The hall emptied slowly.
Orders were given.
Men moved.
But the unease remained.
Like a shadow that refused to lift.
Corvyn stood near the hearth.
The fire burned low.
Its warmth barely reaching him.
Nightfeather rested at his side.
Unsheathed.
Unusual.
He had not put it away since the forest.
Halric leaned against a stone pillar nearby.
Watching him.
"You're thinking too much," he said.
Corvyn did not look up.
"Not enough," he replied.
Halric exhaled.
"Your father knows more than he's saying."
"Yes."
"And he's not telling you."
"No."
Halric gave a small, humorless smile.
"Good. At least we understand each other."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Then—
Corvyn finally spoke.
"He recognized it."
Halric straightened slightly.
"The thing beneath?"
"Yes."
"And the sword?"
Corvyn's grip tightened faintly.
"…That too."
Halric pushed off the pillar.
"That's not comforting."
"No," Corvyn said.
"It isn't."
Footsteps echoed through the hall.
Measured.
Deliberate.
Both men turned.
Edrick approached.
Alone.
The guards had been dismissed.
This was not for others to hear.
He stopped a few steps away.
For a moment—
He said nothing.
As if weighing his words.
Then—
"You should not have drawn the blade down there."
Corvyn's eyes narrowed slightly.
"It was already too late for that."
Edrick did not argue.
Because he knew it was true.
"The sword is not just steel," Edrick said.
"It is memory."
Halric frowned.
"That doesn't sound good."
Edrick ignored him.
His gaze remained on Corvyn.
"There are things in this world that do not forget," he continued.
"Things that sleep… but still remember."
Corvyn's voice was quiet.
"Remember what?"
Edrick hesitated.
Then answered.
"Old wars."
"Older than the North."
"Older than the houses that claim it."
The words settled like ice.
Halric crossed his arms.
"So we're dealing with something ancient, buried, and angry."
A pause.
"Anything else we should know?"
Edrick's expression did not shift.
"Yes."
That single word drew all attention.
Edrick stepped closer.
Lowering his voice.
"As of tonight… we are no longer the only ones aware of it."
Corvyn's gaze sharpened.
"The masked men."
"Yes."
"They serve it?"
Edrick shook his head slightly.
"Or they serve something that serves it."
"That's worse," Halric muttered.
Edrick did not disagree.
He turned slightly.
Looking toward the darkened windows of the hall.
"The world beyond Ravenhold will begin to feel this soon," he said.
"Not as we have."
"Not yet."
"But it will come."
Corvyn stepped forward.
"And when it does?"
Edrick met his gaze again.
"Then the North will burn."
Silence fell.
Complete.
Even the fire seemed to dim.
Halric let out a slow breath.
"…Right."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"So what's the plan?"
Edrick's answer came without hesitation.
"We prepare."
Corvyn's voice followed.
"And learn."
Edrick gave a single nod.
"Yes."
Because knowledge—
As he had always said—
Was the sharpest blade.
But this time—
It might not be enough.
Corvyn looked down at Nightfeather.
The blade reflected the firelight.
Dark.
Unfamiliar.
As if it held secrets he had yet to understand.
And somewhere far beneath the earth—
Something stirred.
Not fully awake.
Not yet free.
But aware.
And waiting.