Page 96 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
19
A Broken Curse
Shade
Sunrise at the edgeof the forest is always red. Today, it’s the color of blood on new snow, a line of fire that burns through the mist and finds every scar and ragged feather on my body. I stand in the shadow of the tree line, my brothers arrayed around me, basking in the chill like it’s holy.
We haven’t seen a real battle in weeks, but none of us has lost the edge. If anything, we’re sharper now, honed by the freedom we never thought we’d earn.
The curse is gone, but the instincts are welded to our bones.
I flex my fingers, watching the claws fade in and out, muscle and talon switching places without the old agony.
The shift is a breath, a blink, a choice.
It never used to be like this.
Before Raisa broke the world and remade it in her image, every shift felt like dying. Skin peeled away, bones splintered and rebuilt, nerves screamed until I forgot my own name. I remember the taste of blood—my own, most days—pooling at the back of my tongue as my body lost its mind and rebuilt itself from the wreckage.
Now? I can feel the change just under the surface, always there, ready to answer the smallest twitch of will. I could shift a thousand times in a row and never break a sweat.
It’s perfect. It’s terrifying.
It’s mine, a gift from the woman who was willing to die for me and my brothers.
I turn my head, scanning the tree line.
Onyx stands to my left, massive and silent, his breath ghosting in front of his face. He’s always the first to spot danger, but today he just stares into the distance, arms crossed, waiting for my signal.
Grim is to my right, picking at the leather strap around his wrist with claws that never fully blunt. He’s smiling, but there’s no humor in it, just a hunger he’s never learned to hide.
Bran, Rune, and Sable fan out behind us, a perfect triangle of menace. Sable looks bored, like he’d rather be anywhere else, but his eyes are sharp and glittering. Bran bounces on the balls of his feet, twitchy and eager, glasses fogged from the cold. Runestands perfectly still, his tattoos crawling over his skin in a way that’s almost alive.
Talon lingers at the rear, pacing, turning the hilt of his knife over and over in his palm. He glances at me, nods once, then returns to his slow circuit, always keeping an eye on the woods. Always hunting.
This is our family. Our flock.
A breeze shifts, and I catch the scent of sweat and steel. There are men in the underbrush, maybe a hundred yards off. Not villagers. No farmer in his right mind would be this close to the castle grounds without Raisa’s permission.
These are soldiers, the last loyalists. The fools who think killing us will bring back the old order and unravel Raisa’s will.
I don’t have to speak. I just cock my chin at the trees.
Onyx stiffens, his nostrils flaring. Grim starts to laugh, low and mean. Sable’s face lights up like a kid as he cracks his knuckles in anticipation.
The whole flock shifts closer, as if pulled by a magnet. Even Talon drifts in, silent as a shadow, his knife reversed in his hand and ready.
I drop to a crouch, digging my fingers into the frost-bitten soil. The pain is sharp and electric, but it feels good. It reminds me that I’m alive, that I have a purpose beyond survival now.
I can hear the soldiers moving closer, their boots crunching in the snow, their voices hushed but frantic.
“They’re coming,” Rune whispers, not bothering to hide the excitement in his voice.
I don’t reply. I just breathe in, slow and deep, letting the air fill every dark corner of my chest.
There are five of them, maybe six. Not enough to survive us.
I look at Onyx, who nods.
