Chapter 5: The Hawk Prepares Its Talons
The first light of dawn bled across the sky, painting the manor's towers in shades of pale gold. In the training yard, where the stones still held the cool of night, Aric stood alone.
His breath misted in the cold morning air. His fists tightened, loosened, then tightened again. He raised them, striking at the empty air—once, twice, a flurry. Each movement felt sharper, heavier, more precise than it had the day before.
He paused, staring at his hand. It wasn't imagination. He could feel it—his body, his muscles, his very bones thrummed with a vitality that had not been there yesterday. Every morning since his rebirth, he had awakened stronger, faster, sturdier. What had begun as a faint trickle was now a steady river.
He crouched, pressed his fingers against the flagstone floor, and pushed. The stone groaned. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath his hand.
He exhaled, heart racing.
A thrill coursed through him, but so too did caution. His father, his sister, the captains—they trained for years to achieve what he was gaining in days. If he revealed too much too soon, he would not only draw suspicion but also fear.
He stood, brushing the dust from his palm, and glanced toward the manor's high windows. Already, servants moved briskly through the halls. Soon, the council would gather. Soon, he would see how the family of the hawk prepared to spread its wings.
---
The great hall had been transformed for war. A long table dominated the space, its surface spread with parchment maps inked with rivers, mountains, and borders. Tiny carved figures marked towns and forts. Guards stood stiff along the walls, while captains and advisors murmured in tense voices as they waited.
Lord Arion entered first, his cloak billowing, his expression grim. Lady Serenya followed, her calm gaze taking in every detail. Lyra strode beside her mother, shoulders squared, while Kael trailed behind, too young for such matters yet unwilling to be left out.
Aric slipped in quietly, taking a place along the wall with the younger squires. His eyes, however, devoured everything.
"Sit," Lord Arion commanded. The voices hushed.
The mud-streaked rider stepped forward, bowing low. "My lord, I bring word from House Veylan. They demand tribute—grain, silver, and men for their levy. If we refuse, they march."
A ripple of anger swept the room. One of the captains slammed his fist against the table. "Arrogant bastards! Do they take us for peasants to be milked?"
Another, older and more cautious, shook his head. "Veylan is not a small house. Their levies number in the thousands. To defy them outright is to invite bloodshed."
"Better blood than chains!" the first spat.
Lady Serenya raised her hand slightly. "Tribute may buy time, nothing more. If we yield once, we will yield again. Veylan's appetite is not so easily sated."
Arion's gaze swept the table. "Then speak. Tribute, or steel?"
A heavy silence followed. Some looked away, unwilling to risk offense. Others clenched their jaws, torn between pride and survival.
Aric leaned forward slightly, his thoughts sharpening.
Lyra broke the silence. "Father, let us fight. The Hawk bows to no wolf. Give me command of the vanguard—I will show them Delsar steel."
Her boldness drew approving murmurs from some, worried frowns from others.
Kael piped up, fists clenched. "I'll fight too!"
A ripple of laughter passed through the captains, though not unkindly.
Arion's gaze remained steady. "You will both train. When war comes, you will be tested."
Aric's chest tightened.
But Lord Arion said nothing more. The council moved on, debating supply lines, fort positions, and alliances. One captain urged seeking aid from neighboring houses; another warned that allies could become vultures if the Delsars faltered.
Through it all, Aric listened, memorizing every word.
---
When the council ended, the captains dispersed, their faces set with grim resolve. Arion lingered at the table, staring down at the carved map pieces as if seeing the battlefield already painted in blood.
Aric hesitated, then approached.
"Father."
Arion looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You were listening."
"Yes."
"And what did you learn?"
Aric met his gaze evenly. "That tribute only feeds the wolf's hunger. If we bow now, we will bow again, until nothing remains of the Hawk."
A flicker of something—approval, perhaps—touched his father's eyes. Then it was gone, buried beneath iron discipline.
"You speak boldly," Arion said. "But words are wind. Strength and steel decide such matters. Tomorrow, you will spar with your sister again. I will see if your actions match your tongue."
Aric bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
---
That night, as the manor settled into uneasy quiet, Aric returned to the training yard. The moonlight washed the stones silver, the air sharp with the scent of pine drifting from the forests beyond the walls.
He struck, kicked, moved through the motions of the Delsar Hawk martial art. Each blow cracked the air like thunder. Each stance felt steadier, surer.
He looked up at the stars, a thousand distant fires scattered across the heavens.
Aric's pulse quickened.
He rushed inside to find his family already gathered. A second messenger stood there, this one pale and shaking, his cloak torn.
He dropped to one knee before Lord Arion. "My lord… forgive me. We caught a Veylan scout at the forest's edge. He carried more than maps. He carried a warning."
The hall froze.
"What warning?" Arion demanded.
The messenger lifted his eyes, fear stark within them. "That House Veylan does not wait for tribute. Their banners are already on the march."