Chapter 4

Let the Birds in the Treetops Bear Witness

> The conquest of the Thaliric Empire is recorded in almost no surviving texts, a loss that vexes both myself and my peers. The documents of that era, once abundant, have all but vanished—a tragedy, given the Thals' prolific scribes. One can only attribute this erasure to the merciless hand of war, surely.

>

> — Historie and Geographie of the Provincia Empiris

>

> Gaius Elvianus

Elara’s heart skipped a beat as the door responded to Godfrey’s command with a sudden, sharp hiss, like the release of a long-held breath. The sound filled the chamber, startling her. The door shuddered, then slowly began to slide open. The ancient metal groaned softly as it moved, the noise resonating through the adjoining rooms as the door slid into the floor, forming a perfectly level threshold.

As the door fully opened, the hiss faded into a heavy silence, leaving only the soft crackling of the torch she held to break the stillness. The darkness beyond the threshold seemed to pulse, as if the very shadows had been disturbed by the intrusion and were resistant to reveal the secrets within. The air that seeped through was cool and dry, carrying with it the faint scent of metal, but none of the earthy decay this first room contained.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their eyes locked on the newly revealed passage. The reality of what she had done, of what she had convinced Godfrey to do, settled heavily in the surrounding air. Godfrey still seemed to be processing what had happened, by the look of him. Elara, however, was quick to step forward, her curiosity outweighing any hesitation. But as she moved past Godfrey, her hand brushed against his, a brief, electric touch that sent a jolt through her body, and she found herself looking up into his amber eyes, seeming to glow in the soft torchlight.

Her gaze lingered on Godfrey, her eyes wide with a mixture of emotions she had never associated with him before. A newfound respect flickered in her mind, a realization that the boy she had always considered just that—a boy—had, in this moment, shown a side of himself she hadn’t anticipated. Her heart quickened, not just from the thrill of their discovery, but from the undeniable pull of curiosity that tugged at her as she watched him.

She felt a strange flutter in her chest, an unfamiliar warmth that spread through her as she observed the calm authority in his stance, the way his shoulders squared as if he had finally grown into them. Arousal flickered at the edges of her awareness, unexpected and insistent, but it was the curiosity that took hold of her most strongly. Who was this Godfrey? This was not the countenance of a village boy; it was like nothing she was used to. She had always thought she knew him, had assumed he was an open book—a simple, eager boy who followed her lead without question. But now, as she looked into his clear, commanding eyes, she realized there was depth there, hidden layers she had never bothered to explore.

She swallowed, forcing herself to break away from Godfrey’s gaze. Right now, there was something far more pressing demanding her attention. Her mind refocused with practiced ease as she turned back to the passage. With a determined step, she moved forward, her usual confidence slightly shaken but not lost.

The small, hidden room was stark and spartan, composed of cold stone with hard, unforgiving angles. The far wall, however, stood out, crafted from the same strange metal as the previous doors. It bore no decoration except for a single inscription, deeply etched into the metal. The script was intricate, curling and looping in a language neither Godfrey nor Elara had ever encountered. The characters, though foreign, exuded an air of ancient authority, as if they had been carved by monarchs long turned to dust. Despite the room's apparent age, the inscription remained pristine, untouched by the decay that had claimed the objects and ruins above.

Flanking the inscription on either side, narrow stone shelves jutted out from the walls, holding several ancient books. Their covers, once perhaps vibrant, had faded to a dull, lifeless hue. Elara reached out cautiously and gently opened one of the books, its spine creaking as if in protest. The pages within were brittle, crumbling at the edges as her fingers brushed over them, yet the text remained legible. Most of it was written in the same unknown script as the inscription on the wall, though other unusual and indecipherable scripts were interspersed throughout.

“There’s nothing here,” Godfrey muttered, his voice even, still carrying a trace of the command he had shown in the previous room. “Just old books and some strange writing. Maybe we should tell the Magistrate. Someone could put these books in a museum or something.”

She almost broke her act when she turned and saw Godfrey’s eyes. They seemed to burn as he looked at her, but she had an objective now.

"No, Godfrey," she said, her voice soft but firm. "This isn’t just some old room. It’s a private space. A place where I can think, study, and be away from everything else. Imagine it—my own secret hideaway."

Godfrey looked at her, confused. "But... it’s just some dusty old books and a strange inscription we can’t read. What’s so special about that? Also, don’t you have your own room at your family’s house?"

Elara, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. Her eyes gleamed as she traced the inscription with her fingertips, her mind racing with possibilities. Hidden knowledge, ancient secrets—this was worth more to her than any gold or jewels. But as she glanced at Godfrey, she noticed the way his expression had settled into a serious, almost dutiful resolve. He seemed to believe they should share this discovery, perhaps out of a sense of responsibility. She couldn’t let that happen. Desperate to keep the secrets of the room for herself, Elara carefully composed her expression, masking her excitement. She needed to handle this delicately.

“What can you learn in a dusty room like this, from books in a language you’ve never even heard of? I still think we should tell the Magistrate, maybe someone in the Capital or one of the Great Houses knows how to read this, and they might have some important history, or even medical knowledge or something. If we tell the Magistrate, the right people can get their hands on this."

Damn it. For some reason, he was pushing back. She needed to divert his attention—fast.

She stepped closer to him, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "You saw what you did with that door, right? There’s something special about this place, and about you. We don’t need anyone else getting involved and ruining it."

Elara watched as her words hit Godfrey, his eyes widening with sudden realization. She could almost see the moment when the memory rushed back to him, the clarity washing over his face. He had been so absorbed in the moment—distracted by the warmth of her touch and the intensity she had directed at him—that he hadn’t fully grasped what had transpired. The door hadn’t just opened; it had obeyed him, responding to something within him that neither of them understood. She noticed the confusion clouding his features, quickly giving way to frustration. It was clear he was grappling with the same questions that now buzzed in her mind: What had he done? And how?

Elara leaned closer, her voice soft but insistent, her words carefully chosen to steer him away from his doubts. "Godfrey, this place... it’s different, special. There’s something here, something powerful, and I need to understand it." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle before adding with a hint of vulnerability, "You know I need to be alone sometimes, to think, to figure things out. But maybe, here in this place, you could be alone with me."

She watched his reaction closely, seeing the confusion still flickering in his eyes. But she knew him well enough to sense the shift, the way her suggestion was pulling him back from the edge of doubt.

“Elara…you’re with Liam, I’m not a fool. You are not for me.”

“You are a very stupid boy, Godfrey.”

And before he could respond, before the confusion and frustration could turn, she pressed her lips to his in a swift, deliberate kiss. The kiss ended as she gently pulled away, a flicker of something unexpected lingering in her chest.

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"This is our secret," she whispered against his lips, his skin warm against her. "Promise me, Godfrey. No one else can know."

After a brief hesitation, Godfrey whispered, “I promise, Elara.”

Elara's smile widened, a mix of satisfaction and something else curling at the edges. Elara knew the secret was safe; Godfrey always kept his word, especially to her. The room was hers now, and the secrets it held were hers to use, and hers alone.

XXX

Godfrey walked through the forest, taking the long route home, his thoughts as tangled as the branches above. The cool night air brushed against his flushed cheeks, and the nightingales and thrushes songs drifted through the dark trees, clear and soothing, but both doing little to calm the storm brewing inside him. Anxiety gnawed at the edges of his mind, mingling with confusion and the undeniable pride of what he had accomplished, mixed with arousal–yet, beneath it all, something deeper, something unsettling, stirred within him—a lingering unease about whatever force had compelled that ancient door to obey him.

Godfrey shivered. Whatever…connection…he had made with the door had clearly imparted some kind of latent emotional state. He had never been able to so calmly speak to Elara, and when she had kissed him? He should have been a puddle, melted on the floor after that. Instead, he had simply understood Elara’s need to draw a promise from him. He truly did not understand her obsession with having a private study room with books she could not read, but ultimately he didn’t care what happened with those books. For all he knew, they were ancient cookbooks, and the crumbling tools on the walls had been used to mashed potatoes in ages past.

His mind wandered back to his time with Elara after the kiss. She had insisted on staying until she skimmed through all the books and traced her fingers over the inscription on the wall a dozen times, muttering to herself. She had told him he could leave her if he was so worried about making his lesson on time, but he had insisted on walking her home. After a torturously long wait, Elara had finally relented and allowed him to walk her home.

They had walked in near-silence until they reached the edge of the clearing in which the Windermere home was nestled along the western edge of the village. There, the youths had stopped, Elara’s hand resting gently on his arm. Godfrey had hesitated, unsure of what to say, or if there was anything left to say.

Elara had turned to face him, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on her lips. “You know, you didn’t have to walk me all the way home. I’m not exactly helpless.”

Godfrey had shrugged, trying to match her light tone but finding it difficult. “I just wanted to make sure you got back safely. After everything that happened today…”

Her smile had softened, and she had looked at him with something more than the teasing glances she usually gave. “You did well, Godfrey. I mean it. That door wouldn’t have opened without you. I knew you had something special in you, but tonight, you proved it.”

Godfrey had felt his cheeks flush slightly, and he had looked away, kicking at a loose stone on the ground. “I’m not even sure what I did back there. It was… strange. I just wanted to help.”

Elara’s expression had softened, but her eyes had remained calculating. “It didn’t just happen. You made it happen. Don’t sell yourself short.” She had paused, letting her words sink in before continuing, her tone becoming almost cold. “But don’t get too comfortable. There’s more to discover, and you’re not the only one with talents.”

Godfrey had stood rooted to the spot, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. The change in Elara’s demeanor had been swift and disorienting. Just moments before, in the basement, she had looked at him with a hunger, a desire that he had never seen in her before. Her touch had felt electric, her gaze intense and filled with something powerful, almost predatory. It had thrilled him, awakening something deep inside that he hadn’t known was there.

But now, standing at the edge of the clearing, she had seemed different—colder, distant, as if a wall had suddenly gone up between them. Her words had been sharp, almost dismissive, as though the connection they had shared just moments earlier had been severed. It was as if she had seen something in him that both intrigued and frightened her, and rather than embrace it, she had recoiled, retreating into the safety of her usual guarded self.

Godfrey had felt a pang of hurt at Elara's sudden shift, but almost immediately, he had been struck by a strange sense of understanding. He had seen through her cold facade, recognizing it for what it truly was—a mask to hide her fear and uncertainty. The realization had been startling, like a light flickering on inside him, revealing truths he hadn’t been able to see before.

Was this something the door had done to him? The thought had lodged itself in his mind, unsettling yet undeniable. He had felt different after opening the door, a surge of confident authority that spoke of ancient wisdom he had somehow stolen. And now, although that initial rush was diminished, that same sense of clarity was helping him see through Elara’s defenses with a sharpness that felt almost unnatural.

He had met Elara's sharp gaze with a calm confidence that still felt alien to him, and smiled slightly. "You don't have to pretend, Elara. I see you."

Her eyes had widened, just for a moment, as if the mask she had hastily put up had slipped. Godfrey had seen the flash of surprise in her expression—the shock that he had seen through her so easily, that he had the nerve to address it. Her lips had parted, but no words had come.

He had turned and walked into the darkness.

The familiar path, lined with gnarled roots and thick underbrush, felt different tonight, almost alive with the weight of the evening's events. Every step was treacherous, and liable to break your ankle. But as he walked, he instinctively focused his mind, pushing some unknown force towards his eyes. The shadows seemed to retreat, the forest floor becoming clearer, sharper, and some of the anxiety he felt rolled off of his shoulders as he moved with the confidence of someone walking in daylight and he advanced swiftly through the forest. He didn’t fully understand how he was doing it; a part of him marveled at this strange ability that Hawker had impressed upon him young that he was to keep a secret, while another part quietly accepted it as just another thing he didn’t fully understand on top of the events of that evening.

Without thinking, he began to hum, his voice low and resonant, blending with the surrounding night. Then, almost instinctively, he let the hum transform into a melody, the words slipping from his lips like a long-forgotten memory.

His voice, though still young, held a warmth and richness that could fill even the emptiest spaces. It was a voice that had been nurtured in the quiet moments between chores and training, in the stolen hours when he was alone with his thoughts.

The song that emerged was simple, almost nothing more than a tune to carry a bucket or till a field to:

"In the fire’s bright glow, where the shadows play,

There’s a love once found, that led hearts astray,

But the truth was cloaked, in a golden flame,

And the heart was seared, in a whispered name."

"Through the nights of loss, when the heart was bare,

With a silent cry and a whispered prayer,

We forged our way, though the scars run deep,

For the soul must rise from the darkest sleep."

The night birds, as if enchanted by the melody, fell silent for a moment, their calls quieting as if to listen. Godfrey’s voice carried through the trees, the notes lingering in the cool night air, twining between branches. Then, almost in response, the nightingales began to sing again, their voices intertwining with his, creating a harmonious echo that seemed to bridge the gap between man and nature. The thrushes formed a counterpoint, and the wind seemed to whistle in answer:

"When the dawn returns, with a gentle grace,

And the past’s embrace leaves a haunting trace,

There’s a love that grows, in the morning light,

But the fear remains of the endless night."

"So we tread with care, on the path we find,

With a wary heart and a guarded mind,

For in love’s sweet song, there’s a note of pain,

Yet we sing it still, through the fear and rain."

The birds’ song grew louder, more insistent, as if urging him to continue. But Godfrey let the last note hang in the air, a quiet, lingering sound that slowly faded into the night. The nightingales seemed to sigh in reply, their calls soft and reverent, as if paying tribute to the song they had just heard.

Godfrey smiled to himself, a deep, contented feeling settling in his chest. The forest seemed to breathe with him, the birds' songs melding with his own, creating a quiet bond between him and the world around him. He continued on his path, his heart lighter, the song still echoing in his mind as he made his way through the darkened woods.