Page 10 of Feral Gods

KAIA

D ust billows around me as I sweep the ancient stone floor of what will become my quarters—a small chamber adjacent to the inner sanctum, once used to house acolytes who tended the temple's sacred flame.

The gargoyles have been occupied with defensive preparations since Thane's return from his scouting mission, leaving me to carve out my own small territory within this vast, imposing sanctuary.

I've spent my entire life creating order from chaos as a servant, but this labor feels different.

For the first time, I'm arranging a space for myself, not for a master's convenience.

Freedom tastes strange on my tongue, bittersweet with the knowledge that it may be short-lived if King Kres's forces breach our defenses.

Our defenses. Already I think of this place as partially mine, though it's barely been two days since I stumbled half-frozen through its doors.

The gargoyles might be fearsome guardians with dubious opinions of humans, but they've shown me more consideration than six years of servitude in Liiandor ever did.

I pause my sweeping to examine my surroundings with a critical eye.

The chamber is small but private, with a narrow window cut high into the stone wall, allowing a shaft of pale sunlight to illuminate dancing motes of dust. A stone ledge built into the wall will serve as a sleeping platform once I've padded it with the furs and fabrics Zephyr helped me locate in a long-forgotten storage room.

It's hardly luxurious, but after years of sleeping on a thin pallet in a shared servants' alcove, it feels like unimaginable privacy.

"Making yourself at home?"

I whirl around, startled by the deep voice from the doorway. Ravik fills the entrance completely, his massive obsidian form blocking the light from the corridor. His amber eyes glow as they scan the chamber, taking in my modest attempts at domestication.

"Just trying to be useful," I reply, setting the crude broom aside. "I can't help with defenses like Thane, or understand magic like Zephyr, but I can make this place more livable."

Ravik steps into the chamber, ducking his horned head slightly to clear the doorway. His wings fold tightly against his broad back to accommodate the small space. Somehow, his presence makes the room feel even smaller, more intimate.

"A practical approach," he observes, running a clawed finger along a shelf I've cleared of debris. "Though perhaps unnecessary. This sanctuary may not be our home for long."

The implication sends a chill through me. "You think we'll have to abandon it?"

"I think we must prepare for all possibilities." His gaze shifts to me, intense and unreadable. "King Kres does not forgive, and he does not forget. If he wants you badly enough to send his elite forces, he will not relent easily."

I square my shoulders, refusing to show the fear that gnaws at my insides. "Then we'll just have to be stronger than his resolve."

A rumbling sound emerges from Ravik's chest—something that might almost be a chuckle. "Brave words from a little human."

"Not brave," I correct him. "Desperate. I've seen what happens to runaway slaves who are recaptured. Death would be kinder."

His expression darkens, the amber glow in his eyes intensifying. "No one will take you back to Liiandor while I draw breath."

The fierce protectiveness in his voice stirs something warm and unexpected in my chest. For a moment, neither of us speaks, caught in a strange tension that feels both dangerous and compelling.

I break the silence first. "I found some supplies that might be useful—preserved food, old blankets, even some clothing left behind by the temple's original inhabitants.

" I gesture toward a pile of items I've sorted on a stone table.

"The garments might be too small for you three, but there are cloaks and such that could be adapted. "

Ravik examines the items with mild interest before his attention returns to me. "You continue to prove resourceful. Good. You'll need that quality in the days ahead."

"What happens next?" I ask, voicing the question that's been foremost in my mind since Thane's return. "After tonight's raid, I mean."

"That depends on what Thane discovers," Ravik replies, his massive form shifting restlessly in the confined space. "If the dark elf forces are as substantial as we fear, we may need to consider alternatives to direct confrontation."

"Escape, you mean?" The thought of fleeing again, of leaving this sanctuary that already feels like more of a home than Lord Vathren's household ever did, sends a wave of disappointment through me.

"Strategic repositioning," he corrects with the faintest curl of his lip. "Gargoyles do not flee."

Of course not. His pride would never allow such an admission. I hide my smile as I turn to continue arranging my meager possessions.

"I should help Zephyr with the temple defenses," I say, feeling Ravik's intense gaze on my back. "He mentioned some mechanisms that require smaller hands than yours."

"Later," Ravik decides. "First, you will eat. You've used much energy today, and humans are fragile creatures."

The concern in his voice, however gruffly expressed, catches me off guard. "I'm not that fragile."

"Evidence suggests otherwise." He gestures toward the door. "Come. Thane returned with game from his hunt before he reported. It roasts in the main hall."

My stomach growls at the mention of food, reminding me that I haven't eaten since the small portion of preserved rations Zephyr provided this morning.

I follow Ravik through the winding corridors of the temple, watching the play of muscles beneath his stone-like skin as he walks ahead of me.

For a creature so massive and seemingly made of living rock, he moves with surprising grace, each step deliberate and silent.

The main hall has been transformed since I last saw it.

The broken entrance has been sealed with massive stone slabs that pulse with faint blue light—neptherium wards, according to Zephyr's earlier explanation.

The central hearth blazes with magical fire that requires no fuel, casting a warm glow throughout the cavernous space.

Near the fire, a makeshift spit holds what appears to be a dae haunch, the rich aroma of roasting meat filling the air.

Zephyr kneels before an intricate diagram drawn on the floor in shimmering silver powder, his hands moving in complex patterns as he recites words in a language I don't recognize. The air around him distorts slightly, like heat rising from sun-baked stone, as magic responds to his call.

"Don't interrupt him," Ravik warns quietly. "Breaking a warding ritual can have... unpleasant consequences."

I nod, keeping a respectful distance as Ravik carves thick slices of meat from the roast. He hands me a stone plate laden with more food than I would typically eat in two days as a slave.

"Eat," he commands. "All of it."

I settle on a smooth stone bench near the fire, balancing the heavy plate on my lap. The first bite of meat nearly brings tears to my eyes—rich, gamey, and perfectly cooked. After years of subsisting on kitchen scraps and stale bread, such abundance feels almost sinful.

As I eat, I observe the two gargoyles. Ravik paces the perimeter of the hall, occasionally pausing to press a clawed hand against the wall, sending pulses of amber energy into the stone that strengthen the structure.

Zephyr continues his ritual, the silver diagram gradually expanding outward from his position in an intricate pattern of protective sigils.

Their complementary efforts highlight their differing natures Ravik's approach direct and physical, Zephyr's subtle and cerebral.

Yet both work with singular purpose toward our defense.

It's fascinating to watch beings of such power coordinating their abilities with the effortless communication of long-time comrades.

"The humans in Liiandor believe gargoyles are mindless beasts," I remark when Ravik passes near my position. "Just monsters from children's stories."

He pauses, regarding me with those burning eyes. "A convenient fiction perpetuated by those who betrayed us. Easier to justify our imprisonment if we are reduced to animals in the public consciousness."

"But you were heroes once," I say, recalling what Zephyr had told me. "Elite warriors who volunteered to be transformed to save your people."

A shadow crosses Ravik's face. "We were fools who trusted a king's promises. A mistake we will not repeat."

There's raw pain beneath his harsh words, centuries of betrayal compressed into that simple statement. I wonder what he was like before—as a dark elf commander, respected and powerful. How much of that original person remains beneath the fearsome gargoyle exterior?

Zephyr's ritual concludes with a final pulse of silver light that ripples outward through the stone floor, walls, and ceiling. He rises gracefully, looking tired but satisfied.

"The inner wards are complete," he announces, joining us by the fire. "Combined with the physical reinforcements, they should hold against conventional forces. Against purna magic..." He leaves the statement unfinished, his turquoise eyes troubled.

"Morwen is powerful," Ravik acknowledges. "But old. And her focus has always been on curse-craft and domination magic, not siege warfare."

"Unless she created new spells specifically to counter our defenses," Zephyr counters. "She had centuries to prepare, assuming she anticipated our eventual awakening."

"A cheerful thought," I murmur, earning a surprised glance from both gargoyles. "Sorry. Dark humor was a survival mechanism in Lord Vathren's household."

Zephyr's expression softens slightly. "An understandable adaptation. Humor often flourishes in environments of extreme stress."

Ravik merely grunts, turning his attention back to the sealed entrance. "The sun sets. Thane will depart soon for his raid on the dark elf position."