“Where is she?” he roars, his voice shaking the walls.
The cyclopes trade nervous looks before blurting out excuses, their scaly skin shining beneath the restless torchlight. But the king isn’t satisfied. He rises from his throne, his massive frame casting a shadow over the entire room as he paces, his steps shaking the ground.
For a moment, I think he’ll tear the room apart in his rage, the air thick with his fury. But then he stops, taking a deep breath, and his lips curl into a cruel smile that sends a wave of nausea through me. “No matter,” he says, his voice dripping with malice, a snake’s hiss. “We have enough for the ritual. For the sacrifice.”
My stomach twists as the realization sinks in.My men are the sacrifice.
The king continues. “Behold, my brothers and sisters, the sacred dawn is upon us. The sun, our eternal witness, rises high in the heavens, her golden light piercing through the veil of shadow. She watches over us now, as she has since the days when our kind first walked these lands, her power immense and unyielding.”
He steps forward, his massive frame cutting through the shifting torchlight. He gestures toward the stone circle where my fae kings are bound, their struggles futile against the iron chains, as if to say, here they are. Here are the sacrifices.
“For too long, we have been denied our rightful place among the mighty. For too long, we have been cursed to live in darkness, forgotten and scorned by those who do not understand our strength, our resolve. But no longer. Today, we reclaim what is ours by the divine will of the goddess of the sun.”
The cyclopes around him stomp their feet in unison, a thunderous rhythm that reverberates through the chamber, causing small trickles of dirt to rain down from above. The king’s voice grows louder, filled with fervor, and I can feel the palpable energy in the air, thick like syrup.
“The sun is more than light in the sky. She is a force of nature, a goddess who governs life, growth, and the relentless march of time. She is our guide, our mother, our savior. And today, we honor her with the most sacred of offerings… the blood of warriors, the essence of power.”
He turns his gaze to my men, his expression darkening with a palpable hatred. “These fae, so proud, so arrogant, think themselves invincible. They wield fire, wind, earth, and water, believing their elements make them gods among mortals. But they are wrong. Stripped of their magic, they are nothing but flesh and bone, their lifeblood a key to the sun’s favor.”
The king points to the small basin in the center of the stone circle, his voice rising to a fever pitch, a chant of impendingdoom. “In that sacred vessel, their blood will flow, pooling as an offering to the goddess. She will see our devotion, our sacrifice, and she will bless us with her power, with strength beyond measure, a legacy that will make us unstoppable. No longer will we hide in caves and shadows. No longer will we bow to the whims of lesser beings.”
He pauses, his eye gleaming as he surveys the room, his followers hanging on his every word, their faces contorted with a fervent desire for vengeance. “Today, as the sun reaches its zenith, we ascend. We bathe in their blood, and through the goddess, we become eternal. The sun’s light will shine upon us, and the world will tremble at our might.”
The cyclopes erupt in cheers, their roars shaking the cavern, the sound chilling. The ritual had begun.
They’ll bathe in the blood of my men. They’re going to… kill my men. Is there anything I can do to stop it?
The air grows heavier, charged with a sinister energy that makes my skin crawl. It feels as if the very walls are closing in on me, the shadows growing thicker, suffocating. The king steps forward, gripping a massive handle that juts out from the ground, and begins to turn it. The stone circle beneath the kings begins to move, grinding against itself like the ticking of a clock.
The men cry out as the chains pull taut, their bodies stretched painfully against the cold stone. But it’s not just the movement, it’s the blades. I see them now, small knives rising from the floor beneath the men, their tips glinting in the torchlight like ravenous teeth. With each tick of the circle, they rise a little higher, a slow, torturous ascent.
“When we return,” the cyclops king says, his single eye gleaming with cruel anticipation, “the fae will be emptied of all they are.”
My stomach drops.
He gestures lazily toward the circle, toward the shallow basin at its center.
“Their blood will gather,” he continues, almost reverent now, “drawn out slowly, properly. It must be done this way. The circle must drink first.”
My pulse pounds in my ears.No.
“The offering must be complete before the final rite,” he says, turning slightly as if addressing both his men and something unseen beyond the chamber. “The sun does not favor impatience. We give it what it is owed… and it gives back.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the other cyclopes.
He looks back at the fae kings, something hungry twisting across his face. “By the time we return, they will be ready.”
Ready.The word makes me sick.
“We go to prepare the rest,” he adds, already turning away. “The altar above must be cleared. The fires lit. The vessels brought forward. When the blood is full—” his gaze flicks once more to the basin “—we begin.”
He waves a massive hand, dismissive, unconcerned.
“Leave them.”
Air catches in my throat.
There are more cheers, while I start moving.If they’re leaving, they’re probably coming this way.I dart behind some nearby rocks and try to make myself as small as possible.Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.
