Page 14 of Feral Gods

ZAPHYR

K nowledge, like power, must be handled with precision—particularly when the two intertwine as they do in the ancient text before me.

Candlelight flickers across the fragile parchment as I carefully unfurl another section, revealing genealogical charts detailing purna bloodlines dating back to the Great War.

I've been systematically working through the temple archives since before dawn, searching for anything that might explain Kaia's unusual ability to break our curse or help counter Morwen's tracking magic.

After the confrontation between Ravik and Kaia yesterday evening, tensions in the sanctuary have reached a precarious balance.

Thane patrols the perimeter with heightened vigilance, while Ravik broods in the upper levels, torn between his protective instincts and strategic pragmatism.

And Kaia... she retreated to her small chamber after making her position clear.

She will not be sent away, nor will she passively accept decisions made about her fate without her input.

Her courage continues to fascinate me—a human standing her ground against three gargoyles, each capable of ending her life with minimal effort.

The more I observe her, the more convinced I become that she is not merely what she appears to be.

My attention returns to the genealogical chart, fingers tracing the intricate lines connecting purna family names. Most have faded into illegibility over the centuries, but one name stands out with peculiar clarity: Elowyn. The Matriarch who cursed the first gargoyle.

Beneath her name, the chart branches into numerous descendants, though many lines terminate abruptly, suggesting the bloodline weakened or was deliberately culled over generations. One branch, however, extends further than the others before disappearing off the edge of the damaged parchment.

"Find anything useful?"

I look up to find Kaia standing in the archive doorway, a small bundle tucked under one arm. Her dark curls have been pulled back from her face with a simple leather cord, emphasizing the delicate lines of her features. Dark circles shadow her eyes, suggesting she slept poorly, if at all.

"Potentially," I reply, gesturing toward the bench across from me. "The temple archives contain scattered references to purna bloodlines, including the family of the Matriarch who cursed us."

Kaia approaches cautiously, setting her bundle on the table—extra candles and a small pouch that emanates the scent of dried fruit and bread. "Breakfast," she explains, seeing my glance. "I thought you might be hungry after working through the night."

The considerate gesture catches me by surprise. "Thank you. Most beings avoid bringing food near ancient texts."

"I worked in Lord Vathren's library often enough to know the rules," she says with a faint smile. "No open liquids, clean hands, keep food away from the documents."

"A wise precaution when handling irreplaceable knowledge." I carefully roll the genealogical chart and set it aside before accepting a piece of dried fruit from the pouch. "Your lord permitted you access to his library?"

Kaia shrugs, perching on the edge of the bench. "I was invisible to him, like all servants. Lady Morvaine enjoyed having texts read to her while she lounged, so I learned to read quickly and clearly. The librarian eventually allowed me to help with basic organizational tasks."

"An unusual privilege for a human slave."

"The librarian was... eccentric by dark elf standards. More interested in his books than social hierarchies." A shadow crosses her face. "He disappeared about a year ago. Rumors said he'd been caught copying forbidden texts for a noble in Pyrthos."

"The more things change, the more they remain the same," I muse. "Even in our time, the sharing of knowledge between kingdoms was heavily restricted."

Kaia's gaze drifts to the rolled chart. "What does it say about the purna bloodlines?"

I hesitate, weighing how much to reveal.

The possibility that Kaia might have purna ancestry is growing in my mind, but without confirmation, such knowledge could be more burden than benefit.

Yet she has proven herself both intelligent and resilient—perhaps the truth, partial though it may be, is the wisest course.

"The Matriarch who led the purna coven during our cursing was named Elowyn," I explain, unfurling the chart again.

"Her bloodline was particularly potent, even among the purna.

According to these records, her descendants were closely monitored by the royal houses, though many lines seem to have died out over the generations. "

"Or went into hiding," Kaia suggests, leaning forward to study the chart. "If I were descended from powerful witches targeted by dark elf nobility, I might conceal my heritage too."

Her astute observation further confirms my assessment of her intelligence. "Indeed. And a bloodline submerged is not necessarily a bloodline extinct. Magic can lie dormant for generations, only to resurface when conditions are right."

She looks up sharply, hazel-green eyes narrowing. "You think I might have purna blood? That's absurd. I've never shown any magical ability."

"Haven't you?" I counter gently. "You broke a curse crafted by the most powerful purna witch of our era—a curse designed specifically to be unbreakable."

"That was just..." She hesitates, clearly struggling to articulate an explanation. "Desperation. Coincidence. The temple responded to my plea, not me specifically."

"Perhaps." I roll the chart once more, not pressing the point directly. "Regardless, we need to strengthen the sanctuary's defenses against Morwen's tracking magic. Your assistance would be valuable, if you're willing."

The shift in subject visibly relaxes her. "Of course. What do you need me to do?"

"The temple's defensive systems were designed to be maintained by dark elf acolytes with minimal magical ability," I explain, rising from the bench.

"Many of the control mechanisms require delicate manipulation that our gargoyle forms make difficult.

Your smaller hands would be ideal for reactivating certain sigil sequences. "

Kaia follows me from the archives, through winding corridors to a chamber I discovered yesterday—a hexagonal room at the heart of the temple, its walls inscribed with protective sigils that pulse faintly with dormant magic.

At the center stands a circular altar carved from black stone, its surface etched with a complex array of symbols arranged in concentric rings.

"This is the nexus point for the temple's defensive matrix," I tell her, watching her expression shift from curiosity to awe as she takes in the ancient workmanship.

"Each sigil connects to a corresponding ward in the outer defenses.

By channeling energy through specific sequences, we can strengthen those wards against different types of attacks—including magical tracking. "

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, approaching the altar with reverent steps. "Like a language written in light and shadow."

Her poetic observation surprises me. "An apt description. Magic, at its core, is a language—a means of communicating intent to the fundamental forces of creation."

I guide her around the altar, explaining the basic principles of sigil activation.

Unlike the complex incantations required for most magical workings, these were designed to be activated through physical contact in the correct sequence, drawing on the ambient magical energy of the temple itself rather than the practitioner's personal power.

"These three sigils," I indicate a triad of symbols resembling interlocking crescents, "form the foundation of anti-scrying protections. Touch them in sequence—outer, inner, middle—while focusing on the concept of concealment."

Kaia hesitates, her slender fingers hovering above the carved stone. "What if I do it wrong? Could I damage the defenses?"

"The system was designed with numerous safeguards," I assure her. "At worst, the sigils simply won't activate. The temple won't explode."

A small smile curves her lips at my attempt at humor. "Comforting."

She takes a deep breath, then touches the first sigil as instructed.

Nothing happens immediately, but she continues, pressing the second, then the third symbol in sequence.

For a moment, the chamber remains unchanged—then a soft blue glow emanates from the sigils, spreading outward in rippling waves that trace the connections between the symbols.

"Good," I encourage her, genuinely pleased with her first attempt. "Now try this sequence for protection against elemental attacks."

We work through several more basic sequences, Kaia growing more confident with each successful activation. The defensive matrix responds to her touch with increasing responsiveness, sigils illuminating more quickly and with greater intensity than I would expect from a complete novice.

"You have a natural affinity for this," I observe, watching as she completes a particularly complex sequence without error. "Most practitioners require significant training before achieving such consistent results."

"It feels... familiar somehow," she admits, a small crease forming between her brows. "As if I've done this before, though I know that's impossible."

Another piece of evidence supporting my growing theory. "Magic often recognizes its own, even when consciously forgotten."

Her expression turns troubled. "You really believe I might have purna ancestry? Wouldn't I have known? Wouldn't there have been... signs?"

"Not necessarily. Magic manifests differently in each individual, and can remain dormant without proper training or triggering circumstances." I gesture to the now-glowing altar. "Consider how the temple's defenses lay inactive for centuries until the right stimulus awakened them."