As they left the sanctuary and entered the forest, Rovan slipped the bone flute into his pouch, feeling its weight like a promise.
The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: his journey was going to be a long one. And though he walked into the unknown, he carried with him the hope of the children and the strength he had gained in the sanctuary.
Rovan's boots hit the dusty road with each heavy step, his mind filled with disbelief. When he reached the nearest village after leaving the sanctuary, he learned the ugly truth: he had only been gone a week, but in that time, the empire had turned upside down.
Every able-bodied man across the villages had been rounded up. The strongest were sent straight to the palace, while the rest were scattered to lesser garrisons. There was no mercy. The enforcers made it clear—no one could escape the emperor's command.
Rovan wasn't spared. Four enforcers stood watch over him as they marched to the capital. Each carried a sharp blade and a look that promised swift punishment if he tried anything.
The palace loomed over them like a dark shadow, its towers seemingly piercing the sky. Inside, Rovan was thrown into chaos. Men of all shapes and sizes filled the training grounds, their faces smeared with sweat and dirt.
The training was brutal. They were taught to fight with swords, spears, and their bare hands. Weakness wasn't tolerated. By the second day, Rovan saw three men collapse during drills, only for the trainers to drag their limp bodies to the edge of the field and leave them there.
"The gods do not take kindly to weakness," one of the trainers barked, his voice cold. "If you cannot endure, you do not deserve to serve."
Rovan gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, his body aching from the relentless drills. He knew he had to survive. The children were counting on him.
That evening, whispers filled the quarters: there was to be a grand banquet in the main hall. Rovan's curiosity burned. He didn't belong to the invited ranks, but his instincts told him he had to see it.
Under the cover of shadows, he slipped past the guards, his movements precise thanks to the training he'd received at the sanctuary. The grand hall was a dazzling display of wealth and excess. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light reflecting off polished marble floors. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and wines so rich their scent alone was intoxicating.
At the center of it all sat the emperor.
Rovan's breath caught. The man was nothing like he'd imagined. The emperor was large, his face round and ruddy, his fingers heavy with jeweled rings. He sat lazily on a throne carved from ivory, his small eyes flicking over the dancers who twirled before him.
On his right sat a woman in red, her face sharp with age and experience. On his left sat someone who made Rovan's blood run cold.
The woman in green.Rovan recognized her with a single look.
Her emerald cloak was replaced with silken robes, her hair adorned with golden pins. But her eyes were unmistakable—sharp, calculating, and familiar.
Rovan's heart beat faster as he moved closer, trying to stay out of sight.
A hush fell over the hall as the emperor clapped his hands. The dancers scattered, leaving the floor empty. From the shadows, three prisoners were dragged forward, their hands bound and their faces pale with fear.
"Tonight," the emperor boomed, his voice heavy with amusement, "we honor the gods with a display of their power. Let us witness their judgment!"
Rovan watched, his stomach twisting, as the woman in green stood. She raised her hand, and the air crackled with energy.
The first prisoner screamed as his body lifted off the ground, twisted unnaturally by an invisible force. With a final, agonizing cry, he burst into flames, leaving only ash.
The hall erupted in cheers and laughter, but Rovan could barely breathe.
The second prisoner tried to run, but the woman in green snapped her fingers. A jagged spike of ice shot from the floor, impaling him through the chest. Blood pooled around his lifeless body as the crowd roared.
The third prisoner begged for mercy, falling to his knees. The woman paused, her lips curling into a faint smile. Then, with a flick of her wrist, shadows enveloped him, swallowing him whole. When the darkness disappeared, nothing remained.
Rovan's fists clenched, his heart pounding. The emperor's cruelty and the woman's power made his skin crawl. He wanted to run, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
As the crowd cheered, the woman in green glanced in his direction. For a moment, their eyes met, and Rovan felt a chill run down his spine. Did she recognize him?
He slipped back into the shadows, his mind racing. The emperor wasn't just a tyrant—he was a monster. And the woman in green wasn't just anyone—she was a weapon, the emperor's right hand, it seemed. Why had she acted like she was interested in the children's safety? He thought.
Rovan knew one thing for certain: he had to find a way to fight back. But first, he had to survive.
That night, Rovan lay on the floor alongside the other men, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of the men who were killed at the banquet. Their screams echoed in his mind, filling him with guilt and anger.
The room was silent except for the occasional sound of snoring. He tried to push the images away, but then he heard it—a faint whisper.
At first, he thought it was the murmuring of soldiers patrolling outside. But the sound grew louder, insistent, and it felt like it was calling his name.
"Rovan…"
He sat up, heart racing. The voice didn't seem to come from any one direction. It was everywhere and nowhere.
He glanced around the room. No one else stirred. Taking a deep breath, he got up and followed the sound.
The whispers led him out of the sleeping quarters and into the cool night air. He moved carefully, slipping past the guards on watch. His training at the sanctuary served him well—silent steps, quick movements, blending into the shadows.
The voice grew stronger, almost like the silent way the nuns had spoken. It wasn't sound—it was a call in his mind.
Finally, he reached the edge of the palace grounds. A small garden lay ahead, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. And there, standing beneath an ancient tree, was the woman in green.
She smiled when she saw him.
"You," Rovan hissed, anger flaring in his chest. "Who are you? Why do you lie? One moment, you help me, and the next, you kill for the emperor!"
He took a step closer, fists clenched. "Are you on his side or against him?"
She tilted her head, her emerald eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Calm yourself, blacksmith."
Before he could say another word, she stepped forward and pulled him into a kiss. Her lips were warm and firm against his, catching him completely off guard. His mind spun. He liked the kiss and started responding to it, but he knew it was too strange. Struggling to push her off, she slipped a finger down his spine sending shivers through. Rovan gasped and she slipped in her tongue.
When she finally pulled away, Rovan stared at her, confused and breathless.
"Wha—" he began, but she raised a finger to her lips and pointed behind him.
Two guards strolled past the edge of the garden, their lanterns casting long shadows.
"To them," she whispered softly, "we're just two lovers enjoying the moonlight."
Realizing the truth, Rovan exhaled shakily.
Her voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "You got the children to safety, I assume?"
"Yes," Rovan said after a moment. "But—"
She cut him off. "Good. Then the real work begins."
Her tone turned sharp, her gaze intense. "The emperor's grip on this land will end. His cruelty, his greed—it will burn to ash. But I need your help, Rovan."
His heart pounded. "Who are you? Why do you act like this?"
She smiled faintly, her expression unreadable. "I am many things, blacksmith. But for now, think of me as someone who wants to see the emperor fall as much as you do."
Before he could press her further, she stepped back into the shadows. "Stay alive, Rovan. You're more important than you know."
And then, as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.
Rovan stood there, his heart racing, his mind spinning with questions. Who was she really? Could he trust her? And what did she mean by "the real work begins"?
For now, there were no answers—only the cold wind and the faint scent of her still lingering on his lips.