The raven perched on a twisted branch, its black feathers shimmering eerily under the muted light of a cloudy sky.
Rhys, no older than ten, stood frozen in place, his wide eyes locked on the bird. It wasn't like the others he had seen—this raven's gaze held a strange awareness that sent an unsettling shiver down his spine.
The weight of its presence pressed on his chest, though he couldn't explain why.
His fingers curled at his side as he stared at the raven, feeling something stir deep inside him. A strange tension, like the pull of a thread he could neither see nor touch. What was it about this bird that seemed so different, so… ominous?
"Rhys, please," a soft, shaky voice broke through the moment.
