The grand council chamber was far larger and more lavish than Rovan had expected. High ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and golden chandeliers loomed above, casting a soft glow over the room. Rows of council members sat around an oval table, their robes rich and ornate, a stark contrast to Rovan's plain tunic and leather apron.
As he entered, conversations halted, and all eyes turned to him. He could feel the weight of their stares, curious and wary. Rovan took his seat, the forge hammer he carried resting against his chair.
The meeting began with formalities that made Rovan's skin crawl. Endless titles, greetings, and pleasantries passed before anyone spoke of real matters.
Finally, a robed man with a thin voice stood. "We propose an increase in taxes across the cities, effective immediately. The funds will ensure continued stability and security under the emperor's reign."
Rovan blinked. "Taxes?"
The man faltered, glancing nervously at the mage seated in the emperor's chair.
"Yes," he said, his voice tight. "It's necessary for—"
"Why?" Rovan asked, his voice firm.
The room fell silent. Every head turned toward him, their faces a mix of surprise and discomfort.
"What do you mean, 'why'?" another council member ventured hesitantly.
"I mean exactly that." Rovan leaned forward, his eyes hard. "Why raise taxes? The people are already struggling under the weight of what you've demanded. Many have lost their children to the enforcers. They're barely surviving as it is. How do you expect them to pay more?"
A heavy, awkward silence fell over the chamber. No one dared meet his gaze.
One councilman coughed nervously. Another chuckled, though it sounded forced.
"Blessed One," the mage sitting for the emperor finally said, his tone calm but measured. "Your concerns are noted. The council will, of course, look into this matter and respond in due time."
Rovan's jaw tightened. "That's not good enough. If you're going to bleed the people dry, you owe them an explanation."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. No one had ever spoken so directly, so boldly.
The mage's eyes narrowed, his calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. "These matters are complex, Blessed One. Not everything can be explained in a single meeting."
"Then perhaps this council isn't as wise as it claims to be," Rovan shot back.
The air grew thick with tension. Whispers filled the room as council members exchanged nervous glances.
The mage straightened, his voice icy. "We will discuss this further in private. For now, the motion stands under review."
Rovan stood, his chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. He picked up his hammer, his voice cutting through the murmurs.
"Review it quickly," he said. "Because the people won't wait forever. And neither will I."
As Rovan walked out of the chamber, he felt the stares boring into his back. The murmurs grew louder as he left, but one thing was clear—he had disrupted the careful balance they had built.
Outside, the wind bit at his face, but it did little to cool the fire in his chest. He had spoken for the people, but he knew this was only the beginning.
A shadow shifted near the courtyard entrance, and Rovan's instincts prickled.
"You've made powerful enemies today," a low voice said.
Rovan turned sharply to see the mage who had spoken for the emperor earlier. His face was calm, but his eyes burned with something dangerous.
"You should be careful, Blessed One," the mage continued, stepping closer. "The council doesn't take kindly to disruption."
Rovan gripped his hammer tightly, his voice steady. "And I don't take kindly to injustice."
The mage's lips curled into a cold smile. "You may find that justice has a price. One you might not be willing to pay."
Before Rovan could respond, the mage stepped back into the shadows and disappeared, leaving only his ominous words hanging in the air.
The blacksmith's hand moved steadily across the parchment, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on his weary face. Each word he wrote carried the weight of hope and defiance.
"To His Majesty, the Emperor," the letter began. "I humbly request that the Gifted be allowed days to visit their families. Their service to the crown has been relentless, and they deserve a moment to remember where they come from and who they fight for."
Rovan paused, his thoughts racing. The council had scoffed at the idea, calling it a waste of time, but he knew better. The Gifted weren't tools—they were people. And people needed their families.
With a deep breath, he sealed the letter and sent it with a courier.
Two days passed in tense anticipation. The emperor's reply finally came, delivered in the form of a royal decree:
"The request of the Blessed One has been considered and granted. The Gifted may visit their families for a limited time."
Word spread like wildfire. Across the land, the Gifted were seen reuniting with their loved ones. Tears of joy flowed, and for the first time in years, laughter echoed in the streets.
Rovan allowed himself a brief smile. It was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.
That night, Rovan sat at his forge again, drafting another letter.
"To His Majesty, the Emperor," he wrote. "I propose that the Gifted be employed only when they choose to be. No one should be forced into service against their will."
He sighed, sealing the letter. He knew this request would face resistance, but he had to try.
Rovan stepped out into the cool night air, the stars above seeming brighter than usual. He handed the letter to a messenger and began his walk back to the forge, his mind heavy with thoughts of what might come next.
As he approached his forge, something felt wrong. The air was thick, the usual calm replaced by a strange stillness.
Then he saw it—a figure lying across his threshold.
"Bram?" Rovan's voice was a whisper as he rushed forward.
His closest friend lay there, his clothes torn and stained with blood. His breathing was shallow, and his face twisted in pain.
"Bram! What happened?" Rovan knelt beside him, panic rising in his chest.
Bram opened his eyes weakly, his voice barely audible. "One of the Gifted… attacked me."
The words sent a cold chill through Rovan's veins.
"Why?" Rovan asked, his heart pounding.
Bram coughed, wincing. "Said… said you ware", Bram took in a painful breathe. Rovan smiled at him hushing him quietly while his mind was racing with thoughts.
Rovan's hands tightened into fists, his mind racing. The Gifted were supposed to protect, not harm. But now, even they had been turned against him.
He looked down at Bram, his resolve hardening. Whoever had done this would pay, but more than that, Rovan knew this was just the beginning.
The stakes had been raised, and the fight was here.
He did the only thing that came to his mind, willed that Bram lived. A small crowd was gathering and in the crowd stood a very familiar figure, sneering at the blacksmith's misery. Bram's wife and children soon ran to Rovan's forge, with tears in their eyes. ¨You kiiled him¨ Sarian said, holding Rovan's shirt in her fist. People gasped. The thought of what Rovan could do with a simple flick of the wrist scared them.
Rovan ignored her at first, but soon he lifted his eyes towards her; they were bloodshot red.