The next day,
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The raven landed on the battlements of Blackwood Villa at exactly dawn.
It was no ordinary bird - its feathers were the color of polished obsidian, its eyes glowed the faint, burning crimson of embers left overnight, and it did not caw, did not flinch, did not even blink when the villa’s guards raised their spears. It simply dropped a single scroll onto the stone tiles, tilted its head as if checking they had understood, and launched itself back into the sky, vanishing over the western peaks before anyone could take a step toward it.
Silas Blackwood picked up the scroll. The parchment was thick, stiff, and cold to the touch, as if it had been stored in ice for a century. It was sealed with black wax stamped with a rune no scholar in the Western Packs had seen in t
