The cathedral loomed in the shadows, its broken spires clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Mara had always thought it looked haunted, a relic of an older, stranger time, and she would have never dared to enter—until tonight. 

Her heart pounded as she crept through the broken archway, clutching the charm her mother had slipped into her pocket, whispering, “It will protect you.” 

Yet, even that assurance felt small and fragile. Her father’s face flashed through her mind, his eyes hollow with confusion and fear as the constable dragged him from their home that morning. 

The townspeople had gathered like crows, whispering rumors of theft and betrayal. Mara knew he was innocent, but no one would listen. 

No one … except, perhaps, the crows.

She first noticed them two weeks ago: hundreds of crows gathering at dusk around the cathedral, their glossy feathers catching the last traces of light. 

Their caws echoed in the night, an eerie chorus that seemed to pulse with secrets. She had decided to follow them tonight, drawn by a flicker of hope that maybe they held the key to saving her father.

Inside, the cathedral was dark, filled with the musty scent of forgotten things. Mara tiptoed forward, her footsteps muted by the dust-covered stones. 

Suddenly, a flutter of wings broke the silence, and she froze. High above, a figure was perched on a stone gargoyle—a crow, large and watchful, with one eye glinting like a jewel.

“You’re Mara,” came a voice, soft as a whisper but somehow echoing through the cathedral. She gasped, looking around, but there was no one—just the crow, staring down at her with unnerving intensity.

“Yes, I—I’m Mara,” she stammered. “Are you…are you Alder?”

The crow tilted its head, and Mara felt a strange warmth brush across her mind like a feathered wing brushing her thoughts. “You have courage, child. The Court is ready.”

Before Mara could ask what that meant, a rumble filled the air as crows began pouring into the cathedral from every broken window, every crack. 

They gathered in rows along the pews, perching on ledges, a sea of black feathers and gleaming eyes. In the midst of them all sat Alder, dignified and ancient, his feathers tipped with silver like a crown.

“Why have you come to our Court?” Alder asked.

Mara swallowed, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes upon her. “My father has been accused of a crime he didn’t commit. I need your help. Please, you must know the truth.”

Alder regarded her with a gaze that seemed to pierce through her. “The truth is a heavy burden. Not all who seek it are prepared to bear its weight. But you, Mara…there is something within you.” His eyes gleamed. “Do you understand what it means to ask this of us?”

Mara nodded, though she wasn’t sure she did. All she knew was that she would do anything to save her father.

The crows around her murmured in low, ruffling caws, their feathers rustling like leaves in the wind. Finally, Alder raised his wings, silencing them. “Very well. You must face the Tribunal of Dreams.”

Before Mara could ask what that was, her vision blurred, and she felt herself falling, though her feet remained rooted to the ground. 

Shadows shifted around her, forming scenes—memories not her own. She saw flashes of people she didn’t know, faces twisted in anguish or joy, and everywhere, watching, were crows.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced—a vision of her father alone in the town square, the stolen trinkets piled beside him as the constable accused him. 

But behind him, lurking in the shadows, was a figure she recognized: her father’s old friend, Martin, clutching a small sack with a glint of gold.

She gasped. “It was Martin! He framed my father.”

The dream dissolved, and Mara found herself back in the cathedral, Alder watching her with a knowing gleam. “You have seen what we see. We are the guardians of memory, the keepers of truth. But what you do with this knowledge is up to you.”

Mara’s mind reeled, but determination hardened within her. 

She knew what she had to do.

“Thank you, Alder. I won’t forget this,” she whispered, bowing her head.

Alder inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Go now, child. Remember, the balance of truth is delicate. Guard it well.”

With a flutter of wings, the crows took flight, leaving the cathedral silent again. Mara stood alone, feeling a strange mix of awe and fear. But she had the truth, and that was all she needed.

Mara returned to the town square the following day, clutching the knowledge the Crow Court had bestowed upon her. She called for the constable with a steady voice and revealed what she had seen. 

At first, they scoffed, but her determination and the strange, quiet presence of a single crow perched above them made them listen. Soon, evidence surfaced, and Martin was exposed.

Her father was freed, and his innocence was restored, but Mara’s life was forever changed. She had glimpsed a world few humans ever saw, a world of shadows and wisdom, where crows guarded the fragile threads of history. 

And now and then, she would catch a flash of black feathers in the corner of her eye and remember Alder’s words, echoing like a secret in her heart: The truth is a heavy burden, but one worth bearing.

And as Mara grew, so too did her place in the world, a quiet protector of balance and memory, forever watched over by the crows.

The End