Treeg paced the length of the library, his footsteps a pitter-patter of panic to Margo’s ears. She remained seated at the table where she had explained Yulo’s threat. Her hands were folded under her chin as she gazed down at the dark-wooded table. Sprouts of glembers were curling up around her elbows, but quickly shaking and withering away as Treeg approached the other end with a frustrated scowl.

  “We have to evacuate,” he said firmly. “We’ll tell Xireal, and we’ll take everyone back to the bluffs. The Knights won’t find us there.”

  “That’s about as dumb as surrendering,” Margo replied, lowering her face to keep her frown pressed into the back of her hands. Muffled and low, she stated in a cautious tone, “And we’re not surrendering, Treeg.”

  Treeg threw his hands up with a helpless laugh. “Of course we’re not surrendering, we can’t! Fable doesn’t believe in mercy.”

  “Neither do we.” Margo closed her eyes, envisioning her victory over the evil townspeople of Guina. Their wretched faces flooded her mind, pointing and jeering with mouths of rotten, yellowed teeth and greedy, hate-filled eyes. She could feel her veins pumping faster, her heart racing as the vision of Bennet skittering and cowering under her grand, powerful form plastered itself across her imagination like one stretched canvas of her might. “When Yulo comes, we’ll burn them all.”

  “How?” Treeg asked, slumping in the chair across from Margo. He tugged his raven braid over his shoulder, pulling at the frayed ends with shaky fingers. “We don’t even know what they can do. We have no clue what we’re up against.”

  Margo shook her head, spreading her hands out across the table. A bloom of glowber trailed after her palms, black and wiry under her fingertips. Carefully, she traced out a map of the fortress’s ground floor, circling around the rectangular flowerbeds and orchards growing from the sides. She curved her palm and beckoned the glowber stems to meet her skin, and they formed the rolling hills just outside of the empty town limits.

  Margo twisted a primitive figure on a horse out of a misshapen root, placing it firmly on the outskirts of town. “We know a couple things. We know which way they’re coming from, and we know that they have to be human.”

  “Okay, but how does that help us kill them?” Treeg sighed. He flicked his hand, making the plant horseman charge towards the fortress. Margo dove her hands into the tangle of glowber stems, and she pulled at the growth with two tightly curled fists. Waves of roots surged upwards. A thick wall of agitated glowbers blocked off the moving figure. Treeg’s mouth dropped in fascination. Margo smiled slyly.

  “Let me walk you through the rest…”

  …

  The following morning, Margo stood in the middle of the fortress’s largest space-- they called it the Hollow. The Hollow was carved out of the center of the fortress, where everyone flitted in and out of through to the higher branches leading to their homes. There were plans to make the Hollow an entertainment space, with a small stage for performers. Xireal occasionally took over the stage to act out the myths and legends he had heard from nomadic Blems, flailing on all fours to play the part of long forgotten beasts.

  As Margo took the stage, hearing the whispers of the Blem population all around her, she realized she’d have to play her own part here too. Several people had seen the Knight arrive, and rumors had already broken out that a battle was brewing. Only, no one was prepared for just how soon that battle truly was, or just how far they would need to go in order to keep their home. Xireal stepped up to her from behind. He raised a gentle hand, a hush falling over the crowd. He set that same hand on her shoulder with a confident nod. “They’re all yours.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She looked across the nervous, pleading faces of the Blems. No one had looked as hungry or as weak as they had when they were living in the cave. Before, she had passed these strangers as starving, desperate people looking for a home to live in, where the light could shine down upon them and no judgement would be passed on them for existing. But they had that now. The people around her were scared, yes, scared of Fable and the tyrannous genocide led by the Knights of Fable. But they also looked to Margo with a sense of dignity and union. They were as much her citizens as she was their hero, and they were willing to fight under her.

  With a newfound confidence, Margo bowed her head graciously, before announcing, “Many of you already know what is coming for us in a handful of hours. A Knight, leading an army that could be half our size or three times as many, is coming to collect a notice of surrender.”

  The crowd, surprisingly, remained silent at this. There were no gasps or murmurs of uncertainty surrounding it. The Blems were probably used to this escalation, Margo thought. But they weren’t used to responding to it outside of laying down their arms and dying. She continued, “Just as we liberated our people from the dark caves, Treeg and I will liberate us from this territory’s evil. We are not Fable’s to take-- We are Ophelian!”

  She threw her fist high above her in the air, pumping it with pride as she had read small town heroes do a thousand times in books to inspire the masses. To her dismay, the crowd remained stoic. Awkwardly, she retracted it, looking over the stagnant, uncertain expressions reflecting back at her. “Um… At least, that’s the plan.”

  “You really think you’re strong enough to take down an army of Knights?” A voice shouted from the back. Margo immediately recognized the high, whiny pitch of her classmate Kethell. She had hidden herself behind a goat-man, but he quickly stepped aside to reveal her as the crowd parted. She cleared her throat, a horrible wet noise before she trotted forward to glower down at Margo. “Maybe you’re strong, Margo, but you’re not that strong.”

  Quietly from behind, Xireal added, “It’s not that we don’t believe in you Margo… But our people have been at odds with these monsters for years. It’s going to take more than one hero to save us here.”

  Margo bit her lip. She considered her words carefully, because Treeg had warned her before not to come across as too sure of their plan.

  “They need to have that room for doubt, because they have to choose to use that space to believe in you,” he had said warmly. “So be confident, but be honest too.”

  Slowly, Margo started again earnestly. She kept her eyes locked with Kethell’s beedy, narrowing pupils. “Xireal’s right. You’re right, Kethell. I can’t handle this on my own. I couldn’t even handle taking the town on my own, I needed Treeg there.”

  She stepped forward, putting a benevolent hand on Kethell’s soft, fuzzy neck and giving her classmate an apologetic smile. “This time, I’m asking for everyone’s help here. If we want to protect this place, we have to do it together. Treeg and I have a plan, but it involves everyone’s magic in order for it to work.”

  Kethell rolled her eyes. “As if I’d give my life up for one of your half-brained schemes. I didn’t even want this stupid fortress! None of us asked for this.”

  “You didn’t have to!” Margo threw her arms out wide, gesturing to the entirety of the Hollow. “But I felt your pain. I heard your worries. I brought us here, brought us together. And you came, Kethell. You followed me too.”

  Kethell clicked her long giraffe tongue, whipping her head back. But there was no bitter retort that followed the motion, only a sour look she kept to herself above the crowd.

  Margo continued energetically. “Treeg is standing at the front entrance with everything you need. Those of you who are willing to help defend us, meet me there. As for the rest, I’ll take your gratitude after the fact.”

  The crowd shifted, the majority moving towards the entrance with a static vigor. Xireal raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning over his alligator tail thoughtfully. “This is a big risk, Margo. People could die.”

  “Everyone will die if we just give up,” Margo replied softly. “If we’re going to die anyways, I’d rather just give it a try.”

  Xireal gave a silent, somewhat regal nod, waddling off the stage to join the flow shuffling towards the entrance. He glanced back at Margo, giving her a sad smile. Something about it made Margo’s mind grind to a winding halt. Time seemed to stop, as she tried to dissect the expression. Was it empathy? Or sympathy? Why didn’t it really feel like either? Before she could stop Xireal to ask, the world had moved without her, and he was gone.