The screams echoed through the village square. Rovan looked up from his forge, his hammer frozen mid-swing. A crowd was forming outside, and his heart sank. He knew what it meant.
Dropping his tools, he stepped out into the street. At the center of the crowd, three enforcers in dark armor stood like shadows. One of them held a young boy, barely ten, his arm gripped so tightly it was turning white. The boy was crying, small flames flickering on his hands—his magic had just awakened.
"By decree of Emperor Draegon, this child belongs to the empire," the enforcer announced. His voice was emotionless, mechanical.
The boy's mother was on her knees, clutching at the enforcer's leg. "Please," she sobbed. "He's all I have. Don't take him!"
The enforcer shoved her aside, his face a mask of indifference. "The gods have blessed him. He will serve the emperor now."
The crowd murmured, but no one dared step forward. They'd seen what happened to those who resisted—the burn marks on their homes, the unmarked graves in the woods.
Rovan felt his stomach twist, but he stayed back, hidden in the shadows of the alley. What could he do? He was just a blacksmith. No magic. No power. The enforcers would kill him in a heartbeat.
The boy's screams faded as the enforcers dragged him away. The crowd dispersed, heads down, avoiding each other's eyes. Rovan returned to his forge, but the sound of the boy's cries stayed with him, echoing in his mind long after the village grew silent.
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It was past midnight when Rovan heard the knock at his door. It was faint, hesitant, like someone trying not to be heard.
Frowning, he wiped his hands on his apron and opened the door. A small figure darted inside, trembling and out of breath. It was the boy—the one the enforcers had taken.
"You're supposed to be—" Rovan started, but the boy grabbed his hand.
"Please, don't send me back," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I ran away. They'll kill me if they find me."
Rovan stared at the boy, his heart pounding. Harboring a runaway was suicide. If the enforcers found out, they wouldn't just kill him—they'd burn the entire village to the ground. But he couldn't send the boy back. He just couldn't.
"Get inside," he said, pulling the boy into the back room. "Stay quiet. Don't make a sound."
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The next day, Rovan worked as usual, hammering away at the forge. He acted like nothing was wrong, but his mind was racing. The boy was still hiding in his workshop, and the enforcers were sure to come looking for him.
By nightfall, another knock came at the door. This time, it was a girl, no older than thirteen. Her hair was matted with dirt, her eyes wide with fear.
"They're taking us," she whispered. "I saw the boy come here. Please, I have nowhere else to go."
Rovan hesitated, his jaw tightening. "This isn't a safe place. You should—"
"I'll die if I go back," she said, her voice cracking.
He let her in.
By the end of the week, there were three more. A boy who could bend water, a girl who could grow flowers with a touch, and a quiet child whose eyes glowed silver in the dark. All of them had escaped the enforcers, running to the one place they thought they might be safe: Rovan's forge.
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Word spread quickly. The villagers began whispering about the blacksmith who was sheltering the children. Some were supportive, smuggling food and blankets to his forge. Others were afraid, warning Rovan to stop before he brought the emperor's wrath down on them all.
The enforcers returned, their shadowy presence looming over the village. They searched every house, every barn, every corner—except Rovan's forge. No one betrayed him. Not yet.
But Rovan knew it was only a matter of time. The enforcers weren't fools. They'd figure it out eventually. And when they did, there would be no escape.
Late one night, as the children slept in the back room, there was another knock at the door. This one was slow, deliberate. Rovan's heart sank.
He opened the door to find a woman cloaked in green, her face hidden in the shadows. Her voice was soft but firm. "You're hiding them, aren't you?"
Rovan said nothing, his hand tightening on the door.
The woman stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I'm not here to turn you in," she said. "I'm here to help. But if you want to protect these children, you'll need to learn the truth about the emperor—and about yourself."
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The next evening, just before the sun dipped below the horizon, Rovan left his forge. The children were asleep, curled up in the warmth of the dying fire. He made his way to the far end of the village, to the small house of his closest friend, Bram.
Bram was a farmer, broad-shouldered and quiet, the kind of man who could keep a secret. When Rovan knocked, Bram answered with a curious frown. "You're out late."
Rovan stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "I need a favor."
Bram crossed his arms, leaning against the wooden table. "This about the whispers I've been hearing? The children?"
Rovan nodded, his jaw tight. "If something happens to me, I need you to take care of them. Make sure they're fed, safe. Can you do that?"
Bram studied him for a moment, then sighed. "You've got yourself tangled in something dangerous, haven't you?"
"Just promise me."
Bram nodded. "I promise."
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The old mill was abandoned years ago, its wooden walls weathered and crumbling. It sat on the edge of the village, hidden among the trees. The perfect place for a secret meeting.
Rovan approached cautiously, keeping to the shadows. His hammer hung at his side—a poor weapon, but better than nothing. As he neared the mill, he saw her. The woman in green was waiting, her back to him.
He was about to step forward when movement caught his eye. Two figures approached the woman, their armor glinting in the moonlight. The emperor's enforcers.
Rovan froze, his breath catching in his throat. His first instinct was to run, but something about the scene made him stay. The woman didn't flinch. Instead, she turned to the enforcers, her head tilting slightly.
The men stopped a few paces from her, their posture tense. Then, she did something strange. Her eyes flashed—a brief, golden glow—and the men's shoulders relaxed. Without a word, they sat down on the ground, as if waiting for her orders.
Rovan's blood ran cold. What kind of power was this? Was she an ally, or something worse?
The woman turned her head, her glowing eyes locking onto his hiding spot. She raised her hand, beckoning him to come closer.
Rovan's instincts screamed at him to run, but curiosity and a strange pull in his chest made his feet move. Slowly, he stepped into the moonlight, his hand brushing the handle of his hammer.
"You didn't trust me," the woman said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Wise."
"Who are you?" Rovan demanded, his eyes flicking to the enforcers, who remained seated like obedient dogs.
"A friend," she said simply. "If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't have let you watch this." She gestured to the enforcers. "Now, sit. We have much to discuss."
Rovan didn't move. "What did you do to them?"
The woman smiled faintly. "A simple suggestion. They won't remember this conversation when they wake." Her gaze hardened. "You're protecting the children, aren't you?"
Rovan's grip on his hammer tightened. "What if I am?"
Her expression softened. "Then we have the same goal. The emperor is not invincible, blacksmith. But to fight him, we need to work together."
Rovan hesitated. "Why should I trust you?"
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Because I've been where those children are going. And I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."