Fairies of The Black Circle

28

From high on the cliff Bloom watched as they appeared like a colony of ants, crawling out of the darkness in tight formation. The scarlet moonlight glinted off their armoured backs and polished blades were their sharp pincers, poised in the air.

All that was missing from this colony was its queen.

They moved through the valley in a steady stream, their faces indistinguishable in the darkness.

That's good, Bloom thought grimly. It's easier to kill someone when you can't see their eyes.

Leading the ranks were three figures that Bloom recognised instantly.

To the left, a woman adorned in forest green battle armour. Her strawberry hair was no longer loose around her shoulders but knotted together in a network of intricate braids. She held her leaf-shaped shield in one arm and spun her golden spear in the other.

Diana.

To the right, Aurora's pale skin seemed translucent in the crimson moonlight. She too had armour, an ice-blue chest plate that glistened like crystal. Her face was obscured by shadow from her fur-lined hood. Even before battle, she had refused to lose the white cape that trailed on the ground behind her.

And front and centre of the army, a warrior whose gaze made Bloom's skin crawl with fear.

Her coal-black eyes were as hollow and void as the starless sky. She wore a wicked sneer alongside her satin dress, lilac lace flowing out the back. The weapon in her hand kept shifting irregularly. Sword. Mace. Spear. Claymore. Bow.

Bloom's gut twisted at the sight of the weapon, her hand instinctively reaching for the spot between her shoulder blades.

Nebula was the only one among them without armour, as if confident no one could lay a finger on her.

The thought did little to ease Bloom's nerves.

It seemed like the lines of warriors went on forever, stretching out of eyeshot as those in the distance were concealed by the shadow of the great tree, Crann Bethadh.

And all that opposed them were two small figures at the foot of the cliff.

Riven leading a fairy, much too young for any of this, towards the ranks. Roxy clung to his arm, always staying a step behind him.

Bloom's heart thumped in her chest, its rhythm matching the pounding of millions of boots on the hard earth as the army approached.

Her gaze unfocused, her mind swimming with information. There were too many of them.

It was utterly hopeless.

"It's not... utterly hopeless, you know." Ogron's voice next to her made her start.

She scoffed; of course he could read her like an open book. Ogron seemed to smile at her reaction, but she couldn't be sure as a second later it was gone, his expression hard as he remembered something.

"I think," he began, choosing his words, "we should talk."

Bloom stood in silence, her eyes still glued to the approaching army.

"Maybe." The word was soft but it quivered unmistakably with the weight of the night before.

The two of them in the war tent, their bodies pressed close, their lips just brushing before they had pushed each other away.

Why did we do that? Bloom thought. Why had they let themselves act that way before a battle that would determine the fate of the Earth? Emotions had no place on a battlefield. Ogron had reminded her of that more than enough times.