Chapter 7 - The Uprising of the Lower Tiers
Word of what happened in the depths of the royal vault spread through the stone veins of Oakhaven faster than wildfire through dry timber. By dawn, the grand iron gates separating the Low Quarter from the upper merchant rings had been blown off their hinges from the inside.
Thousands of commoners, blacksmiths, laborers, and dockworkers poured into the pristine marble streets, carrying hammers, tongs, and makeshift pikes. They didn't come to riot or pillage; they came because the myth of aristocratic invincibility had been shattered by an eleven-year-old boy with a glowing sword.
Elden walked at the front of the procession, the dark greatsword resting comfortably across his shoulder. The blue veins within the steel pulsed in a steady, calming rhythm, matching the unified footsteps of the crowd behind him.
Guards from the upper tier attempted to form a blockade at the grand plaza leading to the palace, their silver armor glinting in the morning sun. But as Elden stepped forward, raising the blade so that its light reflected across the polished breastplates of the royal army, the frontline soldiers lowered their pikes. They had heard the tales of the beast in the vault, and they knew better than to stand against the forge-born steel.
From the high balcony of the royal palace, Lord Vane watched the sea of commoners approach. His face was pale, his silk robes rumpled, stripped of the arrogant authority he had wielded for decades. He looked frantically toward his commanders, but they had already shed their crests and melted into the crowd.
"Traitors! Seize them!" Vane screamed into the empty courtyard, his voice cracking with desperation.
No one moved to obey him. The palace doors swung open behind Vane, not by royal command, but under the weight of a dozen burly blacksmiths from Forge Three, led by Elden’s former master—a grizzled veteran of the anvil with soot permanently embedded in his skin.
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Vane backed away until his heels hit the stone balustrade of the balcony, looking down into the vast plaza where fifty thousand faces stared back up at him in absolute silence.
Elden stepped out onto the grand marble terrace, the heavy boots of his worn leather shoes echoing across the pristine floor. He didn't look at Vane with anger or malice; his expression was completely calm, steady with the quiet certainty of someone who had forged his own destiny out of the dark.
