It was mid-afternoon when the door to the forge swung open, and a tall, hooded figure stepped inside. The man's face was shadowed, but his voice was firm.
"I need a custom order," he said, placing a small bag of coins on the workbench. The jingle of the coins was enough to catch Rovan's attention.
"What kind of order?" Rovan asked, eyeing the man warily.
"Weapons. Enough to arm a small company," the stranger said. His tone was casual, but there was something sharp beneath it, like a blade hidden under silk.
Rovan's brows furrowed. "That's a lot of weapons. What do you need them for?"
"That's not your concern," the man said, his voice lowering. As he slid a piece of parchment across the table, he added, "What should concern you is this."
Rovan picked up the note, his eyes scanning the words written in neat, precise handwriting:
"The children are safe. If you want answers, come to the wasteland on the edge of the cliffs. Midnight."
When Rovan looked up, the man was already gone.
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The cursed wasteland was a place of fear and superstition. Blackened earth stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with twisted, lifeless trees and the skeletal remains of old structures. Stories of strange whispers and shadowy figures had kept most villagers far away.
Rovan hesitated at the edge of the cliffs, gripping his hammer tightly. The wind howled around him, carrying a faint metallic tang. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, but the memory of the children's frightened faces pushed him forward.
He stepped into the wasteland, his boots crunching against the brittle ground. The moon cast an eerie glow, and every shadow seemed to move just out of the corner of his eye.
He walked for what felt like hours until he saw it: a faint glow in the distance, like firelight.
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As Rovan approached, the glow grew brighter, revealing a hidden camp surrounded by ancient, crumbling stone walls. Children moved freely, their laughter and chatter filling the air. But what stunned him most was what they were doing.
Some practiced with weapons, their movements swift and precise. Others stood in small groups, their hands glowing with magic as they conjured flames, gusts of wind, or shimmering barriers. The fear and helplessness he'd seen in their eyes before were gone, replaced by determination and focus.
"Rovan," a deep voice called, breaking him from his shock.
He turned to see an old man with a long, white beard and piercing blue eyes. The man leaned on a staff carved with intricate runes that seemed to pulse faintly with power.
"Who are you?" Rovan asked, his voice wary.
"I am Driafin," the man said, his tone calm yet commanding. "And I am their teacher."
Rovan's eyes darted around. "What is this place? How are they—"
"They are learning to control their gifts," Driafin interrupted. "The emperor's men would use them as weapons, but here, they can be free."
"And the woman in green?" Rovan asked, his voice hardening. "She said she'd protect them."
Driafin nodded. "She brought them here, yes. But her work takes her elsewhere. She trusted me to guide them, to prepare them for what's coming."
"What's coming?" Rovan asked, his chest tightening.
Driafin's gaze darkened. "War. The emperor's grip is tightening, and those who oppose him will need strength. These children are the future, Rovan. And so are you."
"Me?" Rovan scoffed. "I'm just a blacksmith. I don't have magic."
Driafin smiled faintly. "Magic is not the only power in this world. You have courage, loyalty, and a heart that refuses to stand by while others suffer. That is why the children trust you. That is why you're here."
Before Rovan could respond, a small hand tugged at his sleeve. He looked down to see the boy who had led the others into the forge.
"We're safe now," the boy said, his voice quiet but steady. "Thank you."
Rovan swallowed hard, his throat tight. For the first time in days, a glimmer of hope stirred in his chest. Maybe he wasn't powerless after all.
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Rovan leaned against the stone wall of the cavern, his hammer resting heavily in his hand. Before him sat Driafin, the old master, his face a map of age and wisdom. Around them, the children trained their powers, laughter and concentration mingling in the air.
"Many years ago," Driafin began, his voice low but clear, "the emperor's family made a pact with the gods. They were not always powerful, you see. Once, they were just like you—ordinary. But they desired more."
Rovan's brows furrowed. "A pact? For what?"
"For magic," Driafin said, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anger and sorrow. "The gods granted them immense power to rule the land. In return, the family was sworn to protect the balance of the world and uphold the gods' will. But greed twisted their hearts."
Rovan stared at the old man. "If they were given magic to protect, why do they take the children? Why destroy the gifted?"
Driafin smiled faintly, his face shadowed by the flickering torchlight. "Because of the clause in the pact. A single line, overlooked by the emperor's ancestors in their thirst for power: If the ruler of this land raises their hand against one of the blessed, their power shall be destroyed, absorbed into the blessed, and their family shall fall."
Rovan's heart skipped a beat. "The blessed…?"
"No one knows who the blessed are," Driafin admitted. "That's why the emperor's men hunt every gifted child. If they control all the gifted, they can ensure the blessed never rises. It is their only way to avoid losing their power."
The blacksmith's mind raced. The emperor wasn't just ruling through fear—he was terrified. The children, their magic, were his greatest threat.
"But how do you know this?" Rovan asked, narrowing his eyes. "Who are you, really?"
Driafin's expression darkened. "That is a story for another time, blacksmith. For now, what you must understand is this: every child you save weakens the emperor's grip. If the blessed emerges, the emperor's reign will crumble."
Rovan clenched his fists. "And what am I supposed to do? I'm no mage, no warrior. I'm just a man with a hammer."
Driafin chuckled softly. "The gods often use the most unlikely tools to shape their will. Your hammer is not just a weapon—it is a symbol of resistance, a spark that can ignite a flame. Protect the children, and you will be more than just a blacksmith."
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Rovan watched as the children practiced, their powers growing stronger under Driafin's guidance. Some conjured fire, others moved objects with their minds, and one child even created small bursts of light that danced in the air like fireflies.
Driafin approached him again, his voice low. "I have a plan to get the children to safety. There is a sanctuary far from the emperor's reach, hidden by ancient wards. But the journey is dangerous, and I am too old to make it alone."
Rovan frowned. "You want me to take them?"
"Yes," Driafin said simply. "You are strong, resourceful. And the children trust you."
The blacksmith sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What if we're caught? What if I fail?"
"You won't fail," Driafin said firmly. "The emperor's fear is your greatest weapon. His men won't expect resistance from a blacksmith. And besides…" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The gods are watching you, Rovan. They have chosen you for this."
The words sent a shiver down Rovan's spine. Chosen? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but something in Driafin's eyes stopped him.
Rovan stayed awake long after the children had fallen asleep. The cavern was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire. His thoughts swirled, heavy with doubt and fear.
Could he really do this? Could he lead these children to safety, defy the emperor, and risk everything he'd ever known?
He looked at the sleeping children, their faces peaceful despite the danger they faced. One of them stirred, a young girl with fiery hair and freckles. She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Rovan's chest tightened. For so long, he'd believed he was nothing more than a blacksmith, a man bound to his forge. But now, these children were looking to him for hope. For protection. For a future.
And for the first time in his life, he felt something stir deep within him. A fire, burning brighter than the one in his forge.
"I'll do it," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "I'll protect them. No matter what."
The road ahead was uncertain, and danger lurked around every corner. But Rovan knew one thing for sure: he wouldn't let the emperor take these children. Not while he still drew breath.