Chapter 1

  It was a beautiful night for a funeral.

  Callen boarded The Fool’s Advantage from Farenfell Port alongside the rest of the procession. Most of the passengers gathered at the stern of the ship as it set sail, marveling over how breathtaking the illuminated waterfront looked from a distance. But Callen kept to himself near the bow. Unlike the rest of the guests, he believed that the night sky offered more beauty than the lights of the city ever could.

  Callen fidgeted with the cuff of his frock coat, his gaze moving from one face to the next, trying to put names to them, but he could hardly recall a single one. As far as he was concerned, they were all as interchangeable as the insignias they wore; they were brash, callous, and destructive.

  They were the Swords of the Raven.

  He made accidental eye contact with his brother, Leander, whose newly red hair stood out among the crowd he mingled in. Callen couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he chose to dye it in the first pce. It was clear Leander was trying to put on a brave face — and quite convincingly — as he swaggered his way towards him, but Callen was able to see right through his brother's act. There was no denying the Raven Knight was loved and idolized by the city, but no one had done so as much as Leander.

  “The hells are you doing all the way up here?” Leander asked with a forced grin, waving his mug of ale in Callen’s face. “The big show’s about to start. They’re gonna need us front and center.”

  Callen flinched. “I know, I just… I need a minute. Over half the guild is out there, I don’t want to go messing this up—”

  “Rex, we’ve been over this.” Leander took a gulp of ale. “I’ll do all the talking. All you gotta do is stand there and look pretty, aight? Think you can handle that?”

  Callen nodded. Part of him felt a tinge insulted, but he knew this pn was likely for the best. When it came to public speaking, Leander was always the better option, even when his mind was clouded by ale. Then again, Leander was the better option for most guild and Bckhammer matters.

  “Good. As for tomorrow, what do you say we get up early to gut out that drawing room? If we both tackle it, we’ll get it done in no time.”

  “Aye… I'll be there,” Callen replied, half listening. His eyes caught the glint of a bck steel sigil — a sleek greatsword with a raven wing cross-guard dispyed proudly on his brother's pel. “That's new.”

  “Looks good, doesn't it?” Leander polished the sigil with his hand, his chest swelling with pride. “It's only got one ruby on it for now, but that'll change soon enough.”

  “Suits you,” Callen said with a weak smile. “Say, uhm, I know this service— this whole week, really, it’s been a lot. Are you feeling aight?”

  Leander took a long swig from his mug of ale, putting on his usual charismatic grin. “Fabulous.”

  The ship dropped anchor just as the st hint of sun disappeared below the horizon, making way for the waxing gibbous moon to shine its serene light over them. Within moments, the service kicked off with a literal bang; the sound of booming cannons filled the air, and the sight of colourful lights filled the skies in a celebratory tribute. By no means was it a standard, somber, run-of-the-mill funeral, but it was the Bckhammer way.

  ?

  The light of dawn broke, casting its welcoming glow over the city of Farenfell. This was the time-of-day Callen loved most.

  He slipped out from the Bckhammer estate just as the city had begun to stir awake. The cobblestone roads were already draped in steam rising from grates of nearby factories. The air was already filled with the acrid scent of metal, and streets already hissed and hummed with the sound of distant machinery.

  It all made Callen sick.

  Fortunately, he found that wandering the woods in the quiet serenity of dawn to be the most effective remedy. It also did wonders to soothe a mind full of mencholy thoughts.

  And he knew that today would be particurly mencholic.

  Mind buzzing, Callen weaved through the hidden alleys, trying to avoid the attention of the chattering passersby as he beelined for the neighbouring forest. Within a quarter hour, he was out of the city and in the Deadwood.

  As far as the people of Farenfell were concerned, The Deadwood was better off left abandoned, and it was simple to understand why. On the surface, the forest appeared to be just as dead as the name suggested, and no longer worth salvaging. Only Callen knew of the secrets the forest had to offer past all its death and decay, and quite frankly, that was the way he liked it. As far as he was aware, he was the only one who knew the truth and he strived to keep it that way.

  The trail was unconventional to say the least. Many would struggle to navigate the constant inclines, declines, twists and turns. Even Callen took years to finally nail down the exact method in finding the secret, but now he knew the path well enough to walk it with his eyes closed — and in fact, he had.

  A jump here, a cut into brambles there, and in time, he found his way to his destination. An oasis hidden in a dying world where the surroundings were saturated in vivid colour and the air was thick with an otherworldly magic. A pce he simply thought of as the Gde.

  Callen stopped as he approached the Gde's entrance, drinking in the cozy breeze that tickled his freckled cheeks. His gaze moved upwards as the morning sky gradually shifted into an awe-striking dusk right before his eyes. He never understood why the Gde was frozen in a perpetual autumn sunset, but he never grew tired of the view. The sight alone was enough to make his grief temporarily melt away.

  It was a hidden sanctuary. And it belonged all to him.

  He settled under a magnificent oak tree, which stood sentinel in the center of the Gde. Its sprawling branches towered far above the rest of the trees and its leaves appeared to be the only changing feature in this otherwise static ndscape. They currently shone with a beautiful orange — a hue Callen was certain simply did not exist in the outside world.

  He unbuttoned his backpack and removed several items: a box of matches, a pouch of freshly ground skyweed, and a long iron pipe. Grimacing, he also withdrew a stack of documents which he immediately tossed aside.

  With practiced hands, Callen prepared his pipe and pced it between his lips. He then took a long drag, eyeing the pile of documents with dread. Property Ownership Transfer, the top one read. It sounded straightforward enough.

  He started with the simple parts, filling out the answers he understood, but as the questions dragged on, he grew increasingly restless. Please provide a certified copy of the death certificate for all estate matters, it read. Designation of the new guild leader due to the previous leader's passing, it read.

  Dead. The Raven knight was dead. His mother was dead, and here he was, hiding. Completing her paperwork, picking up her pieces was the bare minimum he could do in her honour, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

  His attention was finally broken by the sound of rustling leaves. Like a startled deer, he initially froze, but after a moment of perception, his expression rexed into a warm smile. "Hey friend, been a while since I've seen you ‘round. I was starting to think that you had run off on me."

  As if on cue, a cream-furred jackalope, who Callen affectionately nicknamed Alfredo, poked her antlered head timidly from the thickets.

  Callen set down his paperwork and reached his free hand towards the creature, calmly beckoning her forward.

  Alfredo's nose twitched before she took a couple hops towards him, this time with more confidence as if to communicate I would never abandon you!

  Once she was within reach, Callen gave her a gentle scratch between the ears. “Then again, I s'pose I haven't been ‘round much either. I’ve hardly had much time for myself, what with the funeral and all.”

  Alfredo's ears flicked, as she cocked her head to the side. Funeral?

  “It went as well as I could have hoped. Too many people for my liking, but that’s how mum would have wanted it. I like to think that we gave her the send-off she deserved — wild and brazen, just like she was.” He offered a faint smile, idly scratching Alfredo under the chin.

  The jackalope hopped further forward, craving more attention, which Callen was more than happy to give. He found himself growing more at ease, finding Alfredo’s soft fur therapeutic.

  "You have no idea how lucky you are, miss Alfredo," Callen remarked, gently tapping the bowl of his pipe. "What I would give to be in your pce. Free to live life however I wished in tranquility. No responsibility, no expectations. And certainly nothing like that," he sighed, gesturing to the messy stack of documents he had discarded into the grass. Alfredo sniffed each and every one, her ears perking with curiosity — a subtle interaction that Callen couldn't help but smile at.

  "Taxes, maintenance, legal contracts, politics," he grumbled, leafing through the papers bitterly. "The list goes on. I haven't started a thing, and I already feel like I'm drowning. I hardly know what any of it means." He let out an exasperated sigh.

  The jackalope gave him a nudge, nestling her nose into his side, I'm here, I'm listening.

  “Maybe it's childish to say it, but handling all this guild and estate business, it doesn't feel like me, I've always felt like my pce was here.” He took a thoughtful drag from his pipe, staring absent-mindedly at the bowl's burning glow.

  Even with Alfredo's emotional support, Callen struggled to sort out his paperwork, finding it both unbearably tedious and unnecessarily complicated. It made his heart hurt and his head spin — or perhaps that was the skyweed kicking in. Despite his best efforts, he found himself abandoning it entirely.

  He wandered over to his garden — a once-empty clearing pulsing with powerful fey energy. Upon discovering the Gde, Callen swiftly cimed the space to cultivate the pnts he loved most. He soon found that it flourished, spreading like wildfire in the Gde's potent soil. Despite his countless visits, he still couldn't help but gape at the sheer abundance of marigold flowers, potatoes and skyweed that greeted him.

  Before getting to work, Callen raised his hands to his mouth and let out a unique blend of trills and whistles. It echoed across the Gde, and within moments, a strange menagerie of creatures — magical and mundane alike — crept from their nooks and crannies to join him.

  Linguini, the wheezer owl perched overhead, supervising Callen's work with watchful eyes. Gnocchi, the pufflet, sauntered over and curled up at his feet, while Risotto, the ziprazzle, skittered around the vegetable patch, occasionally pestering him for a treat. With a ugh, Callen tossed the ziprazzle a handful of seeds. Then, not wanting to py favourites, he tossed the rest of them a treat of their own. The company of the Gde was far better than anyone in Farenfell.

  Finally, after a hard day's work, nothing was more rewarding than a rejuvenating swim. The Gde’s ke sparkled like starlight and always seemed to be the exact temperature he needed it to be. Callen floated blissfully on his back, letting his guilt drift away with the water's gentle pping.

  Rexed and exhausted, Callen crawled out from the ke and slumped against the nearest tree. Alfredo joined him, hopping up onto his chest and nestling herself in the folds of his wool shirt.

  “I'll leave the rest of the paperwork to Lee…” Callen yawned, giving Alfredo a zy pet. “... he'll probably jump at the chance to do it anyway.”

  It was only a matter of time before the thick fey air lulled the pair into a peaceful sleep, so deep that he hadn't noticed the oak tree’s orange-hued leaves shimmering with a secret he had yet to uncover.

  ?

  Callen slowly stirred awake to find that Alfredo had already left. He sat up, rubbing his eyes groggily before looking up at the sky to gauge what time it now was. He was, of course, greeted by a sunset, completely unchanged from how it was before he had fallen asleep. It was as though someone had permanently painted it that way.

  “Shit,” he cussed under his breath and swiftly returned to the oak tree. He collected his belongings, tucking them away sloppily into his backpack. He picked up his mother's st will and testament only to discover that Alfredo must have helped herself to it as an afternoon snack. The top of the form now simply read: ill and test. Shaking his head, he put what was left of it back into his bag, making a mental note to bring the jackalope a proper meal next time he came to visit.

  He slung his backpack over his shoulder, calling out a goodbye to the creatures, wherever they might be, then made his way to the Gde’s exit. He was about to begin the hike back home when something stopped him in his tracks.

  A quiet, ethereal giggle that echoed amongst the branches of the oak tree; its leaves quivered in the gentle breeze. The sound was so subtle, that Callen wasn’t sure if it had even happened or if he had imagined it. He paused for a moment, expecting someone, or something to emerge from hiding, but nothing did. Callen shook himself and turned back towards the trail home.

  You really ought to y off the skyweed, he thought to himself, as he made his way out of the Gde and back into his grim reality.