Roseth
The silence in the forge feels wrong.
Not quiet nor peaceful but wrong.
I stand in the middle of the workshop staring up at the empty beam where the bell should be hanging, my hands trembling so badly I press them flat against the workbench just to steady myself.
For a few seconds my mind refuses to accept what my eyes are showing me, as though if I blink enough times the bell will reappear and this will dissolve into some ridiculous misunderstanding.
It does not reappear.
The rope still hangs there, gently swaying in the draft from the open window. The knot has been cut cleanly. Not frayed. Not broken. Cut.
Someone took it.
A cold wave rushes through my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
I search the room wildly, as though the bell might somehow be lying on the floor or tucked behind the tool racks.
I check beneath tables. Behind crates. Inside cabinets I know are far too small.
My movements become faster and less logical with every passing second.
“No… no, no, no…”
My voice sounds thin and breathless, like it belongs to someone else.
The bell is gone.
And the moment the realization settles fully into my mind, a second thought arrives right behind it.
The temple.
I don’t think about it. But the suspicion blooms instantly and refuses to leave. The priests have never liked my work. They tolerate it because the town does, because the festival needs it, but they have never hidden their discomfort with the way I experiment with sound and resonance.
Father Orrick specifically.
The memory of his tight smile and guarded eyes presses into my thoughts like a bruise.
My heart begins to race.
I do not yet know how I know, but the certainty settles deep in my bones.
I rush outside, scanning the square as though the bell might somehow be visible from here. People move through the streets laughing and shouting, blissfully unaware that something precious and dangerous has just vanished from the world.
What if it has already left Bellmere?
What if I never see it again?
“Roseth?” I spin at the familiar voice. Tali stands by the square clutching a basket of herbs, her wide eyes already searching my face for answers. She visits the forge often, always eager to help, always curious about whatever strange project I am working on next.
Today her usual bright energy dims the moment she sees me.
“What’s wrong?”
“My bell is gone,” I feel choked.
Her mouth falls open. “Gone?”
“Someone took it.”
Tali glances instinctively toward the temple spire rising above the rooftops. It is a reflex, almost unconscious, but I notice it instantly.
“You thought the same thing,” I say quietly.
She hesitates, her fingers tightening around the handle of her basket.
“I… I didn’t want to assume.”
My stomach drops. “Tali.”
She shifts closer, lowering her voice until it becomes barely more than a breath.
“I wasn’t supposed to hear it,” she says.
“I was helping Sister Maren carry candles to the lower halls yesterday. Father Orrick was speaking with someone beneath the crypt stairs. I didn’t mean to listen, but I heard him mention resonance…
frequencies like the things you usually mumble while you work. ”
The words send a chill racing down my spine.
“He took it,” I affirm.
The statement ignites something hot and sharp inside my chest.
Before doubt can slow me down, I turn toward the temple and begin walking.
I push the steel doors open without knocking.
The temple interior is cool and dim, filled with the faint scent of incense and polished stone. My footsteps echo sharply as I move down the central aisle, my pulse pounding in my ears louder than the silence around me.
Father Orrick stands near the altar.
He turns as I approach, his expression as calm as always.
Completely unreadable. For a fleeting moment I wonder if I am wrong. If this confrontation will end in embarrassment instead of fury.
Then I spot the tension in his shoulders.
“You took it,” I say.
I do not bother with greetings or pleasantries. My voice trembles, but the words leave me steady and sharp.
His gaze softens with something that almost looks like sadness.
“Yes.”
The admission lands like a blow.
“Why?” The word tears out of me.
He gawks at me for a long moment before answering. “Because you do not understand what you created.”
My hands clench into fists. “Then you could have spoken to me.”
“You would not have listened.” he clicks his tongue.
“You didn’t give me the chance!”
Silence stretches between us, heavy and brittle.
“I did what I had to do,” he says quietly.
“You have the ability to make these monsters disappear from the face of the earth,”
Anger surges hot and fierce through my chest. “You stole from me.”
“I secured a weapon.” he voices with certainty. The word hits like ice.
“It isn’t a weapon.”
“It will be,” he replies. “Everything powerful becomes one eventually.”
I watch him, trying to reconcile this man with the gentle priest who blesses newborns and comforts grieving families.
“What happened to you?” I ask softly.
The question breaks something open in his expression. For the first time since I arrived, his composure cracks.
“My family lived near the southern border,” he says slowly. “Before Bellmere. Before the temple. Before I understood how cruel this world truly is.”
His voice grows distant, as though he is speaking from a place far away.
“One night the forests began to sing. We thought it was beautiful at first. We stepped outside to listen.”
My breath catches.
“By morning the entire village was silent.”
The pain in his voice cuts deeper than anger ever could.
“They used sound to turn neighbor against neighbor,” he continues. “To amplify fear until it becomes madness. By the time the sun rose, my home was gone.”
Understanding dawns slowly and painfully.
“Dark elves,” I whisper.
His gaze sharpens. “Yes.”
The word hangs between us like a blade.
“I swore that day that humanity would never again stand defenseless against magic like theirs.”
My chest tightens. “Khaivor is not—”
“They are all capable of it,” Orrick interrupts sharply. “And now you have created something that could magnify their power beyond imagination.”
The fury returns, burning brighter than before. “You don’t know him.”
“I know what his kind can do.” he replies.
“He is not a weapon.”
“Neither were the children in my village,” he says.
The words slam into me with crushing force. For a moment, silence falls between us.
“I am trying to protect this town,” he says beneath his breath.
“ No… you are trying to control it,” I reply.
His silence confirms everything and I leave the temple with troubling thoughts.
By the time I reach the forge, the weight of everything I have learned crashes down all at once. My legs give out before I reach the door, and I sink onto the steps as sobs tear their way out of my chest.
I don’t know how long I sit there before I feel arms wrap gently around my shoulders.
Khaivor kneels beside me, his presence warm and steady and achingly familiar.
“What happened?” he asks softly.
I turn into him without thinking, burying my face against his chest as the words spill out in broken waves. He listens without interruption, his arms tightening around me with every trembling breath.
When I finish, the silence that follows feels fragile and heavy and full of unspoken fear.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I pull back just enough to glance at him. “None of this is your fault.”
His expression is filled with quiet anguish. “It always becomes my fault eventually.”
I cradle his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes.
“Not this time.” I utter and something fragile and hopeful flickers in his gaze.
“We are going to make this right,”
He leans his forehead against mine, and in that small shared space the chaos of the world feels distant, manageable and survivable.
“Yes… we are.”