Tribute

A low growl rumbled through the dimly lit chamber. Shadows flickered across the stone walls, cast by the crimson glow of enchanted fire.

The King stood motionless, his imposing form silhouetted against the window's warped glass. His eyes, dark and fathomless, bore into the creature kneeling before him.

A Fallen.

One of his hunters, eyeless and hunched, its shadow-like body quivering under his silent scrutiny.

"What do you mean you cannot find them?" His voice, though quiet, was laced with venom.

The creature bowed its head lower. A whisper—more felt than heard—slithered into the King's mind.

"We found the trail at the last village… but they shielded themselves, fading in and out of our sight. And now… they are gone."

The king's lips curled in irritation. He extended a hand, palm up, and the air shimmered. A vision unfolded before him—a vast forest stretching endlessly toward distant mountains. It was thick, ancient, unyielding. Somewhere within its depths, the children hid.

"Not even when they sleep?" he inquired, his voice like a knife's edge.

"No, master," the Fallen admitted, its voice dripping with shame.

The King exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching. The castle walls groaned in response to his anger.

Then, realization dawned. He let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"They've stumbled upon a Fae sanctuary."

Mirthless amusement flickered across his face. The foolish brats had sealed their own fate. The Fae were treacherous, bound by laws but merciless in their bargains. No soul entered their domain without a price.

A pang of something unwanted twisted in his chest. His fingers curled into a fist, suppressing the sensation before it could take root.

"So close…" he murmured under his breath.

One of them—their Queen—would not wake without the Beloved's return.

But the other? The other would never be found.

A muscle in his jaw tightened as a flood of memories threatened to rise. Dark, bitter memories of loss, of betrayal, of a love burned to ash.

He scowled.

"The price was paid long ago," he muttered. "And it was found to be inadequate."

His gaze flicked back to the Fallen.

"Send word to the Fae. I wish to speak with Oona and Finvarra."

The creature nodded and slithered back into the shadows.

The King turned back to the window, brooding.

Yes. Let the Fae have their fun.

It would not matter in the end.

The Standing Stones

The moment the children crossed the threshold of the stone circle, the air changed.

At first, it seemed the same. The towering stones stood in their ancient, silent vigil, the pulsing orange glow of the altar flickering like a quiet heartbeat. The forest still surrounded them, dark and unending.

But the feeling—the weight—of the world had shifted.

The sky, once a deep indigo, now shimmered with colors that defied logic, swirling like liquid stardust. The trees beyond the circle seemed taller, their bark threaded with veins of silver and gold. The moss beneath their feet glowed faintly, tiny motes of light blinking in and out of existence.

It was beautiful.

It was wrong.

"I feel like we're being watched," Freya whispered.

Pip gave a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. By the trees."

Ophelia scanned the runes on the standing stones. They had been dull before—but now they pulsed with blue light, their shapes shifting ever so slightly, as though alive. The altar in the center glowed with an unnatural warmth, beckoning them forward.

She swallowed. "The book said not to tarry."

"Then let us figure this out and go," Alex muttered.

But there was no immediate danger. No creature lunged from the shadows. No eerie whispers curled through the air.

Just silence.

Still wary, the group set their packs down near the edge of the circle.

"We should practice while we have time," Tig suggested, brushing sweat from her brow. "We are not leaving until we know what we are supposed to do."

Alex crossed his arms and watched.

Pip began conjuring tiny orbs of light, making them flicker like fireflies. Freya practiced moving stones with gusts of wind, sending them tumbling across the moss. Ember, silent as ever, traced the glowing runes on the altar, blue flame licking at her fingertips.

Even Ophelia was deep in the magic book, flipping through pages, murmuring

to herself.

Then there was Ciaran.

The newcomer.

He had been quiet since they arrived, but now, he moved closer to Tig, whispering something that made her laugh.

Alex's fists clenched.

Since when did Tig laugh so easily with strangers?

Since when did she smile at anyone like that?

Alex had been by her side since they were children. He had fought for her, bickered with her, trusted her. And now, in the span of mere hours, this boy—this outsider—had wormed his way into their group.

His stomach churned.

They did not need another person.

They did not need him.

His thoughts burned with irritation, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. He knew it was childish, irrational. But he could not stop it.

Not when Tig barely noticed him anymore.

Not when Ciaran fits in so easily.

He stood abruptly, needing space. Needing air.

And then—

A rustling sound.

Low and guttural, like a breath exhaled from the depths of the earth.

A voice—not spoken, but felt—whispered through the clearing.

"Tribute."

Alex's heart pounded.

The others froze.

From the shadows of the standing stones, something emerged.

It was human-shaped—tall, sinewy—but its body shimmered like polished obsidian, reflecting the glow of the altar. It moved with unnatural grace, long fingers tapering into wicked claws.

Its face was featureless, save for the faint impression of a mouth.

And it extended a hand.

"Tribute."

Pip swallowed audibly. "Oh… great."

Ophelia's hands trembled as she flipped through the book. In the same faint

handwriting, on a random page "It—it says we have to offer something that is not part of our soul. Jewels, trinkets, flowers… or answer a riddle."

The creature stood unwaviering, waiting for an answer.

"We have to give it something," Tig whispered.

Silence.

Then, Ciaran slowly reached into his cloak and pulled out a small silver pendant. It was simple, but beautifully crafted, the metal twisted into an ancient rune.

"My grandmother gave this to me," he said softly.

Alex's jaw tightened.

Of course, he had something to offer.

Ciaran stepped forward and placed the pendant into the creature's waiting palm.

For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happened.

Then the creature closed its fingers around the gift.

The runes on the stones flared.

And just as silently as it had come, the creature turned and vanished into the darkness.

The group let out a collective breath.

Pip wiped her forehead. "Well… that was terrifying."

Ophelia frowned at the book. "I think we're still being tested."

The runes on the stones flickered.

Alex said nothing.

But jealousy burned like a second fire inside his chest