They escorted Lord Kedmon to the edge of the forest, then watched him gallop toward the Stone Town while watering their horses by the bridge. Opal walked into the shallow river, splashing the water. Grumbler observed him from a safe distance, making sure the waterdrops wouldn't reach him.

"Rai told me what happened when you fought a wraith before," Jules squatted on the river's bank by Ravin. He scooped water in his hands to drink. "I know everybody died. How are we going to kill the wraith now?"

"You don't 'kill' a wraith," the hunter reminded, standing up. He clicked his tongue at Opal and the black stallion trotted toward him. Grumbler followed, whining unhappily. "You don't kill an undead, Jules."

"What do you do with it, then?" the boy insisted, mounting his horse. Grumbler turned his head to nib at his riders' calf. "Maybe can we still convince Melissa to give up revenge? Rosalie claims she was a good person. Maybe, if we talk to her again -"

"Jules, ghost and wraiths fall into different categories," Ravin nudged Opal's sides and the stallion walked up the road. The tubby steed followed reluctantly. "A ghost is a soul deprived of a body, but it has all the characteristics and consciousness of the living person. A wraith is an undead, created through the darkest magic when a ghost reunites with its corpse. The soul gets damaged, and the thing left is a mixture of hatred and cruelty. You can't reason with it anymore."

"I think I get it now," Jules gave a slow nod. "But it sounds bad."

"A wraith is fuelled by bloodlust and animosity. It doesn't think like the person it used to be," Ravin raised his hand to shield his face. "While the ghost, even if it has ill intentions, can still change its mind and abandon taking revenge, a wraith is fixated on its goal. The only purpose of its existence is killing Kedmon and his family. It won't rest until they all are dead or it is destroyed."

"And we have to stop it," Jules bit his lower lip. His hands tightened on Grumbler's rein.

"I have to stop," the hunter motioned at the boy to turn into a narrow patch that weaved between meadows. "I won't let you anywhere near it."

The boy was about to protest - with Raimont gone, it was his job to assist Ravin - his honour and his duty - but there was a difference between dealing with a ghost, even the evilest, and fighting against a wraith. But the very thought of his master facing a monster that could slaughter twenty knights made Jules' stomach tie in a knot. He balled his fists until his knuckles turned white.

But then, the wooden roof emerged from behind the spruces and the boy realised the hunter was leading him to his old house. The spruces disturbed the view till the last moment; only when they reached the front yard Jules saw a house built of wood and stone. Tendrils of ivy snaked up the walls and clambered over the roof of old, wooden tiles. A rocking chair stood on the porch, just by a planter full of weed. A smaller building clung to the house side - a workshop or a stable, Jules though.

"You're strangely quiet," Ravin dismounted Opal and approached his apprentice. He patted Grumbler's neck and motioned at the house. "So? What do you think?"

Jules jumped down from his horse's back. He walked toward the porch, climbed the three creaking steps, a choking feeling filling his chest. How would it feel, after the long five years, to say 'I'm going home' and really mean it? To sleep in the same bed every night, to eat every breakfast in the same kitchen?

For the last five years, ever since he had met Ravin and Rai on the way to the town while pirates ravaged his home village - ever since his mother and little sister had been killed in the attack - they had been on the road, never staying in once place longer than Ravin's job demanded it. Jules had gotten used to that - to meeting people and leaving without knowing them, with no friends and no regrets.

"Do you want to stay here, like, for good?" Jules observed the hunter as he walked slowly, drinking the view in. How many years had passed since Ravin had been here the last time? Was he happy to be back? His face showed no emotion.

"It'll be nice to settle down after all these years, don't you think?" the hunter walked to the door. He took a big, iron key out of his pocket and put it in the keyhole. "I moved in here when I was just I bit older than you, and those were great years. I just hope the lock hasn't rusted."

Jules observed him, lost in thoughts. To think about teenage Ravin standing on this porch and opening the door, living there, sitting in this rocking chair... Jules couldn't imagine it. For him, Ravin seemed to be born all adult, serious and stern.

The key turned with a crack and the hunter pushed the door open. Jules dashed to him and pressed on his back to be let inside. The small hallway was filled with a musty smell.

Jules pressed his hand to his mouth, coughing.

"Keep the door open," Ravin hurried inside the house. "I'll open the windows. Let's make a draft."

The boy moved the planter so that it kept the door from closing. The weed waved - first windows were already opened. Jules walked inside only when he felt the draft on his face.

There were three doors - one on his left, one on his right and one open, in front of him - and a narrow staircase that led up to the first floor. Jules went straight, into the open room. It turned out to be a small kitchen; the window over the table and back door provided a breath of fresh air. The stove was covered with a thick layer of dust, and the cupboards and shelves were barely visible from behind a net of cobwebs.

Ravin stood in the middle of the room with a grubby mug in his hands.

"It brings memories," Jules stopped right by him. The man nodded slowly and put the mug aside. "Are you happy to come back here?"

"I spent the best years of my life here," Ravin patted Jules' shoulder as he walked back to the hall. "I hope it'll be the same for you. Scout around as much as you want. I need to look for something."

"For what?" Jules followed him into the hall. "Is it about the wraith?"

"It's what we'll use to destroy it. We need night pearls," the hunter pressed on the handle of the room on their right, but the door resisted. He rolled his eyes. "Old Prichard, always keeping his workroom locked... I bet he hid the key somewhere. You see," he headed to the stairs and started to climb them. "He was sure he would come back here some time, and he left a lot of things here. He kept the key in his bedroom, this I know for sure..."

They reached the first floor and stopped in a narrow hallway. Wooden walls seemed to press on each other; it was long and tight, no windows but three doors. Two on the sides, facing each other, and one in front of the stairs.

"You don't know where he kept the key?" Jules gave his master a surprised look. Then he grinned broadly as a sudden thought crossed his mind. "Wait! This means you weren't allowed into that room! And that master Prichard had to keep the key out of your sight! You were a troublemaker, weren't you?"

"Focus on the task at hand, Jules," the hunter said sternly. "If you decided to follow me, do something useful."

The hunter searched almost the whole room, but the key was nowhere to be seen. Books, maps, some souvenirs - his former master had left all of them behind when he'd left Arvene after a fierce argument with Lord Harald - were all he found in the recesses of the room, covered in dust, cobwebs and old memories.

Jules lay down by the bed and crawled under it. Dust irritated his eyes; he reached out blindly and felt something hard and solid. He grovelled back, pulling it along.

"Look what I've - " he sneezed loudly and shook his head, trying to shake the dust off his locks. He wiped his eyes with the hem of his sleeve before opening them. "I won!"

"It's not a game," Ravin walked over to him and took the box. He sat on the bed and opened it. Jules jumped on the bedtick beside him to investigate his finding.

"Letters?" Jules bit his lower lip, disappointed. He grabbed the box and searched through them until he felt something soft and fluffy under his finger. "Hey, what is it?"

It was stuck between the folded pieces of paper; a red woollen sock, so small that Jules thumb barely fitted into it. Jules remembered his mother knitting similars socks and packing them in little boxes alongside honey cookies. It had been the way she informed her friends that she expected a second child. In return, they were asked to pray for the baby.

"Master Prichard didn't have children, did he?" the boy showed the little sock to Ravin. The hunter grabbed it, put it into the box and snapped the lid. "Hey, what are you -"

He stopped short as their eyes met. Ravin's face remained stern and calm, but his eyes were cold and dark. Their light froze and faded, leaving them empty like two hollows.

"Ravin?" Jules stared at him, but the hunter left the room wordlessly.

A sudden thump made the boy jump to his feet. He ran downstairs to see the hunter standing on the working room's threshold. The door was open, miserably handing on just one hinge.

Jules waited at the bottom of the stairs as Ravin rummaged through the room. He listened to clashing and creakings when many shelves and drawers were opened and shut; but then the noise hushed and heavy silence fell onto the house.

Jules peeked into to room find Ravin standing back to him, his shoulders slouched and his fists balled.

"Have you found the pearls?" the boy asked hesitantly.

"No. We'll have to mine them," the hunter said. When he turned toward Jules, the coldness of his eyes melted. "Let's go back to the castle. You'll meet Rosalie while I'll talk to Kedmon."

-Author's note- 

I'm so tired of studying, and the exam session hasn't even started yet! Have a great week, everyone!