The sun rises, but the first light never belongs to us. Long before our footsteps touch the ground, the crows have already gathered. Black feathers against a pale sky, they stand as gatekeepers of the unseen.
Do not mistake them for simple creatures. The crow is not just a bird. It is memory in motion, an archivist of every kindness and every cruelty ever shown to it. The old ones say that to harm a crow is to write your own name in a book you cannot erase.
A crow does not forget. It remembers your face... the curve of your jaw, the way your eyes shift, even the rhythm of your footsteps. It carries this memory not as vengeance alone, but as a warning. Soon, your likeness will pass from one crow to another, whispered across branches, carried on wings, and delivered to the waiting ears of family. Not just blood, but the larger kinship of the murder. You will become a story they share, and not a kind one.
And when the crows speak of you, the world begins to change. You may find them waiting on rooftops, perched in silent numbers along your path, shadows stitched to every wire and branch. They do not strike at once, crows are patient. Instead, they haunt the edges of your days. A feather left where it should not be. A shadow that lingers a beat too long. A call that echoes when the air is still. By the time you notice, it is already too late. You are marked, and the sky itself is against you.
But there is another side to the tale. Show a crow kindness, and the book they write your name in becomes a shield rather than a curse. Leave an offering: bread, grain, even the last bite of what you hold, and they will remember. Nod your head in respect as you pass beneath their gaze, and they will mark you not as prey, but as kin. For those who honor them, the crows become guardians. They follow, they warn, they lead. Their shadows bend away from you, their cries turn to omens meant to protect.
The crow is not bound to man’s laws or man’s memory. It is bound only to truth: the truth of how you treat it. In their eyes, you are never forgotten. In their voices, your story never dies.
So as you begin this day, remember this simple law written in the oldest ink: never mistreat a crow. For the crow remembers... and the crow tells.
Walk wisely, Veilborn. The sky has more eyes than the earth.