The torches burned low within the stone walls of Ravenshade Keep, their light flickering like the pulse of a dying heart. Outside, the mist coiled thick around the woods, muffling every sound but the faint cry of a raven. Within the solar chamber, Lord Alderic Ravenshade stood before a table littered with parchment, crystal phials, and darkened candles whose wax bled crimson.
For weeks he had been delving deeper into his inheritance — not the lands or gold of his forebears, but something far older. The power known among his line as the Raven's Veil. With each night of solitude and whispered incantation, the young lord began to see—shadows stirring at the edges of his sight, and whispers in the silence that were not his own.
He could feel the pulse of his blood quicken as he traced sigils into the air, each one gleaming faintly before vanishing like mist. Power answered him — subtle, watchful, cold. It flowed through his veins like the turning of unseen wings.
A sudden voice interrupted his focus.
"You court strange powers, my lord," came the raspy tone of Maester Sebas, who stood by the doorway with a faint, knowing smile. The old man's chain glimmered dully against his withered neck, and yet his eyes — sharp, gray, and ancient — seemed to weigh Alderic more than any maester ought to.
"I did not summon you, Sebas," Alderic said evenly, though the air around him still hummed faintly with energy.
"No, my lord," Sebas replied, stepping into the room with unhurried calm. "But Ravens summon when they please. And this one bears tidings from King's Landing."
He extended a sealed scroll marked with the falcon sigil of the Vale. Alderic took it, breaking the wax seal with a flick of his thumb. His brows knit as he read.
"Jon Arryn is dead," he murmured.
Sebas inclined his head. "So the message says."
Alderic's gaze hardened. "That makes thrice now I've heard that tale. Once from our spies in the Eyrie. Once from the merchants' ciphers. And now from the crown's own raven. Tell me, Sebas—why do I trust the last more than the first?"
The old maester's grin deepened, the lines of his face creasing into something almost sly.
"Because, my lord, the first two were ours."
Alderic turned sharply, studying the man.
"Ours?"
"Yes," Sebas said softly, lowering his voice. "The eyes and ears of House Ravenshade reach further than even you imagine. The Vale's stones, its bastards, its servants, its healers—many bear our mark, though few remember why. The shadows still answer to us, my lord. Just as they did in your grandsire's day."
The revelation left Alderic silent. He had known of his house's reputation for secrets, but not the depth of it.
Sebas stepped closer, voice now but a whisper.
"You think me a maester of the Citadel, sworn and chained. But I am of your blood, Alderic. A branch long hidden. When your ancestors foresaw the Citadel's growing fear of sorcery, two of our kin were sent to Oldtown as seeds in the dark. Since then, the maesters that serve House Ravenshade have ever been our own. Cloaked in gray, yet sworn to shadow."
Alderic stared, half disbelieving, half awed. "And the Citadel does not know?"
"They suspect many things," Sebas said with quiet pride. "But never the full truth. One of our kin still sits among the Archmaesters' Conclave, guiding the anti-magic faction from within. We are not hunted because we play the game better than any spider or maester ever could. Even the Citadel's chains are forged from our silence."
The young lord sank back in his chair, his thoughts a storm. For all his hidden experiments, it seemed the castle itself hid greater secrets still.
Sebas regarded him fondly. "You are your father's son. Lord Thalen trusted me with the truth when he was but your age. And now, so shall you bear it. Tonight, when the moon climbs high, you will come with me to the Shadow Crypt beneath this keep. There, you will learn what it truly means to be a Lord of Ravenshade."
The old man's smile lingered, faint but strange. There was something in his eyes — not mere servitude, but knowledge.
"What is it you're not telling me, Sebas?" Alderic asked.
For a long moment, only the crackle of the hearth filled the silence. Then the maester sighed, a sound like old parchment crumpling.
"There are rules in this house, my lord," he said. "Rules older than this keep. We do not speak truth to those unprepared to bear it. Only those who come after the Vault and know the true heritage of House Ravenshade may learn our deeper secrets."
"The Vault?" Alderic echoed, frowning.
"You will see it soon enough," Sebas promised. "Even I was forbidden from knowing all until my oath to your grandsire was complete. Knowledge of the shadows is not a gift, Alderic—it is a burden."
He met the young lord's gaze, and for the first time, Alderic saw sincerity there — the weary devotion of a man who had watched over his bloodline for decades.
"Why tell me now?" Alderic asked, suspicion warring with curiosity.
"Because," Sebas said softly, "you are no longer a boy grieving ghosts. You are the last of the main bloodline. And your father left instructions that when you finally turned your eyes to the veil, I was to lead you through it."
Alderic hesitated. Sebas had been in service to his house since before his birth — a silent figure, dutiful but distant. In all his years, the man had never spoken out of turn, never sought favor. He had earned a quiet, reluctant trust — one built not from affection, but from constancy.
"You've served my father and his father before him," Alderic said slowly. "And yet, you waited all these years to speak of this?"
"The time was not mine to choose," Sebas replied. "You were lost in sorrow and disinterest after Lord Thalen's passing. None who knew the truth dared break the rule. We watched, waiting for the spark to return to you. Now that you've awakened your blood's magic, you have crossed the threshold. The shadows call to you, and it is my duty to answer."
Alderic felt a chill settle over him. "And if I refuse?"
Sebas' eyes glinted. "Then the shadows will find another way."
He turned toward the door, gesturing for Alderic to follow. "Come. There is little time. We go to the Shadow Crypt, beneath the keep. There, your father awaits to speak with you from beyond the veil."
The corridors they descended were ancient, carved long before any maester's records began. Cold air whispered through the stones like a living thing.
As they walked, Sebas spoke in a low, reverent tone.
"Your family's power is vast, my lord. You think of us as a Vale house—but our reach stretches far beyond the Eyrie's peaks. Our bloodline's hands guide trade in Braavos, knowledge in Oldtown, whispers in King's Landing itself. The Citadel, the Faith, the noble courts—all touched by the shade of your house. The world above knows not who steers it, but the Ravenshades have ever been the unseen hand."
Alderic's breath misted before him, his thoughts heavy. "And all this time, you hid it from me."
"Not hidden, my lord," Sebas corrected gently. "Guarded. Secrets are only power when wielded by one ready to bear them. You are ready now."
The air grew colder still as they reached a vast iron door carved with the image of a great raven spreading its wings across the stone. Sigils gleamed faintly in its surface, alive with strange light.
Sebas lifted his lantern. "Beyond this lies the Vault and the Crypt. Within, you shall meet the truth — and your father's shade. Only then will you understand your purpose, and the true strength of House Ravenshade."
The torches flickered violently as if in warning, and a low rumble echoed through the walls.
Alderic's heart pounded. He looked once at Sebas — the man who had been his servant, his guardian, and now perhaps his teacher.
"Very well," Alderic whispered. "Open it."
Sebas smiled faintly. "As you command, my lord of shadows."
And as the ancient door creaked open, the dark beyond seemed to breathe, alive and waiting.