Chapter 4: The Family Book
The second morning arrived without a sound.
The fog from the valley pressed against the glass of the nursery windows. Inside, the nursery was perfectly quiet.
Leon lay in his crib. His arms pinned beneath the layers of clean blankets. He was awake and blankly staring at a small crack in the wood beam above his head.
He took a slow and light breath. After some time of observing, the silence broke. The heavy door opened as Marcus walked into the room first as his massive frame naturally pushed away the morning cold.
In his hands, he carried a thick and rectangular registry, the official registry of House Hayes.
Behind him walked Roland. He moved quietly as his boots made no sound on the floor and stood a step back of his father, crossing his arms over his chest.
Marcus set the book down on the table near the crib with a dull thud. He loosened a small silver inkwell from his belt and set it beside the pages.
"He’s awake," Marcus murmured, his deep voice a low rumble that vibrated right through the quiet room. He leaned over the crib as his thick beard brushed against the edge of the wood, looking down at Leon.
"Look at him. Not a single cry since the sun broke. He just lies there and watches the room."
Roland took a step forward as his gaze fixed on his brother. His presence was already steady and solid, holding a quiet weight that belonged to someone who spent every morning training.
"He is quiet, Father. When I was ten, I remember the maids saying a normal infant screams every time the light changes. Is something wrong with him?"
"No," Marcus said, shaking his head as he pulled back the leather cover of the Hayes Household book. "He isn’t screaming because his body is fully at peace with the air around him. He feels the room and he isn’t afraid of it."
Marcus dipped a long, heavy iron quill into the silver inkwell. The ink was thick and dark, smelling strongly of charcoal and iron filings.
Leon’s eyes rolled slightly toward the table, tracking the scratch scratch sound of the quill against the rough paper. He did not understand what his father was doing.
To his baby senses, the movement of his father’s hand seem large as his bulky frame blocked the lights of fire lights.
As Viscount Marcus pressed the nib of the quill into the page, writing the name Leon Hayes, a tiny ripple of intent passed through the room.
It wasn’t a pulse of raw magic. It was simply the absolute weight of a father’s decision as he anchored the dense and warm essence.
Roland watched the wet ink settle into the page, his expression calm and serious. There was no jealousy in his frame and no calculation about lands or future titles as he was a loving brother. The House Hayes was stable and his place as the heir was a settled fact throughout the land.
"Leon," Roland read the name aloud. "It is a short name."
"A name doesn’t need to be long to hold weight, Roland," Marcus said, wiping the nib of the quill with a small cloth. He closed the registry with a heavy thud that made Leon blink hard in his crib.
"It just needs to belong to the man who carries it. From today onward, he is officially on the records of the family. No matter where he goes or what path he chooses to forge, he is and will be a son of this house. The family ledger would record him as Leon Hayes, second son of me, the Viscount Marcus Hayes."
As they were talking about Leon, Vera walked into the nursery. Her loose morning gown rustling softly against the floor. She carried a small cup of warm herbal tea as her quiet essence naturally warmed the air around her. She looked at her husband, then at her eldest son and finally down at the baby.
"Have you finished the registry?" she asked softly.
"It’s done," Marcus said as he lifted the heavy book back into his arms. He reached down towards Leon and gently tapped his chin.
"He’s all yours for the afternoon, Vera. Roland and I have to meet the blacksmiths down at the lower yard. We have to check the quality of the materials made are good enough or not."
Roland gave his mother a short, respectful nod. He looked down into the crib one last time as his eyes lingered on Leon’s small and uncoordinated hands for a silent second before he turned and followed his father out into the corridor.
The door clicked shut, leaving the nursery in a warm and quiet stillness once again.
Vera sat down in the wooden rocking chair by the crib, letting out a long, slow sigh. She didn’t pick Leon up immediately. She gently reached through the wooden rails, her soft, warm hand resting gently against his blanketed stomach.
The afternoon stretched out as lights became visibly thin and pale.
Vera leaned her head back against the wood of the chair and began to hum. It sounded like a very old, wordless melody. The notes rising and falling with a lazy, mindful rhythm.
As she hummed, the air in the nursery changed. Her essence, thick, gentle and deep flowed out into the quiet space. It didn’t push against the room as it just simply filled it, turning the cold afternoon chill into a heavy and comfortable blanket.
Leon lay perfectly still, his eyes fixed on her face. The sound waves of her song hit his ears. He listened the song with a curious face while seeing the movement of his mother’s lips.
"You like that one, don’t you?" Vera murmured, breaking the song to watch his slow, steady blinking.
Her voice was thin with a deep, hidden exhaustion. "Your father thinks strength is only made of physical power and absolute discipline. He is right but he often forgets that the world outside this valley doesn’t care how hard your bones are."
She looked toward the tall windows, her gaze drifting far past the gardens to the wild.
"Before I met him, I spent three years traveling the coastlines near the independent oceans. I saw things that don’t belong in stories, Leon. I saw coral skinned empires that breathe beneath the deep tides and sea serpents so massive they turn the water black for miles. The world is a very large and uncaring place. It doesn’t give you a path just because you exist. You have to find a way to make it look at you."
She leaned closer, her warm hand lifting him from the crib to rest against her chest. "The future will be hard for you. Unlike your older brother and us, you will have time and comfort. Your future will be peaceful and you are free to do as you want."
After talking to Leon, a sigh escaped her lips, "What am I even saying? He is just born and here I am, reminiscing about my past to someone who can’t even understand my words."
An hour later, after Vera had placed him back down and left to check the kitchens, the nursery fell quiet. The sun had shifted completely, leaving the floorboards mostly in shadow.
The heavy door gave a low creak, opening just wide enough for a small head to peek through.
Iris stepped into the room, her bare feet making a faint pat pat sound against the stone. Now that the adults were gone, her movements lost all of their earlier hesitation.
She scurried over to the side of the crib, her hands gripping the wooden rails as she stood on her tiptoes to peer inside. She carried a tiny, freshly carved piece of soft pine wood in her palm.
"Look what I made," she whispered as she leaned down until her loose brown curls brushed against Leon’s face.
Leon’s eyes twitched at the scratchy sensation, his hands waving randomly in the air. Iris held the small wooden object right in front of his face. It was a rough, simple carving of a bird, uneven but smoothed down carefully at the edges so it wouldn’t poke him.
She gently tucked the little wooden bird into the corner of his swaddling cloth, right next to his shoulder.
"Don’t tell Roland," she muttered, letting out a small and proud giggle. She watched Leon’s fingers twitch toward the new scent of pine.
"He thinks I’m supposed to be practicing my forms right now. But I wanted to spend some time with my baby brother. I am the older one from now on."
She reached out and lightly tapped the tip of his nose watching him blink hard before she spun around and ran out of the room as fast as she had entered. After she left, the nursery became completely still as the first hints of dusk began.