The woman in green leaned forward, her piercing eyes locking with Rovan's. The warmth of the forge did little to chase away the chill that crept into the room as she began her tale.
"Long ago," she said, her voice low, "there was a kingdom much like yours. Its lands were vast, its people proud, and its rulers... blind. They had power, but they used it poorly. Their council was corrupt, their decisions selfish. Sound familiar?"
Rovan frowned but said nothing.
"In this kingdom lived a young woman," the woman in green continued. "She was clever, ambitious, but powerless. She watched as her people suffered under the council's greed. Her family starved while nobles feasted. And so, she made a choice—a dangerous one."
"What choice?" Rovan asked, unable to help himself.
"She sought out a god," the woman said simply. "A god known for his cruelty but also his ability to grant great power. She begged him for strength to change her fate. And the god... agreed."
Rovan's brow furrowed. "What did it cost her?"
The woman in green's smile was grim. "Everything. He gave her power, but at a price. Her humanity was stripped away. She became something... other. Neither human nor divine, but something in between. With her newfound strength, she overthrew the council, brought justice to her people, and ruled the land. But in doing so, she became the very thing she had hated—a tyrant, feared and loathed."
The forge crackled, the only sound in the heavy silence that followed.
"What happened to her?" Rovan asked, his voice quieter now.
"She ruled for many years, but her loneliness consumed her. Power without purpose is a curse, Rovan. She learned that too late." The woman in green tilted her head. "Do you see the point of this story?"
Rovan shook his head. "I don't want power. I didn't ask for it."
"No," she agreed. "But it's been given to you. The question is, what will you do with it? Will you run from it, as she did at first? Or will you use it wisely, before it consumes you?"
Rovan leaned back, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. "And who was this woman? What became of her?"
The woman in green's smile faltered, a rare vulnerability flickering across her face. "She lives still," she said softly. "Carrying the weight of her choices, always wondering if she could have done better."
Rovan studied her, his mind turning over her words. "Why tell me this?"
"Because you are at a crossroads, Rovan," she said. "And the path you choose will shape more than just your life. It will shape the fate of this world."
He stared into the forge, its flames reflecting in his eyes. "What do you think I should do?"
The woman in green stood, brushing her hands down the folds of her dress. "You already know the answer. You just need the courage to act on it."
As she turned to leave, she paused at the door. "Oh, one more thing. The half-human—the one who claims she wishes to rule this world—she's not as patient as I am. Be ready, Rovan. She's coming, and she won't take no for an answer."
Rovan sat in the dim light of the forge long after she had gone, the weight of her words pressing down on him. The embers glowed faintly, as if waiting for him to stoke the flames again.
And somewhere in the distance, a faint, bone-chilling howl echoed through the night.
**************************************************************************
That night, Rovan tossed and turned in his bed, his body heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refusing to rest. When he finally drifted off, his dreams were far from peaceful.
He stood in the middle of a field, his hands raised, as storms raged across the land. With a wave of his hand, he calmed the winds, brought rain to the dry lands, and stopped earthquakes from tearing villages apart. His people cheered his name, calling him their savior.
But every time he solved a disaster, he felt weaker. A strange coldness seeped into him, his limbs growing heavier with each miracle. He looked down and saw his veins turning dark, his skin pale. Blood oozed from his pores, soaking into the ground like a sacrifice.
Still, the cries of his people didn't stop. "Save us, Blessed One!" they called.
Desperate to help, Rovan kept going, giving more of himself. He raised his arms again, summoning his powers to shield the people from an oncoming plague. But when the work was done, he stumbled, his knees hitting the ground.
He looked at his hands—there was no blood left in him. His veins were empty, his skin ashen. A hunger tore at his insides, sharp and relentless.
The people surrounded him, cheering for their savior, unaware of what he had become. His mouth watered, his hunger unbearable. He lunged at the nearest villager, sinking his teeth into their neck.
The cheers turned to screams as he tore through the crowd, consuming them one by one. No matter how much he fed, the hunger only grew.
"Stop!" he screamed, but his body wouldn't listen. He was a monster, devouring the very people he had sworn to protect.
Rovan jolted awake, his breath ragged and his body drenched in sweat. He gripped the edge of his bed, his heart racing. The images from the dream were so vivid, they felt real.
He stumbled to the forge, splashing water on his face from a bucket. The coolness helped, but his hands still trembled.
A noise outside made him freeze. Footsteps.
Rovan grabbed his hammer and crept to the door, his senses on edge. When he opened it, the cool night air hit him, but it was the sight before him that made his blood run cold.
Three members of the council stood in the flickering light of a lantern, their faces shadowed and unreadable. Beside them was a mage, his dark robes billowing in the soft breeze.
"Rovan," one of the councilmen said, his tone grave. "We need to talk."
The mage stepped forward, his gaze piercing. "Your dreams—they aren't just dreams, are they?"
Rovan's grip on the hammer tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do you want from me?"
The mage's eyes glinted in the darkness. "It's not about what we want. It's about what you've already become."
Rovan stood at the forge's entrance, the council members and the mage watching him closely. Their words weighed heavily on his mind, but before he could respond, a distant sound broke the tense silence.
It was faint at first—a mix of cries and scuffling footsteps. Rovan's head snapped toward the village square, his heart tightening.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice low but sharp.
The councilmen exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them answered.
Rovan didn't wait. He grabbed his hammer and stormed toward the noise. The council and the mage followed behind him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and fear.
When Rovan reached the square, a chilling scene met his eyes. Two enforcers, clad in dark uniforms and armed with cruel rods, were dragging a screaming child toward a waiting wagon. The child's mother knelt on the ground, her hands clutching at the enforcers' boots, begging for mercy.
"Please!" she cried. "He's done nothing wrong! He's just a boy!"
The enforcers kicked her aside, their faces hard and unyielding.
Rovan felt a surge of rage boil within him, hotter than any flame in his forge. Without thinking, he raised his hand, and a wave of energy shot out, knocking the enforcers to the ground. The crowd that had gathered gasped, stepping back in awe and fear.
The enforcers scrambled to their feet, their weapons drawn, but Rovan's voice thundered through the square.
"Enough!" he roared, his power crackling in the air around him. "This ends now!"
The enforcers froze, their weapons trembling in their hands. Rovan stepped between them and the child, his presence towering and unshakable.
The council members finally caught up, their expressions a mix of shock and calculation.
"What is this?" Rovan demanded, his eyes blazing as he turned to face them. "Why are children being taken like this?"
One of the councilmen, a thin man with a nervous air, stepped forward. "It's...it's the emperor's decree. The enforcers take children as tribute. It's been this way for years."
"And you let this happen?" Rovan's voice was ice now, his fury barely contained.
The mage spoke up, his tone cautious. "With you on the council, Rovan, things like this can be stopped. You have the power to change these laws, to protect the people."
Rovan clenched his fists, his anger warring with the truth in their words.
The crowd, emboldened by his defiance, began to speak.
"Please, Blessed One!" one villager shouted. "We need someone to stand up for us!"
"You're the only one who can stop this madness!" another cried.
The voices grew louder, merging into one desperate plea. "Join the council! Fight for us!"
Rovan looked at the faces around him—the fear, the hope, the desperation. His heart ached for them. But the weight of what they were asking felt unbearable.
Finally, he turned back to the council. "If I join, this stops. Immediately. No more tributes. No more children taken."
The council members nodded, though uneasily.
"And if I find you're playing games with me," Rovan added, his voice dangerously low, "you'll wish you'd never come to my forge."
The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices rising to the heavens.
But as Rovan stood there, surrounded by their gratitude, a dark unease settled in his chest. The mage's gaze lingered on him, sharp and unreadable.
"Be careful, Rovan," the mage murmured, his voice barely audible. "Power changes everything."
Rovan didn't respond, but his jaw tightened. He could feel the weight of the path he had just chosen, and it was heavier than any hammer he'd ever lifted.