He was born a raven.
Not a symbol. Not an avatar. Animal.

Black, alert, too intelligent for his own good.

He lived on the margins: cemeteries, battlefields after the silence, roads where things end.

Ravens learn fast.

They learn who dies,  who kills, who lies before dying.

And he learned one essential thing:

humans make too much noise for those who die so easily.

The gaze that crossed

The encounter with Death was not grand.

There was no thunder nor ritual.

Just a field after a stupid war — one driven by flags, speeches, and empty pride.

Death was collecting.

He was watching.

While other animals fled, he stayed.

Not out of courage. Just curiosity.

And, at some point, he looked directly at her.

Not with fear, not with reverence.

But with that crooked raven look that seems to say:

“Seriously? All this… for this?”

Death found it strange. Few living beings stare at her like that.

Even fewer understand what they are seeing.

The first favor

She needed to cross a place where the living and the dead mixed — a rift, a fold, an old mistake.

She needed something small, discreet, and ignorable.

The raven crossed.

Without knowing how to explain it. Without asking for anything.

He simply went… and returned.

It was the first favor.

And Death, unlike humans, does not forget debts.

The bad habit of learning too much

Over time, he began to follow.

First as a shadow. Then as a recurring observer.

Finally, as an informal assistant.

He saw kings die crying. He saw leaders abandoned by their followers.

He saw ordinary people die better than heroes with ready-made speeches.

And he learned the language of the dead.

Not words — intentions.

He learned when someone deserved silence.

And when they deserved contempt.

The problem is that ravens learn…

And they comment.

The birth of sarcasm

He began to caw too much.

To interrupt.

To look at dead criminals and politicians with disgust and boredom. To react in ways… inconvenient.

He let out that dry, short sound, a mix of laughter and grumbling. 

Death tolerates many things.

But recurring bad temper is not one of them.

The transformation

She did not punish him.

She did not curse him.

She simply did what she does best:

changed the state of things.

He stopped being just a raven. But he never became human.

And he never became a reaper. He became something in between.

Able to cross the living and the dead. 

Able to carry messages no one likes to hear.

That was when he received the name.

Estorvo.

Because he questions, provokes, grumbles, inconveniences.

Because he is always where someone would rather not be observed.

Companion of the Guardian

That happened much later.

Estorvo owed many favors to the Guardian for saving him a few times from Death’s wrath.

When the Guardian needed company — and someone to watch, observe, and annoy — Estorvo accepted the new mission.

He merely tolerates humans

He does not like them. Never has ─ with a few exceptions.

He was very fond of a melancholic writer who spoke to ravens as if they were old friends.

One day, that man dedicated a poem to him.

But in general, to him ─ and perhaps to many of us ─ humans are cruel, false, incoherent, traitorous...

They idolize politicians... idolize criminals, try to bring down those who walk the right path, out of envy, malice, stubbornness.

“It’s the worst species...” ─ he always caws this mantra.