"The Raven's Ghost has returned!"
The words spread from village to village like wildfire, whispered in taverns, shouted across fields.
A lone survivor of the Blackthorn Keep massacre staggered into Westford at dawn, his eyes wild with terror, clothes still reeking of smoke and blood.
"He killed them all," the man babbled to anyone who would listen.
"Moved through shadows like he wasn't human. The Raven's Ghost—he's real!"
By midday, the tale had reached Oakmeadow. By nightfall, it had spread to every settlement still loyal to House Albrecht.
The frightened whispers transformed into something else—hope, mixed with a healthy dose of fear.
Caelan heard these reports from his bed, where he'd collapsed upon returning to the manor. His body, pushed far beyond its fragile limits, had finally rebelled.
Fever wracked him, muscles spasmed with each slight movement, and breathing came in shallow, painful gasps.
"You should have seen their faces, my lord," Aldric said as he applied cool cloths to Caelan's forehead.
"When the news reached the village square, it was as if they'd heard the old king himself had returned from the grave."
Caelan tried to smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. "And House Fenn?"
"Still scrambling to understand what happened. Their representative returned with quite a tale—babbling about shadows that moved against the wind and a figure who could not possibly be you."
Aldric's weathered face broke into a rare smile. "Lord Vaeron is said to be furious."
"Good," Caelan whispered, his voice hoarse. "But they'll respond. Prepare for it."
Three days passed before Caelan could rise from his bed.
His recovery was slower than he'd hoped—a reminder that, despite Marcus Chen's skills, Caelan Albrecht's body remained a limitation.
He spent the time studying the Nullcraft texts and the documents he'd taken from Blackthorn Keep.
The letters mentioned meeting places, schedules, and code names—but most interesting was the repeated reference to "The Crimson Hand" and its connection to the Eclipsed Order.
"A secret society within a secret society," he mused to Aldric. "But what's their purpose? And why involve themselves with common bandits?"
On the fourth day after the attack, as Caelan was practising the basic Nullcraft forms in his chamber, a servant rushed in without knocking.
"My lord! Riders approaching—bearing House Fenn's banner!"
Caelan lowered his arms, ignoring the protest of his still-sore muscles. "How many?"
"Six, my lord. Led by someone in a grey cloak."
"Not Lord Vaeron himself, then," Caelan noted. "Interesting.
Help me dress, Aldric. It's time to be the sickly heir again."
By the time the Fenn delegation was announced, Caelan had transformed.
Gone was the focused practitioner of Nullcraft, replaced by a pale young nobleman barely able to stand without support. He slumped in his father's old chair in the study, a blanket across his legs despite the room's warmth.
"Magister Corvell of House Fenn," Aldric announced, his voice carrying the practised formality of a longtime steward.
The man who entered wore robes of grey and green, his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed. Unlike the brutish guards who followed at a respectful distance, Corvell moved with scholarly precision, his gaze taking in every detail of the room.
"Lord Albrecht," he said, bowing slightly. "I apologise for arriving unannounced."
"Hardly unannounced," Caelan replied, deliberately making his voice weaker than necessary.
"Your banners were visible from quite a distance."
Something flickered in Corvell's eyes—surprise, perhaps, at finding the infamous sickly heir alert enough to notice such details.
"Of course. I come on Lord Vaeron's behalf. There has been an... incident nearby that requires investigation."
"An incident?" Caelan repeated, feigning confusion.
"The destruction of a military outpost. Deaths of several men in Lord Vaeron's employ."
"How terrible," Caelan murmured.
"Though I fail to see how this concerns House Albrecht."
Corvell's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"The outpost was on the border of your lands, my lord. And the survivors speak of an attacker claiming to represent House Albrecht."
"Claims can be made by anyone," Caelan replied.
"As your lord well knows."
The barb hung in the air between them—a reference to the false claims that had destroyed Caelan's father.
"Indeed," Corvell acknowledged.
"Which is why I'm here to determine the truth. With your permission, I would like to question your household staff and examine your stables."
"On what authority?" Caelan asked, though he already knew the answer.
"By order of the Royal Magistrate, at Lord Vaeron's request."
Corvell produced a scroll bearing the king's seal. "Unless you wish to refuse a royal directive?"
It was a trap, of course. Refuse, and he'd appear guilty. Agree, and he risked discovery. But Caelan had anticipated this move.
"House Albrecht has always respected the crown's authority," he said with a slight nod.
"You may conduct your investigation. Aldric will assist you."
"Thank you, my lord." Corvell hesitated, then added, "I should mention that I possess certain... talents that aid in my investigations."
Caelan tilted his head. "Talents?"
"Minor truth detection," Corvell said smoothly. "Nothing invasive, I assure you. Just a way to ensure conversations remain honest."
And there it was—the real threat. Not physical searches, but magical interrogation. House Fenn had sent a mage to ferret out the truth.
"Fascinating," Caelan said, forcing interest into his voice. "I've never witnessed such magic. Perhaps you could demonstrate?"
Corvell seemed taken aback by the request. "Demonstrate?"
"On me," Caelan clarified. "I have so little experience with magical arts. It would be educational."
The magister studied him, clearly trying to determine if this was some kind of trick.
"If you wish, my lord. Though I had planned to begin with your staff..."
"They have duties to attend to," Caelan said. "And I have nowhere pressing to be. Shall we begin?"
Corvell nodded slowly. "Very well. The process is simple enough."
He reached into his robes and withdrew a small crystal pendant on a silver chain.
"I will ask questions, and this will indicate whether your answers are truthful."
"Remarkable," Caelan whispered, allowing his eyes to widen like an impressed child.
Aldric moved to stand behind Caelan's chair, one hand resting protectively on its back.
The old servant's face remained impassive, but Caelan could sense his tension.
"Now then," Corvell began, holding the crystal between them. It began to glow with a soft blue light.
"State your name."
"Caelan Albrecht," he replied.
The crystal's light remained steady—truth.
"Are you the last living member of House Albrecht?"
"Yes."
The light pulsed gently—still truth.
"Have you left this manor in the past week?"
And here it was—the first real test.
Caelan recalled the Nullcraft texts on countering magical detection. They described a mental technique: not to fabricate a lie, but to create a temporary truth in one's mind.
To believe, absolutely, in an alternative reality while speaking.
Marcus Chen had learned similar techniques during his training as an assassin.
The principle was the same, even if the context differed greatly.
Caelan focused his mind, creating a clear image of himself confined to his bed, too weak to stand, let alone ride to Blackthorn Keep.
In this mental reality, he had never left the manor. He believed it completely for this moment.
"No," he said firmly. "I've been too ill to leave my chambers, let alone the manor grounds."
The crystal's light wavered slightly, then steadied. Not a perfect result, but not a clear indication of falsehood either.
Corvell frowned. "You were not at Blackthorn Keep three nights ago?"
"Blackthorn Keep?" Caelan allowed confusion to fill his voice.
"I don't even know where that is."
Again, the crystal flickered but held its blue hue. Caelan could see doubt in Corvell's eyes.
"The survivors described a figure who called himself 'the Raven's Ghost.' Does this mean anything to you?"
Caelan let his genuine surprise show—he hadn't expected the survivor to remember that particular detail.
"The Raven's Ghost? Like a spirit of my house's emblem?
That sounds like peasant superstition."
This time, the crystal glowed brighter—his genuine confusion had registered as absolute truth.
"Indeed," Corvell murmured, clearly frustrated.
"Are you aware of anyone in your household who might have attacked Lord Vaeron's men?"
Caelan gestured weakly around him.
"Do any of my remaining servants look capable of slaughtering trained soldiers? Most are elderly retainers who stayed out of loyalty when others fled."
The crystal remained steadily blue.
For nearly an hour, Corvell continued his questioning, approaching the night of the attack from different angles.
Each time, Caelan maintained his mental discipline, creating temporary truths that allowed him to answer without triggering the detection magic.
Finally, Corvell lowered the crystal, frustration evident in the tightness around his eyes.
"Well, my lord, you've been most cooperative. I still need to examine your stables and question your staff, but I appreciate your patience."
"Of course," Caelan said mildly. "Aldric will show you around. I find I need to rest now."
As the magister turned to leave, Caelan added, "Magister Corvell?
Please convey my regards to Lord Vaeron. Tell him I look forward to our meeting at the end of the month."
Corvell paused. "I'll pass along your message, Lord Albrecht."
After they departed, Caelan sagged in his chair, the effort of maintaining mental discipline against magical probing having drained what little energy he had.
Aldric returned an hour later, his expression grim.
"They've gone, my lord. The magister inspected every horse in our stables."
"Did they find anything?"
"No, my lord. Your mount showed no signs of recent hard riding, thanks to the special herbs I mixed with its feed. The mud from that night had been carefully cleaned away."
Caelan nodded. "And the staff?"
"All held to our story. The crystal flickered several times, but never enough to convince him they were lying outright." Aldric hesitated.
"But he knows something isn't right. I could see it in his eyes."
"Let him suspect," Caelan said.
"Suspicion isn't proof. And now House Fenn will waste resources watching for a ghost rather than looking too closely at a sickly heir."
Aldric moved to the window, gazing out at the deepening twilight.
"There's something else, my lord. Something I noticed last night while you were recovering."
"What is it?"
"Magical fluctuations around the manor. Small disturbances in the air, like ripples in a pond." The old servant turned, his face troubled.
"At first, I thought it might be remnants of the magister's truth detection spell, but these occurred before his arrival."
Caelan straightened in his chair.
"Someone's watching us?"
"Or something," Aldric said quietly.
"The patterns were... unusual. Not like normal scrying or detection magic. More like echoes."
"Echoes of what?"
"I'm not certain, my lord. But they seemed strongest near the hidden chamber. Near the texts mentioning the Black Seraph."
A chill ran down Caelan's spine that had nothing to do with his physical weakness. The Black Seraph—the entity his ancestor had made a pact with. Could it somehow be aware of his activities?
"Could the Nullcraft be causing it?" Caelan asked.
"My practising the techniques?"
"Possibly," Aldric allowed. "But Nullcraft should suppress magical energies, not create disturbances."
Caelan remembered the shadow salve he'd used during the attack, the strange tingling on his skin. Could that have awakened something? Or was it his unique situation—Marcus Chen's consciousness inhabiting Caelan Albrecht's body—that had somehow triggered these echoes?
"Monitor it," he decided. "Record when the fluctuations occur, their strength, and location. We need to understand what we're dealing with before we can counter it."
"Yes, my lord." Aldric hesitated again.
"There's something else. A message arrived while the magister was inspecting the stables—from Riverstone Village.
They're holding a celebration tomorrow night in honour of the 'Raven's Return.' They've requested your presence."
Caelan smiled despite his exhaustion. "The common folk creating a legend from whispers. Useful."
"Will you go?"
"No," Caelan said after a moment's consideration.
"Let the mystery grow. A sickly heir who never leaves his manor is one thing. A ghostly avenger who appears only when needed is something far more powerful."
As Aldric helped him back to his chambers, Caelan's mind worked through the implications of these developments. House Fenn was now aware that something had changed, but remained unsure what.
The common folk were creating stories that would spread far beyond what he could accomplish alone. And somewhere in the shadows, magical energies stirred in response to his actions.
The game had grown more complex, the board larger than he'd initially realised.
But that only made victory more satisfying when it came.
And it would come. House Albrecht would rise again, even if built upon the bones of its enemies.
In the darkness of his room that night, as Caelan practised the mental disciplines that had fooled the truth detection magic, he thought he saw something move in the corner of his vision—a deeper shadow within the shadows, watching with unseen eyes.
When he turned to look directly, nothing was there.
But the sensation of being observed remained, like whispered echoes in the dark.