The lighthouse loomed ahead, its stone walls weathered by centuries of wind and salt. The storm raged around Nero as he stumbled up the narrow path, his clothes soaked through, his breath ragged. The iron gate was rusted shut, but a firm shove sent it screeching open.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of old oil. The spiral staircase groaned under his weight as he climbed, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning through the broken windows.
At the top, a hunched figure stood by the great lens—its glass cracked and dull.
The man turned slowly, his face lined with age, his eyes milky with cataracts—but they widened in shock the moment they landed on Nero.
"Rylan?" The voice was a whisper, rough with disbelief. "By the Stormfather's breath… you're alive?"
Nero froze. He knows Rylan.
The old man—Ribygy, his mind supplied—staggered forward, gripping Nero's shoulders with bony fingers."Two years… two years I thought you were dead! The Stormguard dragged your name through the mud, said you betrayed your blood—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "But here you stand. Though…" His gaze sharpened. "You're not the same, are you?"
Nero's pulse spiked. Did he know?
Before he could answer, Ribygy's grip tightened.
"No time for questions. They're coming."
He hobbled to a rusted chest in the corner, throwing it open with surprising strength. Inside lay an old iron sword—its blade pitted, but still sharp—and a small wooden box.
"Take it," Ribygy said, thrusting the sword into Nero's hands. "This was yours once. Maybe it'll remember you."
Nero gripped the hilt—and for a second, he felt something. A whisper of memory. Rylan, training under the storm-lashed cliffs, this very sword in hand.
Ribygy pressed the box into his other hand. Inside lay a single, dried scarecrow's eye—its surface unnaturally smooth, like polished glass.
"Cover your left eye with it," the old man said. "It'll let you see through the eyes of a crow—but only for a short time. Use it wisely."
Nero stared at the strange artifact."Why are you helping me?"
Ribygy's smile was grim."Because I owe your family more than my life."
He moved to the window, peering down at the flickering torches moving through the town.
"The Stormguard is searching house by house. They'll be here soon."
He turned back, his expression hardening."I'll draw them away. Head to the eastern docks—there's a smuggler's skiff hidden beneath the old netting. It'll get you to the Blackchain Isles, where the Stormguard's reach is weak."
Nero shook his head."You'll die."
Ribygy chuckled."I've cheated death three times already, boy. What's one more dance?"
He grabbed a lantern from the wall, lighting it with a strike of flint.
"Now go. And don't look back."
With that, the old man strode down the stairs, his voice rising into a drunken slur as he bellowed,"Oi! You tin-headed bastards! Looking for a traitor? Try catching me first!"
Nero didn't wait. He slipped out the back, the iron sword heavy at his side, the scarecrow's eye burning a hole in his pocket.