Before Rovan could process the mage's ominous words, a faint sound reached his ears—distant, muffled shouts.
"What's that?" Rovan asked, his hammer gripped tightly.
The mage tilted his head, listening. The sound grew louder, evolving into panicked cries.
"It's coming from the east wing," the mage said, his voice tense.
Without waiting, Rovan began running, the mage close behind. As they neared the source of the commotion, the air grew thick with the sound of chaos—screams, wailing, and the thunder of rushing footsteps.
Turning a corner, they entered a large hallway where nobles and servants were gathered, their faces pale with terror.
"What's happening?" Rovan demanded, pushing his way through the crowd.
"The ground!" a panicked woman cried. "It's opening up! Swallowing people whole!"
Rovan's heart pounded. He reached the edge of the hallway, where a gaping hole now split the marble floor. Dust and debris hung in the air, and the sound of groaning stone echoed around them.
"What caused this?" Rovan asked the mage, his voice sharp.
The mage's face was grim. "It could be the disturbance we felt earlier… but this is worse than I expected."
"People fell in," a guard said, his armor dusty and dented. "Some of the princes and their escorts…"
Rovan's stomach twisted. He peered into the hole. It was dark and deep, the bottom out of sight.
"Get them out!" a nobleman shouted.
"We can't see anything down there!" another guard argued.
The mage raised his hands, his voice cutting through the noise. "Silence!"
The room quieted, though the sobs and sniffles of frightened nobles remained.
"The mages will handle this," the mage declared. "We will recover those who have fallen. Everyone who isn't royalty must leave the palace immediately."
Gasps and murmurs filled the air as the order sank in.
"You expect us to leave while people are trapped?" Rovan said, his anger flaring.
"This isn't your concern, Blessed One," the mage said coldly. "You've already overstepped."
Before Rovan could argue, the palace began to tremble again, the walls groaning as another quake rippled through. The nobles screamed, clutching at one another as chandeliers swung dangerously overhead.
"Go!" the mage barked, his tone commanding.
Servants and commoners began rushing toward the exits, their fear palpable.
Rovan stayed rooted, his grip tightening on his hammer. He wasn't going anywhere, no matter what the mage said.
The mage's gaze snapped to him. "This isn't your fight, blacksmith."
Rovan's voice was steady, his eyes blazing. "If people are in danger, it's everyone's fight."
The mage opened his mouth to respond, but a loud crash cut him off. Part of the ceiling caved in, sending shards of stone tumbling to the ground.
Rovan stepped forward, his heart pounding. "You said this was a place of control. So why is everything falling apart?"
The mage's lips thinned. "Something has been disturbed. And if we don't fix it soon…"
The trembling grew stronger, shaking the very foundation of the palace.
"What happens?" Rovan pressed.
The mage looked at him, his eyes dark with dread. "The whole palace could collapse."
The air in the chamber was heavy with tension as the mages chanted in unison, their hands glowing with magical energy. Strands of light, green and gold, twisted and pulsed, diving into the gaping hole where the princes and their guards had vanished.
Rovan stood at the edge, hammer in hand, watching the swirling magic with a growing sense of unease.
"It's not working," one mage muttered, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
"Focus!" barked another.
But no matter how much magic they poured into the depths, nothing happened. The void seemed to swallow their efforts whole.
"What's wrong?" Rovan finally asked.
The lead mage turned to him, his face pale and strained. "The energy below is… resisting us. We can't connect to the fallen. Something is blocking our reach."
"Then let me try," Rovan said, stepping forward.
"You?!" one mage exclaimed, disbelief flickering across his face. "You don't have—"
"Enough!" the lead mage cut him off, glancing at Rovan with narrowed eyes. "If you think you can help, Blessed One, step forward. But know this—your blood may be the only thing that makes a difference here. And once offered, it cannot be taken back."
Rovan didn't hesitate. He placed his hammer aside and knelt at the edge of the pit, cutting a small line across his palm with a blade handed to him by a mage. As the blood dripped into the void, he closed his eyes, focusing on the strange connection he'd felt ever since he'd awakened his powers.
The mages resumed their chanting, and this time, their magic intertwined with Rovan's essence. For a moment, the light seemed to grow stronger, spiraling deeper into the darkness. Hope flickered in the air.
But then, as quickly as it had started, the magic shattered like glass, leaving only silence and the void below.
"What just happened?" Rovan demanded, pulling his hand back.
The mages exchanged uneasy glances, murmuring among themselves.
"It's no use," the lead mage finally admitted. "Something ancient lies beneath this palace, something even our magic cannot penetrate. We'll need more time—more research—to understand what we're dealing with."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Frustration burned in Rovan's chest, but he could see that the mages were at their limit.
As they left the palace, Rovan's mind churned with unanswered questions. What was blocking the magic? And what had truly happened to those who had fallen?
The journey back to his forge was unsettling. The roads were no longer familiar; the earth itself seemed to have changed.
Cracks snaked across the ground like jagged scars, and strange eruptions of steam and glowing light rose from the earth in several places. Villagers stood in clusters, pointing and whispering in hushed tones.
"What's going on here?" Rovan asked an elderly man standing near a broken patch of earth.
"The ground's gone mad," the man replied, his voice trembling. "It's like the world's tearing itself apart."
When Rovan finally reached his town, he was met with a strange sight. Instead of panic, there was a cautious buzz of activity.
"Rovan!" a young boy ran up to him, breathless. "You need to come quick! People—strangers—have been showing up all over the place!"
Rovan frowned. "Strangers?"
"They just… appeared," the boy explained, tugging at his sleeve. "And they don't remember who they are or where they came from."
The thought struck him like lightning. The princes? Could they have been transported here somehow?
Rovan followed the boy to the village square, where a small crowd had gathered around a disoriented man. He was tall, with broad shoulders and sunken eyes, wearing tattered clothes that didn't seem to belong to this era.
"Who is he?" Rovan asked.
"No idea," a woman in the crowd replied. "He just appeared in the middle of the field. Doesn't even know his own name."
Rovan approached the man cautiously. "Do you remember anything?"
The man's gaze was distant, his voice hoarse. "I… was lost… and then… nothing. There's only darkness."
Rovan's heart sank. This wasn't one of the princes.
He moved on to another stranger, a woman sitting quietly on a bench. Her face was pale, her eyes unfocused. "Where are you from?" Rovan asked gently.
She blinked at him, confused. "From… the void," she whispered.
Rovan froze. "The void?"
She nodded slowly. "I was… gone. But now I'm here."
The realization hit him like a blow. These weren't the missing princes or guards. These were people who had been dead.
He stepped back, his mind racing. If the earth was breaking open and the dead were returning, then something far more sinister was at play.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp cry. Turning, he saw one of the strangers—an old man—collapse to the ground, convulsing.
"What's happening now?" someone shouted.
Rovan rushed to the man's side, but before he could act, the old man's body stilled. His eyes opened wide, and when he spoke, his voice was not his own.
"Rovan," the voice rasped, low and menacing. "You've awakened something you cannot contain."
Rovan's blood ran cold as the man's body went limp.