Her fae & His fairy

Chapter 24

Azriel:

In the middle of the night, a celestial tapestry of stars attempts to pierce through the thick quilt of clouds, casting a feeble glow upon the world below. The wind, relentless and biting, howls through the air, whipping through the desolate forest. The trees, bereft of their foliage, stand tall like sentinels, their branches, and bark groaning in protest against the relentless onslaught of the icy gusts.

The ground beneath my feet is a mosaic of frozen grass and mud, each step weighed down by the frigid embrace of the winter night. The very earth seems to exhale clouds of icy breath, shrouded in the ethereal glow of moonlight, struggling to break free from its celestial prison. The most light seems to come from a lonesome star by the moon's side. The air is laden with the scent of damp soil and the sharp tang of winter, creating an otherworldly atmosphere in the heart of the nocturnal wilderness.

My legs ache with fatigue, muscles protesting from the relentless running and fighting that has consumed hours, days, and seemingly endless months. As we surge through the lands we've hunted, my arms bear the marks of countless slashes, and a searing cut on my side elicits a hiss of pain with each step. I glance down at the sword in my hands, its malevolent gleam enhanced by the scant moonlight, and the crimson stains it leaves behind mark the relentless dance of battle.

Amid the cacophony of shouts heralding victory, both male and female warriors converge upon a meadow where our exhausted forces gather. We stand united, wearied by the trials of the untamed wilderness, but driven forward by the intoxicating thirst for triumph. A companion from beside me playfully shoves me, passing a leather shatel filled with a welcoming drink. Tilting my head back, I embrace the fiery burn of alcohol coursing down my throat, my laughter joining the wild chorus around me. The male at my side, his flame-coloured hair mirroring the torches that illuminate our celebration, shares in the euphoria.

Amid the revelry, a female approaches, her expression masked by the flickering torchlight. Only her medium brown hair is visible as she leans into me. Encircling her with my arms, I growl promises of shared moments later, and she responds by pressing her backside into me, a silent acknowledgement of the raw energy pulsating through the victorious gathering

Yet, it's not my own legs that ache with exhaustion, not my body bearing the wounds, and not my hands holding the stranger. Glancing around, I attempt to discern the faces in the crowd, to grasp the words exchanged, but everything blurs into an indistinct flurry. Before us, ten imposing bonfires rise, poles piercing through them, and a gathering of people envelops the scene, forming a circle around the pyres.

In the midst of it all stands a tall, proud man with jet-black hair, his words a distant murmur I can't decipher. His grand gestures incite the crowd, infusing the air with tension. Drums resonate from an unseen source, their steady beats escalating as he continues to speak. Finally, he spreads his arms wide, a signal that triggers the emergence of fae from all directions. Each of them escorts a bound male or female, forced towards their designated bonfire. I swiftly notice the reason for the iron bindings — tightly wrapped around their wings, reminiscent of Euodia's. Shock courses through me, urging me to retreat, to intervene on behalf of those being led toward their ominous fate. Yet, the body hosting my consciousness remains unperturbed, showing no surprise at the impending tragedy.

At the forefront stands a captivating female, her golden hair shimmering in the sunlight, her skin kissed by the sun, and a slender form adorned with wings that radiate hues of pink. Unlike the others, she doesn't resist as they force her to the pole atop the bonfire, and her people exhibit a similar resignation. Profanities and hate-filled shouts erupt from the surrounding fae, directed at the ten individuals being ushered toward their grim fate.