It has been a year of saving, heroing, and crusading. The day of their friend's passing had come to pass them. Today was Henry Greymight's first death anniversary.

They were passing through the village of Kelry. Jemma and co were carrying a lot of food to Henry's grave. There were many among their crew. There was Angar Broodlor carrying a sizeable cake. Jeema Graves and Aspen Evrin were carrying pies filled with blueberry, blackberry, and strawberry. Dean Henegar, Martin Gleeson, Amanda Porter, Veronica Best, and Arnie Pines tagged along their journey. Each of them carried an edible for the upcoming vigil.

It's quite a blessing for a village as small as Kelry for everyone to know each other. Even though they've forgotten where the Greymight residence had stood, they could always ask for the location.

They were walking down the dirt road towards the humble abode of the Greymights. They were passing through a field of corn. Soon, the sight of the Greymight residence appeared in their sights. It was a quaint wooden home standing two storeys.

Martin stepped up to the front door and knocked upon the wooden door. The voice that answered unnerved them greatly that whatever banter they bore froze in their throats. Their eyes were glued upon the closed door.

"Coming," the familiar voice haunted them. It was very close to how they remember how Henry sounded. The door's opening seemed to be delayed, taking almost a minute until whatever agent that haunted the other side had reached its handle. There was a periodic tapping of something similar to a pole striking the wooden floor before it completely stopped upon the door becoming ajar.

The door was pulled open by the person within. It was revealed to them who dwelled the house at this very hour, and it was they had feared. The mysterious person was none other than the one they were mourning, Henry Greymight. There he stood under the door frame, holding the door with one hand and holding a lacquered crutch in the other. He stood whole and hale at just under eye level with the majority of them. He wore his iconic fox hat and a red flannel shirt.

"My friends, welcome," Henry nervously greeted. He hadn't expected this crowd of people coming to their home, especially ones that bring enough food for a holiday feast. "But it's not my birthday?" He questioned.

The visitors could only look awkwardly. How could they react otherwise when the person they came to mourn stood fully living in before their very eyes.

~^*^=8=^*^~

They were sitting around in the Greymight living room. The atmosphere was tense since everybody wasn't quite sure what they were supposed to be doing. The cakes and pies were sliced, and the bread were split and buttered. Bottles carrying exotic fruit wines were opened, but even with a filled glass, Angar was hesitant to drink.

Jeema examined the "Henry" in their midst. As far as they knew, he was dead. She tried every test she could think of and all of them came to the same conclusion: Henry was here and alive, which they knew for certain was wrong. He wasn't any conventional illusion or another person in glamour. She looked at him critically in every, but she couldn't find any seam in this expertly crafted illusion.

Instead of a pile of ash in an urn, this Henry was hale but with a crippled leg. On the day of his supposed death, this Henry had met a less unfortunate fate where instead of burning up in a tragic pyre, he had met a harsh accident that had left his left leg broken. There were apparently no healers that could help with the injury, and as such, it was left permanently crippled. Even to this day, Henry's leg was left weak and painful. It was contrary to what they knew.

Aspen approached her and asked, "What is he?" Her voice was quiet so that none may overhear.

"I don't know. In all ways and manners, Henry is here and he is alive," Jeema answered.

They looked at Henry sitting by the table. It was like he was there. A plate of half-eaten pie and cake were set by him while he busied himself with writing a letter. The fountain pen in his hand coursed across the sheet, imprinting his writing. The style of his handwriting was as they remembered his has been.

"Caw!"

The sound of crow's call cut across the room. All their thoughts had been stopped in their tracks. They turned to its source and saw a crow perched upon the windowsill. It was reminiscent to one of Hiernos's crows, but this one had bright green eyes. Those striking green eyes gazed at them with a judgemental stare. They recognize this beast, this bird; this was Hiernos's lost crow.

Hiernos had issued a reward to whoever caught this elusive bird. He apparently has some beef with this green-eyed bird, and lore has it been that whoever the bird belonged to was his nemesis. No one was quite sure who this nemesis was, even the lorekeepers knew nothing of this nemesis, not even his name. The bird appeared regularly in the past year, but its visitation had petered out halfway through the year.

One of the visiting heroes stood to try catch the bird, but when the crow glared at them and cawed, they were filled with doubt and stopped in place. It felt unwise to approach the corvid. Its eyes trained on them, piercing their spirits with its bright shining eyes. They could only gather the courage to approach when the bird was looking away. Their slow approach only subsided when they heard a length of wood repeatedly tap onto the floor.

They turned to Henry who was ambling towards the bird with little hindrance. His awkward steps were assisted by his trusty crutch. It was a work of art sculpted from a fine piece of cedar. The lacquer applied had deepened its natural colors and made the engravings pop out of its surface. They counted four bears, five wolves, and seven crows carved onto its surface.

The green-eyed crow focused onto the approaching boy, but this time, its glare seemed to be softer. Henry, undeterred in his approach, put his hand close the bird's beak and handed the folded letter he held to the menacing beast. All the other heroes prepared to pull his hand away at the moment the bird decided to peck the boy's hand, but to their surprise, it only took the letter away from his hand. Gently even.

The bird turned and flew away, carrying the letter with it.

The visiting heroes were stunned at the display, yet Henry only turned as though it was simply an everyday occurrence. He had sent something that had turned into something of a myth in the community as though it was a messenger pigeon.

Dean Henegar was the first to speak. "What was that, Henry?"

"That was Friend Crow," Henry answered simply.

"You've been hiding it all this time?" Angar said almost angrily.

"Uhm, what?" Henry tilted his head in confusion.

"Did you know that Hiernos have been looking for this particular crow for over a year? He's offering a blessing to anyone who could turn it in," Jeema chimed in.

Henry's face straightened at that question. "Oh, I knew that."

"Wait, what? Why didn't you turn it in? Don't you want to get a blessing from a god?"

"Friend Crow carried letters to my father and back. If I turned it in, I would be cutting the sole communication line between me and my father."

They were stunned by the answer he had provided. They had been prohibited from communicating with their families, but Henry had somehow circumvented the lockdown and was never suspected. A feeling of betrayal arose from those that had a strong desire to get Hiernos's blessing, but much of them were more shocked at this revelation. It became the topic of many conversations in the next half-hour.

The lull of activity was shattered when the door creaked open to welcome the entrance of a rather rugged man in a green long-sleeved shirt. He wore a life-like wolf hat that made him appear as though his own head was actually that of a wolf, and atop of that, a straw hat that covered his eyes from the sun. In his hand was a hoe with a bronze head of a hue close enough to gold.

The wolf head was grinning, baring its teeth to their guests. His bright green eyes scanned all the folks in their house. The previous conversed upon crow was perched upon his shoulder, puffing up its chest as though it was proud to be partnered to such this common man.

This was the pillar of the house, Renard Greymight, and he greeted his guests with a hearty voice. "Welcome, friends of Henry. We haven't expected your arrival. I hope that our unprepared home hadn't been displeasing to your senses."

~^*^=8=^*^~

Friend Crow was alighted upon Big Friend Renard. It reveled in the sight of his would-be captors wilting in the presence of its master. Master Friend Renard was such a cool creature, he couldn't simply be compared to any other being. Monsters crawling from the shadows beware him lest they taste Revolution hammering into their face.

Master Renard was kind. He had set aside a saucer of pie for it. Delicious! Friend Crow was safe and fed and happy. It would willingly serve under them for continued blessing. He deserves its devotion for all the things they have done to it.

Friend Henry was cool too. He was thoughtful and playful. He had made many friends. They would frolic and play in the forest and river. It liked to spy among their games. They maked lots of cute noises and stuff.

The visitors, heroes of the temple of Nimeta, whispered among themselves about it. Fools. Knowledge was its foremost sphere, and it could hear all which they speak. They occasionally chance a glance upon the corvid, and it would stare back at them. They seemed to be desiring to hand it but were extremely hesitant in the presence of Master-of-the-House Renard. Humorous! Their courage wilting in the awesome that was Renard.

"So, Renard, how did you tame this Friend Crow," Girl Jeema asked him. She leered at it. It pecked at another crumb of pie nonchalantly.

"When I first settled on this land, I heard of these people who tamed wild animals. Wolves, pigeons, boars, and even cockroaches. I was inspired by Hiernos's posse of crows when I decided to befriend this crow. She was a wee crow back then, and she liked to spy on me when I worked the fields. I often beckoned her to my hand and coaxed her with food until she stayed," Renard explained. Not the whole story, Friend Crow knew, but sufficient in all ways.

Girl Jeema hummed to herself. She had reached a conclusion. "You're Hiernos's Nemesis."

Renard placed his mug of wine onto the table and frowned deeply. Friend Crow looked up to Girl Jemma, feeling rather displeased at the accusation. "You'll be the first to call me that. Could you elaborate?"

"Hiernos had this crow that had been stolen from him, a green-eyed crow, THIS green-eyed crow. He refused to tell anybody who his nemesis was, but I guess we discovered who the culprit was anyway," Jeema gravely told.

Renard took a sip from his mug of wine before replying, "I never realized that Friend Crow already belonged to somebody else. She just stopped going away." His words were sincere, Friend Crow could confirm, but Jeema seemed doubtful to its truth.

Master Renard turned to Friend Crow and asked, "Do you want to go home, Friend Crow?"

The crow vehemently shook its head. No, never again, not after what he had tried to do. Hiernos was a paranoid hack. It'd rather dedicate its service to the much kinder Renard.

"Why? Don't you miss home with your master Hiernos?" Jeema tried to convince the crow, but its opinion on the matter had been set in stone years ago.

"No!" Friend Crow cawed, and it attracted everyone's attention. "I stay here. Hiernos not home more. Home is here!"

Jeema tried to convince it with more honeyed words, but it couldn't be moved. It wanted to stay here, right beside Renard. They couldn't force it to come with them. It was perched firmly on Renard's shoulders. Aspen and many others had joined in throwing honeyed traps, but it remained firm on its disposition. No! It was to stay here, in service to Renard the Kind. It cawed and cawed to silence and counter their words.

The great argument was shattered when a series of knocks came at the door. The thoughts of many had been derailed by that discordant sound. The rather embarrassing clamour dissipated as they realized a new set of visitors had come to visit their humble abode.

Henry answered to their call and opened the door to welcome them in. It was villagers from Kelry, bringing with them some items of feasting: strips of cured ham, a keg of beer, and a basket of fruits. It was clear that they'd gathered such items on a short notice, prepared at the last minute.

"Hello friends," Henry greeted. "But it's not my birthday?"

"Oh no, well, it is now. That wasn't why we're here," one of them lied. "We just heard that you're having some sort of party up your house we'd like to join in. It just felt impolite to bring nothing to the feast."

"How did you know we have a feast?"

"There was a group of people carrying food to your doorstep. We figured you had one."

~^*^=8=^*^~

Renard pretended to be joyful during the impromptu feast that celebrated nothing in particular. It's supposed to be in commemoration of his passed son, but the direction had been thoroughly directed into something else. The unannounced appearance of the neighbors was really a blessing in disguise. He needed little to throw the vibe meter of anyone everywhere.

Still, it was a hassle to have such many people inside his house. He was standing in front of the mirror, hatless whilst grooming his hair. He had to make himself a little more presentable. He had Henry throw a thorough distraction on his friends while he secreted away their valuables. They were bound to get broken or go missing. It was quite a surprise when someone had gotten through the distractions.

It was Jeema Graves. He had come to dislike this girl. She was an intellectual, doubtful of almost everything that's going on in this part of the world. She stood behind him like she's about to deliver to him some grave news.

"Mister Greymight," she began. "I think there might be something amiss in your household."

He sighed. "I know. I know. Henry's alive."

"So you do know," Jeema's eyes brightened. "I think something or somebody is messing with everybody. We need to get to the bottom of this before it gets worse."

"Henry's alive," Renard repeated. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Don't you understand? Something's manipulating everyone in this village. They need to be dealt with before their vile machinations come to fruition."

"Why would you even call my son being home alive 'vile'? That's a miracle."

"Creatures who manipulate the minds of others are rarely benign. This is serious!"

Renard looked towards the door that led to the living room. He could see Henry mirthful as he mingled with his friends. He turned back to Jemma. "I have everything under control. There's absolutely nothing wrong."