Chapter 1 #2
Cassius is the last. He doesn’t waste energy thrashing. Doesn’t snarl or shout. He watches. Calculates. Then, at the exact moment one of them leans too close, he strikes. Fast and precise, aiming for the eye.
The cyclops jerks back with a wail, dropping to his knees. Another cyclops grabs Cassius from behind, locking his arms in place, while a third forces his legs out. The chains snap tight around him, dragging him down into position.
Cassius goes still. Not defeated, I think. Thinking. Always thinking. But even he doesn’t try to fight the chains once they’re set. Because he knows. They all know. There are too many of them. They’re too strong. Even together, even at full strength, this wouldn’t have been much of a fight.
If only they had their weapons. At least, that would give them a chance.
The cyclopes have worked quickly, chaining each man in place, their limbs stretched outward like spokes on a wheel, their feet meeting at the center. A chill runs down my spine as I realize what’s happening. They’ve left a spot empty… my spot.
It doesn’t take long for the cyclopes to notice. The king’s single eye narrows, his lips curling into a snarl, and he slams a fist into the arm of his throne, the sound reverberating through the chamber like thunder, rattling my bones.
“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 impending doom.
“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.
The cyclopes begin to file out, their heavy footsteps echoing through the cavern, each one dragging the sound of them farther away.
I don’t move. I barely breathe. Not until the last shadow disappears.
Not until the silence closes in, thick and suffocating.
Only then do I slip from my hiding place, heart hammering, praying I’m not already too late.
I rush to the circle.
“Alette?” Ashton’s voice is sharp, disbelieving.
My hands are already shaking as I examine the mechanism in a frenzy.
The blades are rising slowly but steadily, their sharp points creeping closer to the men’s bodies with each turn.
Paths run between the blades, little channels carved into the stone, all leading to the center of the circle.
My gaze darts around, piecing it together.
Blood will spill into those paths, then trickle down into the basin, pooling in the center.
“What are you doing?” Sylvian demands, his voice tight.
“Fixing this,” I whisper, even as my throat goes dry.
“No,” Oberon growls immediately. “You need to run.”
I look at him in shock. “Of course I’m not going to run.”
Then, I focus back on the task at hand. I lunge for the handle, fingers slipping against the cold metal as I grab it and yank.
Nothing. Not even a tremor. I brace my foot against the stone and pull harder, muscles straining, teeth gritting as I throw my weight into it.
The mechanism groans, but it doesn’t stop.
But I don’t stop trying. I pull. I yank. I grit my teeth, but it doesn’t move.
“You’re not strong enough,” Ashton says softly. “It’s okay, Alette. You tried your hardest.”
“Alette, listen to me—” Cassius starts, his voice controlled, urgent.
“I said no!” I choke out, adjusting my grip and trying again. I shove instead of pull, slamming my shoulder into it, hoping to force it back the way it came. Pain shoots through my arm, but the handle barely shifts before locking stubbornly in place again.
The grinding continues.
The blades rise. A sharp, strangled sound cuts through the chamber. I freeze for half a second. Sylvian.
One of the blades has pressed into his side, not deep, but enough. Blood wells instantly, dark against his skin. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t cry out again.
“No—” I gasp, panic spiking hard and fast.
“Go,” Oberon snarls, his voice breaking with pain as another blade grazes his thigh. “Now.”
“No.” It’s all I can say. No, I won’t go. No, I can’t go. No, I can’t imagine my life without these three men.
So, no. No matter what. I’m staying here. Even if it’s to face our doom together.
I reposition, grabbing the handle with both hands, twisting, jerking, trying to force it in any direction that will give. It’s like wrestling something alive, unyielding, relentless, built to resist.
“Alette—” Ashton hisses, breath catching as a blade bites into him. “You can’t stop it.”
“Watch me,” I grit out.
The blades climb higher.
Cassius sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his composure cracking. “The mechanism—” he forces out, even as his voice tightens with pain. “It’s not just the handle. There has to be a release. Look for a secondary control.”
I drop to my knees instantly, reaching beneath the edge of the mechanism, fingers scraping along stone and metal, searching for anything loose, anything I can jam, break, rip out.
“There’s nothing!” I choke.
“There is,” Cassius insists, voice strained but certain. “There’s always something.”
My nails catch on a seam and I dig in, my pulse spiking. Something.
My hand fumbles for my dagger. The familiar weight rests in my grip, and as I draw it free, the blade hums faintly, glowing soft blue in the dim light.
Magic.
It has to help.
I wedge the tip into the seam and push, trying to pry it open, forcing the blade deeper, angling it, twisting, but there’s nothing. The metal doesn’t shift. The stone doesn’t crack. The dagger scrapes uselessly, the glow flickering as if even it knows this won’t work.
“Come on,” I whisper, forcing harder, desperate enough to risk hurting the blade, if that’s even possible. But it doesn’t give. Not even a fraction.
“Damn it,” I choke out, yanking the dagger free, resheathing it, and scrambling back to my feet. I grab the handle again, throwing my full weight against it, over and over, like if I just hit it hard enough, fast enough, it might break.
The impact rattles through my bones. The machine doesn’t care. It keeps moving. Keeps ticking.
There’s another cry, this time Ashton, low and rough, as the blade presses deeper. My chest constricts. They’re running out of time.
“Alette,” Sylvian says, softer now, even through the pain. “Listen to me. If you can’t stop it—”
“I can,” I snap, even as my voice shakes. “I just haven’t found out how to yet.”
There’s a pause. A beat where they all look at me.
Then Oberon exhales sharply, something shifting in his expression. “Fine,” he grits out. “Then stop fighting the handle. Look at the base. Something’s feeding it. Something’s driving the rotation.”
Cassius nods tightly. “He’s right. Follow the movement. Find the source.”
I stagger back, breath coming too fast, forcing myself to stop thrashing long enough to think. My gaze sweeps the chamber again, sharper now, following the grind of stone, the rhythm of the turning circle, searching for anything I missed. Another lever, a hidden release, a weakness in the design.
Anything. There has to be something. There has to be.
Sylvian’s voice holds a hint of fear breaking through his usual calm. “If you can’t find a way, it’s okay. We won’t blame you.”
“I said no!” My voice echoes through the chamber, louder than I intended.
I freeze, afraid that the cyclopes had heard, but the room remains silent, save for the relentless ticking of the circle, a grim reminder of time slipping away.
I don’t know what to do. My hands are raw, my arms trembling from the effort of trying to stop the machine, and the blades are rising higher now, their sharp edges gleaming like a cruel promise.
The men’s breaths come faster, their fear palpable as they glance at the creeping death beneath them, and I can see in their eyes the weight of despair threatening to consume them.
Tears sting my eyes as I slam my fists against the stone, frustration and desperation boiling over.
I can’t let this happen. I can’t lose them.
But as I stare at the machine, at the unyielding stone and iron, I feel the crushing weight of helplessness settle over me, the realization that I may be powerless to save them.
What the hell am I going to do?