The Ravenhood gates loomed large before me, towering constructs of iron that had seen better days. As the carriage passed through them, I caught a glimpse of what lay beyond, and for a moment, I had to remind myself that I wasn't in a dream.
What was once a small village, a backwater place for peasants and hunters, had been transformed into something grander—something closer to a bustling city. The cobblestone streets were alive with people of all sorts, from simple tradesmen to armored warriors, from mysterious cloaked figures to flamboyant merchants shouting out prices in every direction. It was a cacophony of life, and I drank it all in with the keen eyes of someone who had seen it all before and yet found something new in the mix.
Elves, their long ears poking out from under hoods, strolled gracefully between market stalls. I hadn't seen one in years—had almost forgotten they still existed. They moved with that unnatural grace, otherworldly in their beauty, barely acknowledging the humans around them. A few dwarves lumbered by, short and stout, with braided beards and weapons strapped across their backs. One of them barked orders at a group of apprentices, his gruff voice booming over the chatter of the crowd.
So they all still exist... Elves, dwarves, and the other races—those I'd once known as Skalds—humans in all but their height and shape, who held secrets of their own. They were all here, mingling with humans as though centuries of animosity hadn't existed. Interesting, I mused, watching the interactions between them. It seemed Sebastian—no, Elias—had made Ravenhood into something of a haven, a place where not only humans but other races could come together. Quite the accomplishment, really. But what had it cost him?
The carriage creaked to a halt in front of a grand building—the heart of Ravenhood, no doubt. It was a large structure, far more extravagant than anything I had seen in the village proper. The stonework was intricate, Gothic in design, with tall, arched windows that glinted in the sunlight, casting elongated shadows across the steps that led up to its entrance. The banners draped from the walls bore the Blackthorn crest, flapping lazily in the breeze. It was an unmistakable symbol of power.
The old man cleared his throat. "We've arrived, Master Eliot."
I didn't respond immediately, simply sliding out of the carriage, adjusting my jacket as I did so. My eyes drifted over the building, taking in every detail—how well it was guarded, the positioning of the soldiers in their armor, the sharp glint of weapons at their sides. This wasn't just a building of significance—it was a fortress, a place of strategy, where only the important players made decisions. Good. This was where I needed to be.
But then, as expected, came the whispers. The soldiers nearby, their uneasy stares followed me as I approached. I could hear the murmurings, the doubts, the disbelief.
"Is that really Eliot Blackthorn?"
"I thought he was dead... how is he still alive?"
Even if they thought they knew me, they didn't. Not yet.
I kept walking until one of the guards stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he held up a hand. "Halt. Identify yourself."
Even though they knew who I was, they had to go through the motions. It was protocol, after all. Luckily, Mayer had slipped me an identification card before I left the estate. I fished it out, flipping it between my fingers before handing it to the guard. He took the card, glancing at it, then at me.
The I.D. showed a younger, brighter version of Eliot Blackthorn—a smiling, joyous boy who clearly had no idea of the fate that awaited him. How amusing. The guard's gaze flickered between the picture and the cold expression on my face now, a clear mismatch between the past and the present.
Satisfied, or at least pretending to be, the guard nodded and handed it back. "You may enter, Master Blackthorn," he said, stepping aside. He pushed open the large wooden doors, which groaned as they swung inward.
I stepped inside, and a butler immediately came forward, bowing low. He straightened up, his eyes fixed on me as he spoke, "Lady Margot, welcome—"
His words trailed off as he realized that I was not Margot. His face twitched ever so slightly, the confusion flickering in his eyes. Curious, no doubt, but also careful. After all, Eliot Blackthorn was supposed to be dead, buried somewhere in a ditch. Now he stood here, alive and dressed in finery, about to walk into a meeting meant for his aunt. The butler was clearly startled, but he had the good sense not to ask questions he wasn't prepared to handle the answers to.
"My apologies, Master Blackthorn," he corrected himself swiftly, bowing again. "This way, please."
I followed him in silence, my mind already moving ahead, thinking about what was to come. This was only the beginning. They thought I was just a boy, the heir to a forgotten name.
But soon, they would all remember.