The Circle of Seven

Every hundred years, on the night of a blood moon, the Circle of Seven emerge from the shadows.

Ethereal yet indomitable, they hunt the blood of sinners. Their hunger opens their circle to the living world. Only the death of a mortal can close it.

She who seals the circle with a sinner’s blood before sunrise reigns as Divine for the next hundred years.

Elowen’s victim lay writhing at her feet. After centuries of waiting, the turn had come to her. Her heart struck hard against her leather-bound corset. She stood at the edge of the clearing, her feet rooted in the damp earth, and planted her fists on each hip in triumph.

The Circle had not questioned her victory when they had reunited at the sacrificial site. A sinner of the flesh was the ultimate sacrifice.

She had taken him in the act—the girl beneath him in frozen surrender. Elowen had dragged him by the ankle across the forest floor, over prickly brambles and sharp twigs, his trousers still around his thighs. She had relished in the sight of his nails clawing uselessly at roots, and the pitiful sound of his cries echoing in the quiet of the night.

They stood around him now, six hooded figures bathed in the orange glow of a blood moon. He was not a boy—they were forbidden to hunt the young—but barely beyond it. A man of just twenty, bound at the wrists and ankles with thick rope, his skin scraped raw, his mouth gagged with torn cloth. Blood and dirt caked his cheek. His chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, the whites of his eyes flashing as he twisted uselessly against the bindings.

Once the ash and crushed herbs mixed with dry soil had been sprinkled in a wide ring around the clearing, all was ready for the ceremony to begin.

“Where is our sister Kadia?” Elowen asked, noting their coven was incomplete.

Skyla shifted her weight, casting her eyes toward the woods. “She has not returned.”

Elowen’s hands curled slowly into fists, then loosened again. Kadia’s absence did not surprise her. The youngest always lingered among mortals too long. Always watched them too closely. Always wanted too much of their world.

Lyra’s voice cut through her thoughts. “If she is not here before sunrise, the circle cannot close.”

Elowen scowled at the horizon that had begun to pale. Dawn was coming.

“Someone should go after her,” Lyra said quickly. “If she is in trouble—”

“Fine. Go,” Elowen ordered.

No one moved. A silent resistance. They would not obey her command. Not yet, not until the title was hers.

Elowen hesitated, watching the man at the centre of the circle thrash, a muffled cry escaping his gag. His bindings loosened with every thrash of his body.

Another sister spoke firmly. “We can handle him. You are the strongest among us, Elowen. If Kadia is in danger, she will need you.”

Elowen pulled her shoulders back in response, gaining a few more inches in stature. She strode to the captive and knelt beside him, tightening the rope around his wrists slowly, deliberately, until his fingers blanched. Then, she struck him with her fist. His body went slack, but his chest continued to rise and fall.

“None of you may touch him,” she warned with a finger pointed in the air. “You know the rules.”

Then she turned on her heels and disappeared into the night.

Branches scraped her thighs as she pushed through the undergrowth; the hooting of owls and rustling of birds in their nests muffled the sounds of her footsteps. Leaping over fallen branches and moss-covered stones, she stopped only to break off leaves and press them to her nose, tracking the scent of her wayward sister.

As she continued, moving with stealth precision, her thoughts turned to her victory. There would be no more enduring centuries of the Divine Orianna’s reign of lightness and femininity.

The time had come for something new to rise. A transformation. No more softness and mercy. No more warmth and nurturing. Elowen would rule under the dark feminine powers—with fierce resilience. Where rage and rebellion clear the space for rebirth.

As the sun hovered below the horizon, Elowen quickened her pace.

A whisper carried by the breeze broke her stride.

“Elowen.”

She turned and found her crouched behind a fallen log, half-hidden by ferns. Her wild raven curls spilled over her shoulders, leaves and burrs caught in the braids.

“Kadia—what are you doing?” she hissed.

“Oh, Elowen, thank the Divine you’re here.” Kadia staggered to her feet. “I was being followed. I couldn’t lead them back to the sisterhood, so I hid.” She peered over her shoulder. “Is the coast clear?”

There was a rustling of leaves behind them. Elowen stepped in front of her sister and drew her dagger. A squirrel emerged from the bushes and scurried across their path.

“There’s no one here,” Elowen said impatiently, slipping her weapon back in its pouch. “Come now, we’re running out of time.”

She started back toward the ceremonial site, her fur boots snapping twigs and stomping over rotting roots.

Moments later, she glanced over her shoulder to find Kadia trailing several paces back. Her steps dragged, revealing hesitation. She was stalling.

“Elowen,” Kadia called softly. “Wait—”

Elowen spun, crossed the distance in three strides, seized her sister by the waist, and hoisted her over her shoulder like a captured animal.

Kadia shrieked, fists pounding uselessly against Elowen’s back. “Put me down! This is undignified!”

Ignoring her sister’s protests, she broke into a run. The scenery blurred as she carried Kadia through the trees, her breath burning, her heart pounding beneath her ribs like drums.

When the circle came into view, she felt it before she saw it—something was wrong.

Coming to an abrupt halt, she dropped Kadia to the ground.

No one spoke as she stepped forward.

One look at his face told her everything—the slack jaw, the lifeless eyes. His body lying motionless.

“You killed him,” Elowen snarled, gripping her dagger.

“No, you did,” Skyla said, standing her ground as Elowen towered over her. “When you knocked him unconscious.”

Fury flashed in her eyes. “That’s impossible, he was still breathing—”

“Death closes the circle,” Lyra interrupted, standing between them. “But only six were present when the blood was drawn.”

“The circle was not complete. The title cannot be yours,” Skyla said with conviction.

“You tricked me,” Elowen shrieked, her body trembling with rage.

Kadia bowed her head, refusing to meet Elowen’s venomous stare.

“Orianna’s reign continues," the six women chanted in unison.

On the horizon, the landscape took on a golden hue. Moving quickly, her sisters linked their hands, fingers interlocking. Skyla grabbed Elowen’s hand and held firmly.

“No,” she roared, lunging forward. “Traitors!”

Her scream tore from her chest, raw and feral as the earth beneath them shuddered and shook, swallowing them back into the shadows.