The morning after Corvo's arrival was unusually bright, almost as if the sun itself was curious about the visitor. Ronald stood by the fence, sipping water from a gourd, while the little crow perched on his shoulder muttered to himself.
"Names, names, names…" Corvo crooned. "If you're going to live here, 'Ronald Alexander Roberts Jr.' just won't do. Far too… bureaucratic."
Ronald chuckled. "And you've got something better?"
"Oh, I've got plenty." Corvo puffed his chest and began pacing along the fence post like a poet preparing to perform. "Let's see… how about Ronald the Verdant Vanguard of Verdantia, First of the Furrow, Guardian of the Holy Hoe?"
Ronald nearly choked on his drink. "The what?"
Corvo tapped his beak, pretending to think deeply. "Hmm. Maybe Lord Tilthroot the Ever-Seeding. No? Perhaps Baron of Barley and the Eternal Harvester?"
Even Brontus snorted at that one, a puff of amused steam rising from his nostrils.
"Corvo," Ronald said flatly, "you're worse than the system menus."
"Oh, come now. A name should sound grand! Something the stars would bother to remember." Corvo paused, then smiled slyly. "Or we could just go with Ronald the Crow's Friend. Shorter, warmer, easier to carve on statues."
Ronald shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Corvo's Friend, huh? Guess I'll take that over 'Guardian of the Hoe." Or "master of the whip" Heck anything with a double meaning. He said exasperated by the thought.
"Excellent choice," Corvo said cheerfully. "Saves me from having to design you a crest."
---
Later that day, Corvo was gone. He didn't announce it — he just vanished in a shimmer of feathers and air. But by dusk, he returned with his wings trailing tiny lights, dropping small bundles of soil and seeds before the cabin door.
"Souvenirs," he declared proudly. "From the far corners of this little world. A desert bloom that drinks moonlight, a vine that hums to itself, and a grain so lazy it refuses to sprout unless you hum lullabies. Payment for room and board."
Ronald stared at the small mountain of seeds. "You really didn't have to—"
"Oh, please," Corvo interrupted, waving a clawed hand as he shifted into a more human form. This time, he looked almost fully mortal — olive skin, black hair streaked with faint color, only his eyes betraying the cosmic hues beneath. "I'm a crow, farmer. We bring things. It's tradition."
He smiled, snapping his fingers. "Besides, I wanted to practice something I picked up ages ago."
---
A faint light circled Corvo's palm — not mana like Ronald had seen before, but something older, deeper. He pressed his hand to the air, and a soft ripple spread through the farm.
> [Blessing Applied: Traveler's Favor]
Fields absorb ambient starlight at night. Crops gain minor growth bonuses.
"There!" Corvo said, satisfied. "You're now blessed by the Church of Friendly Crows."
"The… what?"
Corvo laughed, settling beside the fence. "Oh, it's a story from another world I visited. They built a religion around friendship and travel — used to tame crows as companions. They even learned to imbue them with elemental magic. Fire crows, lightning crows, ice crows… every flavor of weather with wings."
Ronald smiled faintly. "You blessed them too?"
"I did. They still send me prayers, you know." Corvo winked. "Mostly about lost snacks."
---
That evening, the air was cool and clear. Corvo started a campfire in the clearing — not with magic, but with his hands. He'd gathered dry wood, stacked it properly, and used a flicker of lightning from one finger to spark it alive.
"Now this," Corvo said, "is the proper way to end a day."
He turned a spit over the fire — a plump wolf, already cooked through, the smell rich but not overpowering. "Found this old thing in the woods. Already gone when I got there. Figured no sense letting it waste."
He sliced a piece and handed it to Ronald. "Try it. Tastes better than it looks."
It did — tender and smoky, with a faint sweetness like the air after a storm.
Corvo hummed softly, staring into the flames. "You know, in one world, wolves were sacred guardians of moonlight. In another, they were cooks. Terrible ones, but creative."
He tossed the wolf's pelt toward Ronald. "Take this. Make something warm with it. Call it my rent."
Ronald caught it, the fur soft and faintly glowing silver-blue. "You really don't have to pay to stay."
Corvo shrugged. "Maybe. But I like to leave a mark. Preferably a friendly one."
---
As the stars came out, the two of them sat by the fire — one man and one crow-shaped god — swapping quiet stories about old worlds, strange customs, and the small things that made them laugh.
When the embers began to fade, Corvo leaned back, eyes half-closed. "You know," he murmured, "you're doing rather well here. The gods will notice soon enough."
Ronald smiled, poking at the coals. "Think that's good or bad?"
Corvo's five-colored eyes shimmered with amusement. "Depends on the god."
The night breeze stirred the fields, and the fire crackled softly — a warm, steady rhythm beneath the vast, starlit sky.