The dawn had not yet touched the peaks, and the manor was silent once more—the travellers long gone, the gates closed behind them. Nard sat in the cave, watching the faint embers of last night's fire fade to grey, when Beru stepped forward. The golden light that usually heralded his shift was softer than ever, wrapping around him like mist until he stood in his human form—tall, ancient, his amber eyes steady and grave.
"You are not meant to stay here, Nard," Beru said gently. "Not while they carry your mother's legacy into the cold, and not while the Masters of the North watch for something you alone possess."
Nard shook his head, turning his gaze to the cave mouth. "It is too far. Six hundred miles. They have a full day's head start. Even if I rode hard, I would arrive long after the trials have begun. And besides—they did not invite me. I have no place there."
Beru did not answer immediately. He reached into the inner fold of his cloak, and when his hand emerged, something lay upon his palm that made Nard's breath catch.
It was a medallion—cool silver, shaped like a crescent moon with a single star set at its curve, the metal faintly glowing with a soft, ancient luminescence. Engraved along its edge were words Nard had only ever read in old books: The Door Opens for Those Who Walk in Shadow.
Nard's eyes went wide. He stood slowly, as if afraid the medallion might vanish if he moved too fast. "That… that is the Seal of the Silent Star. It is the only special admission pass in existence. It grants entry to the Trials without prior invitation, without name, without lineage. I thought it was lost centuries ago!"
"It was never lost," Beru said, closing his fingers gently around it for a moment before holding it out. "It was waiting for the one who needed it most. The Northern Academy does not care about names or titles. They care about what you are. And this ensures you stand before them, not as a servant, not as a Zaqor cast aside, but as a mystery they cannot turn away."
Nard took a step back, shaking his head firmly. "No. I cannot. If they see me—if Ralph or my father or Tere discover I am there—everything falls apart. I am not ready. It is too dangerous."
"Listen to me, Nard." Beru's voice was firm, yet kind. "You do not have to be Nard Zaqor. You have spent years learning to hide who you are. Now use that skill to show them what they have been blind to all along. Wear a mask. Cover your hair, your features, your voice. Let them see only a stranger—a quiet, unknown weaver who walks where the light does not reach. The medallion ensures they will let you stand among them. The mask ensures none know who you are until you decide it is time."
Nard hesitated, his heart pounding. He looked at the medallion, then at Beru's steady, trusting gaze. The thought of walking into that great hall—of standing in the same room as the Masters, as Ralph, as all those who had looked down on him—sent a shiver through him. But beneath the fear, something else stirred: the quiet certainty that his mother's legacy should not be represented by someone who did not understand it.
"A mask," Nard murmured, reaching out to take the medallion. It felt cool and reassuring in his hand. "I can be… someone else."
"Exactly. Someone quiet. Someone overlooked. Until the moment you are not."
"But the journey, Beru," Nard said, looking toward the distant, snow-capped peaks visible through the cave mouth. "Even if I leave now, on foot, I cannot reach the Academy in time. It is too far. Too slow."
Beru smiled—a rare, knowing expression that made the air hum softly around them.
"Then we do not walk."
With a ripple of gold-tinted light that expanded outward like a sunrise, Beru began to change. He grew larger, his form stretching and reshaping, feathers bursting forth in waves of deep amber and burnished gold. His wings expanded, wider and wider, until they spanned nearly the entire width of the cave, each primary feather edged with a faint, glowing white. His beak curved sharp and strong, his eyes remaining that same warm, intelligent amber—now enormous, luminous, and impossibly wise. He was no longer just a bird. He was a great golden raven, majestic and terrifyingly beautiful, his shadow filling the cavern like a living thing.
Nard stared, awestruck. "Beru… you can fly that far?"
"I can carry you faster than any horse could ever run," Beru's voice echoed—deeper now, resonating in Nard's chest as much as in his ears. "We will ride the upper winds, above the clouds, above the roads. We will reach the Northern Academy by dawn's second light. But we must go now. Every moment we wait is a moment Ralph pushes the pendant further than it was ever meant to go."
Nard looked down at the medallion in his hand, then up at the great golden creature before him. He fastened the chain around his neck, tucking the silver crescent safely beneath his tunic. Then he pulled a soft, dark woolen cowl from his pack—simple, unadorned, deep enough to shadow his face completely.
"Then let us be gone," Nard said, his voice steady, his resolve hardening into something bright and unbreakable. "To the North. To the Trials. And to the moment when the shadow finally steps into the light."
He climbed up to sit securely between Beru's powerful shoulders, gripping the thick, warm feathers. With one powerful beat of those immense wings, they lifted from the cave mouth, rising swiftly into the dark pre-dawn sky. Below them, the ravines and forests fell away, shrinking into a patchwork of dark and silver under the stars. Ahead, far beyond the horizon, the northern peaks glowed faintly white, waiting.