Chapter 10 – A Raven’s Word
1153 Words
The morning broke gray and bloodless, a sky heavy with mist that rolled through the trees like forgotten breath. Elias rode in silence, his cloak damp with dew, his mind a restless storm of memories and warnings. Every hoofbeat felt louder than it should—as though the forest itself were listening.
He had long since learned that the wildlands kept their own counsel. Paths shifted, rivers doubled back, whispers followed. Yet today, the silence was different. It was waiting.
A flutter of wings cut through the stillness.
The raven came from nowhere, a streak of black against the dull morning light. It landed on a twisted branch just ahead, feathers gleaming like ink spilled across moonstone. Elias slowed his horse, his hand instinctively brushing the dagger at his belt.
The raven tilted its head, and for a moment, its eyes glimmered an unnatural silver—like stars trapped in darkness.
“You ride the road of endings,” it croaked, voice deeper than any bird should have. “Turn back, hunter, before love buries your name.”
Elias froze. His breath misted before him, faint and fleeting. “Who speaks?”
The raven fluffed its feathers, a shiver of midnight. “The forest remembers. It speaks through me when death is near.”
“Death is always near,” Elias said. “But love—” He hesitated, the word catching in his throat. “Love is worth chasing.”
The bird’s beak clicked sharply. “You mistake one for the other. They are the same road, and you’ve been walking it too long.”
It launched from the branch, circling above him once, twice. Elias felt its gaze burn through him. Images flickered behind his eyes—Mira’s face, not as the stories painted her, but softened by grief; the touch of her tears on his skin, though they’d never met.
He blinked hard, the visions dissolving. “If she’s cursed, then I’ll end it. If she’s innocent, I’ll free her.”
The raven swooped low, its wings brushing the tips of the grass. “Every hunter says the same before the forest eats them. You seek to heal what cannot be healed. Even the broken hearts she mends turn hollow, for her sorrow fills their place.”
Elias dismounted slowly. “Then what would you have me do? Let her rot in her grief?”
The bird landed on a stone, head c****d. “She chose her grief. It was the only thing that stayed when love left.”
He stepped closer. “And yet you warn me. Why?”
The raven’s voice softened, almost human now. “Because she weeps for you already.”
A shiver crawled up Elias’s spine. “You lie.”
The raven gave a low, rattling sound that might have been laughter—or pity. “Lies are for the living. The truth is what haunts the dead.”
The wind stirred, carrying with it the faint scent of burnt wood and crushed flowers. Elias turned toward the north, where the trees grew darker, their shapes bending in ways no light could explain.
“Tell me where she is,” he demanded.
The raven spread its wings, black against the pale sky. “You’ll find her where the river forgets its name. Follow the sound of her sorrow, and you’ll know.”
“Will she kill me?” Elias asked quietly.
“Perhaps.” The raven paused. “Or perhaps she’ll love you enough to try not to.”
With that, it took flight, vanishing into the mist as though the world itself had swallowed it.
Elias stood alone, the silence returning heavy and absolute. His horse shifted uneasily, nostrils flaring.
He stared at the place where the raven had perched, the echo of its words lingering. Love and death are the same road.
Maybe it was true. Maybe that was why he couldn’t turn back.
The forest thickened as the day waned. The trees grew close and gnarled, their roots rising like veins through the soil. The air shimmered faintly—threads of unseen magic twisting between the branches. Every step felt like crossing into a memory not his own.
Once, he thought he heard laughter—a woman’s laughter, soft and broken. It faded before he could be sure it was real.
Night fell without warning. The stars hid behind veils of cloud. Elias made camp beside a dying stream, the water black and slow. He lit no fire. The forest seemed to breathe around him, whispering just beyond hearing.
Then came the flutter of wings.
The raven returned, silent this time, perching on a nearby stone. It watched him as he unrolled his blanket, eyes reflecting the faint starlight.
“You again,” Elias muttered. “I didn’t think death was so talkative.”
The bird tilted its head. “You dream of her already, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
“She dreams too,” it continued. “Of the man who will come and take her pain. She doesn’t know your name, only the echo of your grief. It calls to her like a song she cannot stop singing.”
Elias looked up, eyes sharp. “You speak as if you know her.”
“I know what she was before sorrow claimed her.”
“And what was that?”
The raven hesitated. “Hope.”
The word struck him like a blade.
He turned away, staring into the darkness. “Then maybe she still is. Maybe there’s a piece of her left that wants to be free.”
The raven let out a soft, weary sigh. “Freedom is crueler than love, hunter. It asks you to live after everything worth living for is gone.”
It hopped closer, the shadows curling around its claws. “When you find her, remember this—grief is not a chain to be broken. It is a promise kept too long.”
“Then I’ll break the promise,” Elias said, his voice barely a whisper.
The bird gave him a look that might have been sorrow. “Or she will break you.”
It spread its wings again, scattering droplets of mist. For a heartbeat, Elias thought he saw a shape within the feathers—a woman’s silhouette, her hair like storm clouds, her eyes bright with tears. Then the vision was gone.
The raven vanished into the night, and Elias lay awake long after, his mind tangled in its words.
Somewhere deep in the forest, a woman stirred. She had dreamed of a voice she did not know, of footsteps drawing nearer through the endless dark. When she opened her eyes, a raven perched on her window of roots and stone.
“He comes,” it whispered.
She closed her eyes again, and the faintest smile touched her lips—sad, knowing.
“Then so must the ending.”
- Writer
