Chapter 5

Where the Hawk Cries

> Luxury cannot mask the chains that bind us. I could break these walls, slip past the guards, but to what end? The beasts of Northern Brella hunger beyond these comforts, and even my strength has limits. I could leave, but would I not be abandoning my blood to a fate worse than this? Power whispers of freedom, yet it is the ties of family that hold me still.

>

> — Diary of the Lost Line

>

> Hildebrand Androgae

Godfrey hurried along the overgrown path, the familiar sounds of the forest fading as he approached Hawker's secluded cabin. The moonlight barely penetrated the thick canopy above, casting deep shadows that danced with each step he took.

As he rounded the final bend, the warm glow of a fire flickered through the small window of Hawker's cabin. Relief washed over him as he realized he had made it just in time for his evening lesson. Hawker loved when he was late, as he could then ratchet up the intensity of the training as punishment. But as he neared the door, he noticed something unusual—a second silhouette beside Hawker's in the hearthlight. Hawker wasn’t alone.

Godfrey hesitated for just a moment before pushing open the heavy wooden door. The warm air hit him first, carrying the familiar scent of burning pine and something savory cooking in the small pot hanging over the fire. But it was the sight of Uncle John, sitting comfortably in one of the old armchairs, that made him pause.

"Evening, Godfrey," Hawker greeted him with a gruff nod, his expression unreadable as always. He was seated near the hearth, his arms crossed over his chest, and his keen eyes immediately took in Godfrey's slightly disheveled appearance.

Uncle John, however, wore a more welcoming, and somewhat knowing, smile. "Just in time, lad," he said, motioning for Godfrey to close the door behind him. "We were starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

As Godfrey stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the change in his demeanor was immediately noticeable. There was a calmness in his movements, a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. Hawker’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the boy, and John’s smile faltered just a touch, replaced by a thoughtful gaze. Both men exchanged a knowing look, their amusement tempered by curiosity. They had long suspected that Godfrey’s feelings for Elara ran deeper than the boy realized—feelings he naively believed he had kept hidden. But tonight, something was different. The subtle shift in Godfrey’s bearing didn’t go unnoticed, and both men silently wondered if something had happened between him and the Windermere girl.

“Have a seat, Godfrey,” Hawker said, his voice carrying a note of curiosity that Godfrey didn’t miss. He took the offered chair, feeling the weight of both men’s gazes on him as he settled in.

John leaned forward slightly, studying Godfrey’s face with a mixture of warmth and scrutiny. “You seem...different tonight, lad,” he remarked, his tone casual but probing.

Godfrey met John’s gaze with steady eyes, the usual fidgeting and uncertainty absent. “Just thinking about some things, Uncle John,” he replied evenly. “There’s a lot on my mind.”

Hawker tilted his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a faint smile. “Thinking’s good, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of doing.”

John’s lips twitched with a hint of a smile as he glanced at Hawker. “Aye,” he agreed, a dry note in his voice. “But it’s the doing that often complicates things, isn’t it?”

Godfrey blinked, catching the subtle implication in John’s tone, and felt his cheeks warm further. John’s eyes sparkled with restrained amusement as he continued, “Just remember, lad, some things in life are better handled with a clear head and a steady hand.”

Hawker let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly, but didn’t comment further. Godfrey felt a quiet relief that his uncles had settled on their assumption and hadn’t pressed him further. The truth of what had happened—his encounter with the door and the unsettling shift in his own sense of self—was something he wasn’t ready to share, even with them. Keeping his word to Elara was important, and he was glad he wouldn’t have to lie to his uncles to do so.

The moment passed quickly, and John’s expression turned more serious as he steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Now, about that discussion in the market square…”

Godfrey opened his mouth to apologize, feeling a twinge of guilt for having eavesdropped on the conversation in the market square. "I’m sorry for listening in, Uncle John. I didn’t mean to—"

John waved a hand, cutting him off with a tight smile. “No need to apologize, lad. I wasn’t exactly whispering, was I?”

John paused, his expression turning more serious as he continued. "But Master Bertie wasn’t wrong. There are certain things—dangerous things—that aren’t safe to discuss openly, even in a place as remote as Oakvale. The Empire has a way of making sure those who speak too freely pay the price. But sometimes, the truth is worth that risk, at least in private."

John glanced at Hawker, who gave a brief nod of agreement before looking back at Godfrey. "That’s why we wanted to talk to you tonight. What Master Bertie teaches at the schoolhouse—what he’s forced to teach—is a version of history that’s been carefully crafted by the Empire. It’s designed to keep the peace by keeping people content and unaware. But there are things you need to understand, things most people either don’t know or have chosen to forget. It’s time you learned the real history, Godfrey, so you can be prepared for what might come next. You’re old enough, at this point."

Until this evening, with all its revelations and the unsettling realization of what he might be capable of, Godfrey would have dismissed John's ominous warning about "what might come next" as mere melodrama. But now, the prospect of learning the true history—secrets hidden from most people—sparked a flicker of excitement within him, a sense of anticipation that mingled with his growing unease.

Whether this shift was tied to his strange experience with the door in the forest basement or simply a natural sign of maturing, Godfrey couldn’t say. Confusion mixed with a quiet, almost foreign confidence, leaving him uncertain whether this change in his demeanor was truly his own or something else entirely. Whatever it was, he felt off-kilter, as if a piece of him had been altered in ways he couldn’t yet fully grasp.

As Godfrey considered this, his eyes wandered over the room, taking in the surroundings with a newfound perspective. The cabin, once familiar and comforting, now seemed to hold a weight of history and purpose that he had never noticed before.

The room in Hawker's cabin was small, almost claustrophobic, with low wooden beams that added to its rustic charm. The walls were lined with shelves, each one crammed with an assortment of items collected over the years: maps, old books with frayed edges, and relics from a life spent in service to the Empire. A few weapons hung on the walls, their polished surfaces gleaming in the firelight—swords, daggers, and a shield bearing the crest of a forgotten house.

In the corner of the room, a battered table held a set of wooden chess pieces, mid-game, as if abandoned in the middle of a fierce battle. John was winning, again, forcing Hawker’s king into the center of the board when, clearly, Hawker had abandoned the table. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that danced across the room, giving it a cozy yet solemn atmosphere.

The armchairs in which they sat were old but comfortable, their fabric worn from years of use. Hawker’s armchair was covered in its myriad, faded tapestries. They faced the hearth, where a pot hung over the fire, its contents bubbling quietly. The scent of stew filled the air, mingling with the smell of pine from the burning logs.

A few personal touches were scattered throughout the room—a faded tapestry depicting a battle long forgotten, a collection of seashells from a distant ocean, and a small, intricately carved wooden box that sat on the mantel, its purpose unknown but clearly cherished. This was a place where history lived, where stories were told and lessons were learned.

John's voice lowered as he continued, "The Empire wasn't always as it is now. For centuries, it was ruled by a single, powerful line of royals. About 150 years ago, that line split in a bloody civil war—royal against royal. These weren’t just rulers; they were commanders and warriors with powers akin to the Hand and the Tongue of the Empire. The war was brutal, with neither side gaining the upper hand. Eventually, a stalemate was reached, with one faction trapped in Northern Brella."

Hawker picked up the thread, his voice steady and measured. "During the negotiations, the trapped royals, still capable of waging war, conceded defeat. They accepted terms that included the exile of a specific adjunct family—a royal branch that was used as a scapegoat for the rebellion. This family was banished to Northern Brella, to a prison not as harsh as the others in that frozen land, but a prison nonetheless. They were given a small retinue of servants and a detachment of Hand guards, those who had proven 'problematic' but competent. It was more a sentence of obscurity than punishment—designed to be forgotten by both the Empire and the common people."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

John's eyes darkened as he continued. "Then, twenty years ago, something changed. The Hand, the Tongue, and the Great Houses conspired in a coup that swept through the Capital and the Great Cities. They didn't just take the throne—they purged anyone with a drop of royal blood, even hunting down the exiled family in Northern Brella. The coup was brutal, thorough, and left the Empire under the control of a Council, with a puppet Emperor who holds almost no real power."

Hawker leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "The current regime is focused on one thing: maintaining a status quo that keeps the people ignorant and content. They clamp down hard on anything that threatens to disrupt that, but they’re more than happy to send out caravans of ale and wine for village festivals. Theories, ideas, questions that upset the balance—those are dangerous, and happy peasants don’t make waves. And that’s why you need to be aware of the…the spiderweb you’re stepping into, Godfrey. Factions within factions, plots within plots—it's all a game to them, and one wrong move could get you caught in the web."

Godfrey shifted in his chair, his unease growing with every word. He was just a boy from a small, insignificant village, not some player in the grand schemes of the Empire. Whatever strange sense of authority he might have felt earlier, it hadn’t erased the simple reality of his life. He didn’t understand why Hawker and John seemed so convinced that he was on the verge of stepping into some dangerous web of intrigue.

Finally, unable to keep his thoughts to himself, he spoke up, his voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t understand. Why would I be stepping into any spider’s web? I’m just a kid who lives in Oakvale. I don’t have anything to do with all these plots and factions.”

Hawker and John exchanged a look, the kind of silent communication that comes from years of camaraderie. Hawker raised an eyebrow, and John responded with a small nod, glancing at Godfrey with a blend of unease and determination.

“Godfrey,” Hawker said, his voice calm but serious. “We’re not trying to keep you in the dark, but you need to understand how serious this is. I don’t need to remind you of the casual cruelty of some of the older nobility; you remember what happened to young Jeromie. First, let me ask you—have you ever told anyone about the things we’ve been teaching you? The methods to affect your eyesight, or hearing?”

Godfrey shook his head quickly as he sat back down, his mind flashing back to the countless lessons in the woods, the drills, and the quiet talks around the fire. “No, I’ve never said anything. But I can’t be sure if someone noticed on their own…”

He trailed off, the thought of what had happened with Elara in the forest room nagging at him. But that wasn’t related to the lessons Hawker, Tarlow, and John had been giving him, was it? He wasn’t even sure what had happened back there himself.

Hawker and John exchanged another look, this time more searching. But, they seemed to accept his answer at face value, at least for now.

“Good,” John said, his tone more relaxed. “It’s important that you keep those things to yourself. Now, what we’re going to explain might be hard to understand at first, but it’s crucial that you grasp it. We’ve been teaching you about more than just swordplay, survival, or strategy. We’ve been preparing you to use two very specific abilities: Focus and Control.”

Hawker and John exchanged a glance before Hawker began, his tone measured and thoughtful. “There are natural limits built into the human body, Godfrey—limits designed to ensure our long-term survival. At least, that’s what the scholars in the Capital say. The body has mechanisms that protect it from harm, preventing us from pushing ourselves too far. These limits are there for a reason, but there are moments when the body overrides them.”

John leaned forward slightly, his expression serious as he continued the explanation. “You might have heard stories, like the one about the woman whose baby was trapped under a carriage. She was small, barely strong enough to lift her own weight, but in that moment, her mind unlocked a hidden potential within her. She cared more about the life of her child than the damage it would cause her own body. She lifted the carriage clear off the baby and shoved it away several feet, saving her child’s life.”

Godfrey nodded. He had heard that story, although in a few different forms.

Hawker nodded, picking up the thread. “But it came at a cost. The woman’s muscles and tendons were pushed beyond their natural limits. She was severely injured and spent the rest of her life with a limp left arm.”

John’s gaze was intense as he added, “That’s what Control and Focus are, Godfrey. Simple names, I know, but they work well enough for soldiers and scholars alike. They’re the conscious unlocking of that hidden potential within the body and mind, the ability to push past the natural limits that protect us. With Control, you can allocate resources within your body to where they’re most needed—strengthening muscles, hardening bones, enhancing your senses. With Focus, you can override fear, pain, and hesitation, sharpening your mind and reactions to a razor’s edge.”

Hawker’s voice took on a more solemn tone as he continued, “But just like that woman, there’s always a cost. You can’t heal the damage you do when you push your body too far. Control and Focus are tools, powerful ones, but they come with risks. You have to be careful, and you have to understand that every time you use them, you’re making a trade—a piece of your long-term well-being for short-term strength.”

Godfrey felt like his mind was spinning, trying to process everything Hawker and John had just revealed. The history of the Empire, the powers of the Hand, the intricate web of plots and factions—it was a lot to take in all at once. But amid the torrent of information, one fact stood out above all: Hawker and John had been members of the Hand. The very idea left him reeling, a mix of awe and disbelief coursing through him. Of all the revelations, this one hit the hardest, and he latched onto it, pushing aside the rest for the moment.

“Wait,” he finally managed, his voice steadying as he focused on the most personal detail. “You two… you were members of the Hand? Does anyone else know? Why didn’t you ever tell me? That means you’re nobility!”

Hawker and John exchanged another glance, this one laced with a mixture of concern and understanding. John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned forward in his chair. “Your Aunt Katherine and Aunt Alice know,” he admitted. “They’ve known for years, ever since we settled here. I couldn’t keep Tarlow and John from doing so, and I wouldn’t want to. Oh, and Tarlow, well… you’ve probably figured out by now that he was a fellow Soldier, too. And yes, we were all distant, distant nobility, in my case. I was born the son of a noble and a merchant’s daughter, so the blood was weak, and not enough to keep me from being conscripted. Tarlow was a bastard son of a bastard son, but a drop is a drop.”

“I was the problem child of a fifth son of a minor landed noble outside of Centria. I ran away and joined the Army. Story as old as time.” John said, nodding.

“Wait…that means…I’m nobility?!” Godfrey shot up from his seat, chuckling. “Yes, and I suppose Aunt Alice is an ancient Queen of Thal.”

John gave a small smile. “She may yet be, lad. But, Godfrey, you’ll have to trust Hawker and me—the circumstances of your birth aren’t as pleasant as you might think.”

Godfrey’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his voice. “What circumstances? Why keep this from me? What aren't you telling me?”

Hawker’s expression softened, his voice steady. “We didn’t want to burden you with it. The world is complicated enough without knowing certain things too soon. We thought it better you live without the weight of those answers... until now.”

Godfrey leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “So, what am I then? Who were my parents?”

John sighed and exchanged a glance with Hawker before responding, his voice smooth and measured. “You’re the bastard son of a dead family, Godfrey. That’s all you need to know.”

The bluntness caught Godfrey off guard. “A bastard? A dead family? What does that even mean?”

John’s tone remained calm but firm. “It means there’s nothing for you in that past—no titles, no wealth, no legacy worth claiming. We’ve kept this from you because, trust us, it’s better that way. Knowing more could bring attention you don’t want.”

Godfrey clenched his fists, frustration rising. “What attention? Why shouldn’t I know where I come from?”

Hawker, leaning forward, spoke up before John could respond. “Listen, Godfrey. After the Fete, if you still want to know, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you the whole story. But it’s best if you don’t cloud your mind with tales of people who, frankly, were not good people. For now, focus on what’s ahead.”

The promise hung in the air, and Godfrey could feel the weight of it, even as he struggled with the uneasy feeling growing inside him.

Godfrey’s anger flared. “Who are you to keep something like that from me? I have a right to know!

Hawker’s expression hardened, but his voice remained steady as he leaned forward. “We’re your family, Godfrey. We love you with all our hearts. Everything we’ve done, we’ve done with your best interests in mind. You may not understand it right now, but we’re not your enemies.”

Hawker met his gaze with unwavering calm. “Can you trust that? For at least a while longer?”

The room fell silent, tension thick as Godfrey wrestled with his emotions.

John cleared his throat, his tone softening as he continued. “Godfrey, do you remember the Fete of Strength? How we never let you enter, year after year? You always wondered why.”

Godfrey’s brow furrowed. “Of course, I wondered. I watched everyone else compete, and you knew I could’ve held my own—maybe even won.”

John nodded, his gaze serious. “We knew that. But what you didn’t know is that your abilities—the ones we’ve been helping you control—are different. They’re not like ours. While we had to train endlessly to grasp even the basics, you… you’ve been instinctively tapping into them. That’s why we kept you out of the Fete. Drawing too much attention could have been dangerous—for you and for us.”

Godfrey’s eyes widened as the implications of John’s words began to sink in. “You’re saying… I could’ve used those powers without even knowing it?”

Hawker nodded gravely. “Yes. That’s why we decided to train you in the first place, despite the risks. Your abilities were progressing naturally, as impossible as it seemed, and we needed to ensure that you did not cause yourself permanent harm or disfigurement with untrained bursts of Control or Focus. And if you had entered the Fete, there was a very real risk that you might have tapped into those instinctual abilities without meaning to. You could have exposed yourself in front of the entire village—and in front of the Empire’s observers. In your words, you would have made quite a ‘good showing.’”

John’s expression turned serious as he added, “Once the observers noticed, you would have been in grave danger. The Empire doesn’t take kindly to untrained individuals wielding such power, especially someone as young as you. Even if we could prove your noble birth, which is truly improbable, they would have taken you away, and you would never have seen Oakvale again. Further, they would have dug a little deeper and found us. We would have been strung up for improperly teaching a potential inductee outside of the grounds of the Institute, and without the proper rank.”

Godfrey’s stomach twisted at the thought of what might have happened if he’d revealed his abilities. He looked at his uncles, seeing the unease in their eyes, sensing that something more was at play.

Hawker’s voice broke the heavy silence, low and measured. “You’re old enough now, Godfrey. Old enough to know the truth—the Empire isn’t what it once was. Things are in flux, shifting in ways that make even the seasoned nervous.”

John leaned in, his gaze serious, but there was something cryptic in his tone. “I’ve been getting letters, Godfrey. From old contacts, associates who haven’t written in years. They’re speaking in riddles, half-truths. The kind of talk that means something’s stirring, something big.”

Godfrey swallowed, the unease settling deeper in his chest. He looked between them, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s coming?”

Hawker and John exchanged a grim look before John spoke, his voice heavy with finality.

“War.”