’t believe him. He trusted what she had said, that this was only his imagination. So he kept quiet for fear that he had done something wrong, for fear he wouldn’t be believed, and closed his eyes instead.

Before he realized that he had fallen asleep, he opened his eyes and saw that it was dawn. There were no shadows anywhere then.

“The last ingredient is a maiden’s blood,” Mother said. “As it often is. Then the potion should be ready.”

Dorian nodded. “Where will we find it?”

“That is your concern. You may need to rely on complicated maneuvers to extract it. I would suggest from a villager. Perhaps lull her into bed?”

“You forget that I can’t lie,” Dorian whispered quietly and severely. “And if I lull her into bed, then she will no longer be a maiden.”

“And how would you suggest that I obtain a maiden’s blood? Might I turn myself into a mosquito and hope no toads catch me on my way to the nearest convent of the Sisters of Aethereal Salvation?”

“Would that work?”

“Probably, yes, but I will not do it. I have fulfilled my side of our bargain. And I will not leave Corvo while I do more than I said I would. If you are lucky, you may find a wise woman or a witch in the woods who has appropriate alchemical reagents; that may expedite your search.”

They were in the kitchen. Corvo sat on the steps and played with a toy warrior carved of wood—it was his only permanent toy. He imagined that he was his father, slaying a great demon (whatever that was), and listened only distantly when voices were raised.

“Fine,” Dorian said. “Fine. I’ll see to it.” He grabbed his pack from the table and put on his sword belt. “It may be a while. Don’t starve while I’m gone.”

“We will do our best,” Mother said.

With that, he departed. Corvo watched the horse as it galloped off into the thick forest. Mother huffed and shrugged and returned to her breakfast.

Corvo came and sat with her at the table.

“Is Dorian going hunting?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking. But not quite. He is—there are… there are ingredients he needs to recover. That is all.”

“Will he be back?”

“Yes. I think he will be. But if he is not, we will make do.”

Corvo nodded. “Sometimes fathers don’t last too long,” he said.

Mother frowned for a moment. Then she erupted in laughter. She pushed her plate aside and said, “You are so very eloquent, my little crow. You are right. Sometimes they do not. Even our true fathers. Not mine, nor yours. That is the way things must be.”

“I like Dorian,” he said. “I don’t want him to go.”

“Nor do I,” Mother said. “And I do not think he will. Now let us go upstairs and study. We will have a great deal of time together alone.”

Corvo didn’t want to study. He was having fun playing with his toy. But there was no arguing with Mother, so he shrugged and followed her upstairs.

Mother made Gob always watch him. She followed him everywhere. She kept him company when he was alone, and with Dorian gone, he was alone much more often.

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Two days passed. Dorian did not return. Mother went into the laboratory for more work.

“I will not be long,” she said. “Stay in the library. Gob will keep you safe.”

So Corvo stayed in the library. He looked through the books, like he often had, and picked out one he had never read before.

It was bound in thin, cracking leather. The pages crumbled at his touch. It was as wide as he was, and he sat down on the ground and opened it in his lap. The sun was still up, and in clear light, the forest beyond the window seemed serene. Corvo wasn’t afraid to be alone on days like those.

He read the pages. Mostly he read the sentences and tried to remember the meanings of the words, sometimes pronouncing them aloud, without understanding much else. He turned one page to another; there was a large, colored illumination of a rabbit holding a sword, and he giggled as he looked it over.

Another book fell from the shelf to his side.

Its pages splayed open and rippled as it fell, and it landed with a thud next to him.

He jumped and dropped the book in his lap. For a moment he stared, thinking someone was in the library with him, but he and Gob were alone.

Gob sat idly by, doing nothing.

He pushed the first book aside and crawled toward the second. It was smaller than the others, narrow and thin, and he picked it up. The cover was hard and etched in a design he had never seen before: a sideways cross, drawn within a circle.

He cracked it open.

The pages were all blank.

He thumbed through them slowly and deliberately, one after another. He was more than two thirds of the way through before he found the first sign of text.

It was written in Regal script. He could understand Regal when it was spoken, and he knew its alphabet, but he still struggled to read it. So he thought hard and carefully sounded out the words, one at a time, and pronounced them aloud.

He managed once sentence.

The sun disappeared behind clouds. The magelight Mother always left on the ceiling went out. Shadow descended across the library.

Something moved in the corner of his vision.

He tossed the book aside.

The Shadow Man stood in front of him.

Corvo wanted to scream, but he couldn’t; there was no air in his lungs. He scrambled away, but although the day wasn’t dark, it was shadowy everywhere—and the Shadow Man could walk wherever it pleased. It moved like it had on the steps, shambling in his direction; it was pitch black except its red eyes, so much clearer now, during the day, and it never looked away from him.

His back reached the wall. He shook his head.

“Gob,” he whispered. “Help.”

Gob watched him blankly. She did nothing.

The Shadow Man leaned downward. Its hands stretched forward. Soon they were on either side of Corvo’s face, and the red eyes lowered down to his.

Corvo closed his eyes.

“Don’t be afraid,” it whispered. “I would never harm you.”

The voice was like a loud whisper, hushed yet easy to understand. It slid through Corvo’s ears like the hissing of a snake. It came from everywhere, not from any mouth, yet it was melodic, and in a way that no other voice ever had, it reminded him of Mother.

“Mother,” Corvo said, but he was too quiet to be heard.

“Mother is too busy for you, my little crow. But I have come to keep you company.”

The shadow hand on his left shoulder reached up to brush the hair from his eyes. Corvo felt nothing but the chill of the wind where it touched his skin, but his hair did move.

The Shadow Man trailed its hand down his face. His shoulder. To his own hand. Its tendrils wrapped tight around his fingers.

“Here,” it said. “Will you sit with me?”

It led him to the desk at the far edge of the room, where it kneeled down beside the single chair. It gestured for him to take it.

Corvo was crying. But he did not know what to do, so he did exactly what he was told. He sat in the chair.

It kneeled low, so that its eyes were level with Corvo's. It pulled its hands back to its side.

“Why are you afraid, little crow?”

“You’re a monster,” Corvo stuttered.

“Do I seem like a monster to you?”

He nodded.

“All I want is a friend to play with. But Mother brings the lights to make me go away. I had the whole tower to myself for so long, but now I only can live at the edges of each room. Is that fair?”

It didn’t seem fair, so Corvo shook his head.

“Now all I want is a new friend. That was all I ever wanted. I used to have so many friends, but they abandoned me." The Shadow Man leaned in closer. "Do you want a friend?”

He nodded.

“They locked me in that book and left me here to waste away. But you are a true friend. You let me out. Now we can play games together. We can walk in the forest when Mother is away. We can do anything you like.”

He shook his head.

“We will be together for a long time. You can trust me like your own shadow. I promise.” The Shadow Man crept to its feet and stepped around Corvo’s back. It extended an arm past his face, toward the library window, and its indistinct fingers made a gesture toward the nearest wall. “What is your favorite animal, my little crow?”

“Great-grandpa has puppies,” Corvo whispered.

“Puppies. I like puppies, too. Watch closely.”

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, the darkness along the walls began to move. It shifted and congealed like floaters in Corvo’s eyes, forming pitch-black patches against the gray and shadowy walls, as though the darkness itself was concentrating in two separate points. Soon the two-dimensional shape of a puppy, with a high-held tail and floppy ears, became distinct from the darkness, and opposite it formed a long-beaked bird.

They animated. Walking toward each other. Passing each other. Both were so black that whatever they walked across was invisible, like tar lathered across the spines of books.

The bird opened its wings and flapped them. The puppy jumped, its ears bouncing, and the two wrestled along the walls, tumbling toward a shelf. It reminded Corvo of the black figures painted along amphorae jugs he had seen in villages, yet these figures could move as lifelike as any real animal.

He laughed. His fear dissipated the longer he watched, and soon he leaped off the chair and ran to see if he could pet these animals on the walls.

They stopped as he came near. Heads twisting.

He ran his hands along them, but he felt nothing. To the Shadow Man he said, "I want to pet!"

"To pet?" The red eyes cocked to the side. "Okay. Pet."

The puppy and the crow became blobby and indistinct for a moment. Then they stepped from the walls.

They became solid. Real, like the Shadow Man, like animals colored all over with black ink. The bird took flight and swooped in a wide circle through the library before landing on Corvo's shoulder. Its talons were cold as steel left out in snow, but he barely noticed.

The puppy ran to him. Its fur was freezing and solid. But the black dog-like shape looked and acted just like it should have, rubbing first along his knees before jumping up and pawing his chest.

A crystalline tongue dragged across his cheek.

Corvo loved dogs. Mother had never let him have a dog. So he didn’t care that it was strange. He rubbed its icy ears and held it in his arms.

“Make another one!” he said.

The Shadow Man made a gesture with its hand, and off the wall jumped another puppy, like the last.

“Make another! Make a kitty!”

A gesture. The silhouette of a cat congealed on the wall and stepped out into the open. It stretched its tail in the air and came in close to be scratched.

“Teach me to do it!”

The Shadow Man lowered back down to Corvo’s level. Its red eyes looked into his.

“Okay,” its voice sang. “I will. But now you see there is nothing to be afraid of in the dark. There is nothing there. At night, under your bed. ‘Tis only I. Are you still afraid? Or will you promise to be brave?”

Corvo shook his head. “I’m not afraid.”

“I didn’t think so. Now... tell me more about your mother, and I will tell you about mine.”

Corvo inhaled. He opened his mouth to respond, when a sudden light appeared.

His eyes were overwhelmed. They burned, and he had to look away. The frozen fur of the puppies and the cat disappeared, and the crow’s talons vanished. When Corvo looked again, it was clear daylight in the tower.

Mother stood on the stairs. Her staff gave off bright white light, until she tapped it, and the light flew to the center of the library’s ceiling.

The Shadow Man was gone.

“Who were you speaking to?” Mother said.

Corvo pulled his arms together. At first he was afraid to admit that the Shadow Man was his new friend. What would she think? He knew that she did not like the Shadow Man. She thought he wasn’t real. But her gaze pierced his guilt.

"The Shadow Man," he whispered.

“You saw the Shadow Man again,” Mother said.

Corvo nodded. “He’s funny. I’m not afraid of him anymore. We’re friends.”

Mother’s face did not move. She was pale already, but her face blanched. She held herself upright and still.

“What did he say?”

“He gave me a puppy, and a bird! And a kitty!”

“And a kitty,” Mother repeated.

“He said he wanted to play, but he ran away when it got bright.”

“When did the light go out?” She gestured at the ceiling.

Corvo had to think for a moment in order to remember. Then he said, “When I looked at the book!”

“The book.” Her eyes darted toward the shelves, and there she spotted the hard-covered book on the ground. “The book.”

She put her staff against the wall and ran toward the book by the shelves. She picked it up and flipped it open, and she quickly checked the pages.

She swore. Mother never swore, but now she said a terrible word, and Corvo realized something wasn’t right. He crawled toward her as she slumped against the shelves and continued to look the book over.

“You will reveal your secrets!” she screamed. She closed the book and put her hand on the cover; around her fingers there was a flash of green, and then she opened it again.

This time, she found something. She stared at the first page. Corvo watched her eyes as they scanned the text. Then she flipped to the next. And the next. And the next. Finally she looked up at him.

Her eyes were wild. He had never seen her afraid, but she was afraid. More than afraid. She quickly crawled toward him, taking him into her arms on the floor.

“You did not read this book, did you?” she said. She shook him. “Tell me you did not read from it aloud!”

Corvo had been happy. Happy to play with the Shadow Man, and happy that Mother was back. But now he was terrified. Her expression drove away all his mirth, but he did not understand why she was upset.

He shook his head, but when she shouted again, he said, “Yes,” before erupting in tears. “It fell.”

Mother’s chest quivered. She almost choked her son by holding him so tight. She cradled his head, and more lights appeared around them, luminescent orbs of white and yellow, until any trace of darkness or shadow had been washed from the library.

“Tell me,” she said. But her words were imprecise. She spoke through sobs. “Tell me exactly what it said. Tell me everything the Shadow Man did.”

Corvo couldn’t. He was too afraid. He cried, confused, against his mother instead. By the time he stopped, it had begun to darken outside, and shadow descended upon the forest.

But the library stayed brighter than day. Mother never let up her lights, nor did she let him go.

“Please,” she whispered. When she looked into his face, her eyes were red. “Tell me everything.”

So he did. He told her about the Shadow Man, and the book, and the puppies who had come out to play with him. Mother listened with attention rapt. She never looked away from him, nor seemed to doubt any detail. She absorbed everything.

When he was done, she put her head to his shoulder, and she cried.

“Corvo,” she whispered. “What have I let you do?”