Rovan walked through the village, his head low as he listened to the town crier's booming voice echo through the streets. A crowd had gathered in the square, their faces a mixture of confusion and fear.
"By decree of the emperor," the crier announced, his tone stern and commanding, "all men of age are to report to the barracks within two days! You are to pledge your strength to the emperor and prepare for battle against the ancient devils that threaten our land!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a few voices raised in protest. "But why us?" a farmer shouted. "The emperor has his magic! He can fight the devils without us!"
The crier's sharp glare silenced the man. "This is not a request. The emperor calls, and you will obey. You have two days to settle your affairs and report. Those who fail to appear will be punished as traitors."
Rovan's stomach churned. This wasn't just a draft—it was a trap. The emperor wasn't preparing for war; he was tightening his grip on the people, forcing them into submission.
The crowd began to disperse, their voices hushed with fear. Rovan stayed back, watching as the crier rolled up his scroll and marched off with two enforcers. His mind raced. Two days. That was all the time he had to get the children to safety before the emperor's men noticed his absence.
He turned and headed back to his forge, his fists clenched. He had to move now.
Rovan packed quickly, grabbing supplies from his forge and stuffing them into a worn leather satchel. He strapped his hammer to his belt and threw on his thick traveling cloak. The weight of the task ahead pressed on him, but there was no time for doubt.
He slipped out of the village under the cover of darkness, avoiding the patrols that had become more frequent since the new decree. His heart pounded as he made his way back to the wasteland, the barren land stretching out before him under the pale moonlight.
When he reached the hidden sanctuary, Driafin was waiting for him, the old man's expression calm but knowing. "You've made your decision," he said.
"I don't have a choice," Rovan replied, his voice firm. "The emperor's calling every man to fight. If I don't leave now, it'll be too late for the children."
Driafin nodded, his gaze shifting to the children, who were gathered in a circle, their powers shimmering faintly in the dim light. "They're ready. But the journey won't be easy. The emperor's eyes are everywhere."
"I'll handle it," Rovan said, though his stomach twisted at the thought. "Just tell me where to go."
Driafin placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so old. "Follow the north road until you reach the edge of the forest. There's a hidden path there, marked by three stones. It will lead you to the sanctuary. But be warned: the emperor's magic reaches far. He will sense the children's powers if they're not kept hidden."
Rovan frowned. "How do I hide them?"
Driafin pulled a small, intricately carved amulet from his robes and handed it to him. "This will suppress their magic for a time, but it comes at a cost. The longer they stay hidden, the weaker they'll become. You must get them to the sanctuary quickly."
Rovan took the amulet, its surface cool and smooth against his palm. "I'll get them there."
Rovan gathered the children, their small faces looking up at him with a mix of hope and fear. They carried small bundles of belongings, their eyes wide with trust.
"Stay close," he told them. "No noise, no wandering. We move as one."
Driafin watched as they prepared to leave, his gaze lingering on Rovan. "Remember, blacksmith," he said softly, "the gods are watching. This is your path now."
Rovan nodded, the weight of those words settling heavily on his shoulders. He turned to the children. "Let's go."
The group moved quickly through the wasteland, the barren land giving way to rocky terrain. The children stayed close, their small footsteps almost silent. Rovan kept his hammer in hand, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of danger.
The journey had begun, and there was no turning back.
The journey was tougher than Rovan had expected. With each passing hour, the forest grew denser, its shadows deeper and more menacing. The children clung to each other, their small hands gripping tightly onto their bundles. Rovan led the way, his hammer always in hand, his senses sharper than ever.
Twice that day, they had narrowly avoided enforcers. The first time, Rovan had spotted their torches flickering in the distance and quickly herded the children off the path, hiding them beneath a cluster of thick bushes. They had waited in tense silence as the enforcers marched past, their armor clinking ominously.
The second encounter had been even closer. An enforcer's dog had caught their scent, its growl low and threatening. Rovan had grabbed a handful of dried herbs from his satchel—something Bram had given him for emergencies—and thrown it into the wind. The pungent smell had made the dog recoil, whining and pulling back, saving them yet again.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, their group was exhausted. The children stumbled with each step, their faces pale with fear and fatigue.
"We'll rest here," Rovan said, stopping at a clearing near the path.
The children sank to the ground, huddling close to one another for warmth. Rovan set up a small fire, its flames barely enough to ward off the cold but hopefully too small to attract attention.
Rovan sat by the fire, his back to a large tree, watching over the children as they drifted to sleep. His eyes scanned the darkness, every rustle of leaves setting his nerves on edge. This forest was wrong—he could feel it in his bones.
He glanced at the path they'd been following, the three stones marking the way barely visible in the firelight. They were supposed to lead to the sanctuary, but as of now, there was no sign of it. No shelter, no protection—nothing.
"Driafin better not have lied to me," Rovan muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the hammer.
As the night deepened, he began to notice odd things. The path itself seemed to shift and twist, as if it had a mind of its own. When he blinked, he'd find the stones in slightly different places than before, as though the forest was playing tricks on him.
The trees weren't normal either. He swore he saw one move—a subtle, shuffling motion as if it had taken a step. When he stared harder, it stood still, as if mocking him.
But the worst was the feeling of being watched. He scanned the shadows, but they were empty. Yet he knew they weren't alone. The forest had other occupants, though whether they were friend or foe, he couldn't tell.
Rovan's skin prickled as he turned his attention back to the children. They were sleeping soundly, but for how long?
Sometime past midnight, Rovan heard it—a faint rustling, too deliberate to be the wind. His heart pounded as he gripped his hammer tightly, his eyes darting toward the sound.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice low but firm.
The rustling stopped. Silence.
He rose slowly, stepping away from the fire and into the shadows. His boots crunched softly against the forest floor as he moved toward the sound.
Then he saw it—a figure, cloaked and hooded, standing just beyond the trees. Its outline was faint, almost ghostly, and it didn't move.
Rovan's grip tightened on his hammer. "Show yourself," he demanded, his voice sharper.
The figure didn't respond. Instead, it melted into the shadows, disappearing as though it had never been there.
Rovan swallowed hard, his heart racing. He turned back toward the fire, his instincts screaming at him to wake the children and keep moving. But where could they go? The forest seemed alive, shifting around them, and he still didn't know if Driafin's sanctuary was real or just a cruel lie. Rovan lay still, wishing the daylight to come. He hoped whatever the sanctuary was real and not a joke or lie.