The woman didn't say much after that. She handed him a slip of parchment and told him to read it only when he was alone. Then, she left, her figure vanishing into the woods like smoke.
Rovan stayed at the mill for a long time, his mind racing. What had he just witnessed? Who was this woman, and why did she care about the children?
When he finally returned to his forge, the children were still asleep. He sat by the fire, staring at the folded parchment in his hand. After a long moment, he opened it.
The note was written in sharp, slanted handwriting:
"The emperor's power is stolen. The gods' blessings are not his to take. Protect the children, and you'll learn the truth."
Rovan's fingers tightened around the paper. Stolen? What did that mean? And how was he supposed to protect the children when he couldn't even protect himself?
A knock at the door startled him, and his heart leapt into his throat. He grabbed his hammer and moved quietly to the door. When he opened it, Bram stood there, his face pale.
"They're searching houses," Bram said, his voice low. "The enforcers are looking for the boy."
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Rovan's blood turned cold. "Searching for what?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Bram hesitated, glancing over his shoulder before stepping inside. "The children. Someone must have told them."
Without another word, Rovan slammed the door shut and hurried to the corner of his forge. He pulled aside a heavy iron rack, revealing a narrow opening in the floor—a hidden cellar he rarely used. Dust and cobwebs covered the steps leading down.
"Wake up!" he whispered harshly, shaking the children gently. Their sleepy eyes widened with fear as they sensed the urgency in his voice. "You must stay here. Do not make a sound. No matter what you hear, do not come out."
The boy, the oldest among them, nodded and took the smaller children by the hand. "We'll stay quiet," he promised.
Rovan closed the trapdoor and slid the rack back into place. He could barely hear their breathing as he moved toward the door, hammer in hand, waiting for the inevitable knock. But the knock didn't come.
Minutes stretched into an eternity. The silence outside was more unnerving than any commotion. Unable to bear it any longer, Rovan pushed the door open slightly and peered outside.
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Torches flickered in the village square, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Rovan's heart sank as he saw the scene before him: villagers were being dragged from their homes and herded into a tight circle by the emperor's enforcers. Most of them were families—the parents of the missing children. Their faces were pale, their voices hushed with fear.
Rovan's jaw clenched. He knew what this was. The enforcers weren't looking for the children. They were looking for someone to blame.
As he crept closer, keeping to the shadows, a sharp voice rang out. "You!" A man's finger shot out, pointing directly at Rovan. It was Garris, a local butcher with a sour temperament. "He's hiding them! I saw him take them into his forge!"
A ripple of gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd. The enforcers turned in unison, their dark eyes locking onto Rovan's figure.
"Come forward," one of them barked, his voice cold and commanding. "Or we'll burn the forge to the ground."
Rovan stepped out of the shadows, his hands raised. "There's no need for that," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "I have nothing to hide."
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Two enforcers seized him roughly, dragging him toward the forge. Rovan's heart pounded as they kicked open the door, the clang of their boots echoing through the workshop. They tore through the place, overturning tools and supplies in their search.
Rovan's eyes flicked to the rack hiding the trapdoor, his mind racing. Please, let it be enough. Let them not find it.
But as the minutes passed, confusion spread across the enforcers' faces. They searched every corner, every crevice, but found no sign of the children.
"There's nothing here," one of them growled, turning to Rovan. "Where are they?"
Rovan kept his expression blank. "I told you. I have nothing to hide."
The leader of the group, a tall man with a cruel sneer, stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "If we find out you're lying, blacksmith, you'll wish we burned this place down."
Rovan held his ground, meeting the man's gaze. "Search all you want. You won't find what doesn't exist."
The enforcer let out a low growl of frustration but signaled for his men to leave. As they marched out, Rovan's knees nearly gave way with relief. But one thought nagged at him: Where did the children go?
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When the enforcers were gone, Rovan locked the door and hurried to the rack. He moved it aside and lifted the trapdoor, expecting to see frightened faces looking up at him.
The cellar was empty.
Rovan stared, his mind struggling to make sense of it. They were too young to climb out, too small to slip past the enforcers. And yet, they were gone.
A soft rustle behind him made him spin around, hammer in hand. The woman in green stood in the corner of his forge, her hood pulled low over her face.
"How did you get in here?" Rovan demanded, his voice a harsh whisper.
She ignored his question, her gaze sweeping over the room. "They're safe," she said calmly. "For now."
Rovan stepped closer, his hammer raised. "What did you do?"
"I moved them," she said simply. "They're somewhere the emperor's men can't reach. Somewhere they'll be protected."
Rovan's grip tightened on the hammer. "And why should I believe you?"
She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Because if I wanted them—or you—dead, it would've been far easier to let the enforcers find them."
Rovan lowered his hammer reluctantly but didn't take his eyes off her. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"I told you before. I'm a friend," she said. Her voice softened slightly. "And I want the same thing you do—to stop the emperor. But to do that, we need to trust each other."
Rovan crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "Trust is earned."
Her smile widened. "Then let me earn it."
Before he could respond, she slipped past him and out the door, her cloak blending into the night. Rovan stared after her, his mind a whirlwind of questions. Who was this woman? How had she moved the children without anyone noticing? And what did she mean by somewhere the emperor's men can't reach?
As he locked the door again, one thing was certain: his quiet life as a blacksmith was over. Whatever storm was coming, he was already caught in its eye.
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The enforcers, after hours of fruitless searching, had no choice but to leave the forge. They dragged the accused informant, Garris, into the square, their frustration boiling over.
"You lied to us," the leader growled, his fists clenched. "Do you think we're fools?"
"I didn't lie!" Garris wailed, his voice cracking. "I saw them go into the forge! I swear!"
The enforcers didn't care. They beat him mercilessly in front of the horrified villagers, using him as an example to discourage others from "wasting their time." Bloodied and barely conscious, Garris was finally dumped at the edge of the square as the enforcers mounted their horses and rode off into the night.
The blacksmith watched from the shadows, anger and disgust curling in his stomach. He knew Garris's accusations could have cost him everything, but even so, seeing the butcher treated like that made his blood boil. This is the emperor's justice, he thought bitterly.
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For days, Rovan stayed on edge, jumping at every sound and watching the road for signs of the children—or the woman in green. Neither appeared. The silence gnawed at him, filling his thoughts with dark worries.
What if they're not safe? What if she lied? The note she had left behind spoke of protecting the children, but her disappearance made him doubt her words.
He tried to focus on his work, hammering out horseshoes and tools for the villagers, but his heart wasn't in it. Every swing of his hammer felt heavy with guilt and fear. The forge felt empty without the quiet chatter of the children.