The Shadow Crypt of House Ravenshade lay buried beneath a thousand tons of stone, sealed by time and silence. Only those of the bloodline could pass through its threshold unscathed. The air within was cold, heavy with the scent of dust and old magic. The walls were lined with alcoves where stone effigies of long-dead lords stood guard, each bearing the likeness of those who had ruled Ravenshade Keep for centuries.
Alderic descended the winding stair after Sebas, the old maester's lantern casting long shadows across the carved faces of his ancestors. The deeper they went, the more the air hummed with power, as if the stones themselves remembered every whisper, every oath, every secret spoken in their halls.
He had seen crypts before in his travels — the dark tombs of Winterfell, the silent mausoleums of the Reach, even the frozen sepulchers of the North beyond the Wall. But none bore the same presence as this place. This was not merely a burial ground — it was a sanctuary of shadow and legacy.
Alderic's eyes roamed the chamber in awe and quiet sorrow. His gaze lingered on the statues of his parents—his mother's likeness carved in serene dignity, his father's in stoic resolve. His chest tightened as a flood of memories rose unbidden—of laughter once shared in the sunlit gardens of their keep, of his mother's gentle songs, and of the bitter silence that followed her passing.
He remembered that silence too well—the one that drove him from home.
He had wandered the roads of Westeros in those lost years, from the windswept peaks of the Vale to the roaring storms of Storm's End. He hunted in the Kingswood, slept beneath the stars of the Reach, gambled with sellswords in Oldtown, and nearly froze in the snows of the North. Only Dorne and the Iron Islands had escaped his restless feet.
Those years of wandering had hardened him—and yet, in this moment before his father's stone likeness, he felt once again like the lost boy who had fled from grief.
Sebas stopped before two statues at the heart of the crypt: Lord Thalen Ravenshade and Lady Mirra Ravenshade, Alderic's parents, their likenesses rendered in black marble streaked with silver veins. Between them lay a narrow stone dais etched with runes that glowed faintly beneath the flickering lantern light.
"The ritual is complete, my lord," Sebas murmured. "You may speak when he answers. But remember — the communion lasts only until sunrise."
Alderic swallowed hard, his throat dry. "And if the sun rises before I am done?"
"Then his voice will fade, and you must wait another lifetime to hear it again."
Sebas stepped back, bowing low. "I will leave you now. Only blood may cross the veil."
As the old man's footsteps retreated into the shadows, Alderic knelt before the dais. The air around him shimmered, growing colder. The runes brightened, then blazed with pale, spectral light. A whisper filled the chamber — soft, distant, and achingly familiar.
"My son."
Alderic's breath caught. Before him, the air coalesced into the faint, glowing form of a man draped in robes of shadow and silver — Lord Thalen Ravenshade, his father, returned not in flesh but in spirit.
"Father…" Alderic whispered, voice trembling. "Is it truly you?"
The spirit smiled faintly. "For a little while. The bond between life and death is thin here, within our house's vaults. But my time is limited. I may only speak to you three times in your life — and only while the night endures. When the sun touches these stones, I fade."
Alderic bowed his head, guilt pressing on him. "I wronged your memory, Father. I left the keep, turned my back on my name—"
Thalen's form wavered, his tone both stern and gentle. "Regret is a chain, my son. Do not bind yourself with it. You could not have known the truth then. None could tell you before your awakening — not even Sebas."
The spirit's gaze turned to the statues lining the hall. "Only those who pass the vault and awaken the Raven's Veil may learn our full heritage. That is our oldest law."
He extended a spectral hand toward the effigies. "Look upon them. Five hundred years of Ravenshades — from the First Shadow to you. Our line has endured through conquest, calamity, and silence. Now it falls to you to carry it forward."
Alderic lifted his eyes, awe stirring within him. Each stone lord seemed to watch him, hollow eyes glimmering faintly in the pale light.
"Father," he asked, "what is our true origin? Sebas spoke of our reach — of shadows across the world. But where did it begin?"
"Listen well, my son," Thalen said. "There is little time before dawn—when the sun rises, this communion will fade. We of the blood can only call upon the spirit of the generation before us, and no further. Even then, it can be done only thrice in one lifetime… for each summoning erodes both memory and soul."
Alderic nodded silently, the weight of that truth pressing upon him.
"Before you ask your questions," Thalen continued, "you must understand the foundation upon which our House was built. The world remembers House Ravenshade as lords of the Vale, keepers of shadow and scholars of the arcane—but our tale begins far beyond those mountains."
Thalen's gaze grew distant. "With Ser Alaric Ravenshade, our founder — the First Shadow."
"Our ancestor—Alaric Ravenshade, first of our line—journeyed in his youth to the Valyrian peninsula. There, he mastered their arts, learned their tongues, and acquired knowledge no man of Westeros had ever known. When he returned, he brought not only wisdom but something far more profound."
[In truth, Alaric Ravenshade had been a soul reborn—a man with the memories of another world. The arts he wielded were born not merely of Valyrian sorcery but of knowledge beyond this realm itself.]
"He founded our house upon those teachings," Thalen said, "weaving blood with magic, duty with destiny. His mastery was said to rival the great heroes of the Age of Heroes. Some called him the 'Black Sage of the Vale,' others, the 'Ravenlord of Shadow and Sun.'"
Alderic listened, transfixed, each word pulling him deeper into the tapestry of his lineage.
Thalen's gaze turned solemn. "The power of our bloodline is unique. A rare few among us can see glimpses of what may come—fragments of the future, hidden within dreams and symbols. It is a gift, or perhaps a curse, akin to the dragon dreams of the Valyrian bloodlines."
[Scholars later compared this 'Sight' of the Ravenshades with the greenseer's gift of the First Men, though in truth, Alaric's experiments had merged many lost arts—Valyrian blood sorcery, necromancy from Asshai, and the Sight of the Children of the Forest. He even dabbled with the warging of beasts, merging the physical and the spiritual in ways both wondrous and terrifying.]
Thalen looked into his son's eyes. "It was through this gift that I foresaw the death of Lord Jon Arryn—and the chaos it would bring. That vision set my plans in motion… plans for you, my heir."
Alderic bowed his head, the weight of destiny pressing upon him.
Thalen's expression softened. "Our founder, Alaric, saw further than any of us. It is said he glimpsed even your time, Alderic—the future that must come. Each generation passed down fragments of his prophecy, shaping our line into instruments of his vision. And now, you must bear that charge."
The torches flickered violently, the faintest warmth of dawn still far from the crypt's sealed stone doors.
Alderic, kneeling, placed a hand upon his heart and spoke the ancient vow—words older than the Seven Kingdoms themselves. The air shimmered, the runes along the walls glowing bright crimson as the vow took root within his blood.
Thalen nodded approvingly. "The vow is bound. You have accepted the legacy of Ravenshade. But our time is not yet done… there is more you must understand before dawn."
The spectral glow around Thalen dimmed slightly but did not fade.
The first pale hints of morning had not yet touched the world above, and the crypt remained steeped in the silence of night.
Thalen's form steadied—his eyes glimmering with both pride and sorrow. "We shall continue, my son," he said softly, "until the sun itself demands our silence."
And thus began the final hours of the night—the moment before revelation, where the past would bare its soul to the last scion of House Ravenshade.