Page 2 of Feral Gods

RAVIK

D arkness. Silence. Eternity.

These have been my companions for centuries untold. The curse has left me aware yet unaware, trapped in a half-existence between consciousness and oblivion. Time has no meaning in stone sleep. I drift in a void of fractured memories and smothered rage.

Sometimes, I catch glimpses of the world beyond—faint echoes of sound, shifts in temperature as seasons change, the occasional presence of creatures seeking shelter within our sanctuary. But these sensations reach me as if through murky water, distant and impossible to grasp.

Today—if there is such a thing as today in this timeless prison—something changes.

A storm howls against the ancient stones of our temple, its fury penetrating even my dulled senses.

The wind carries whispers I haven't heard in centuries: the hunting horns of dark elves.

Their sound awakens something primal within me—hatred so visceral it threatens to crack my stone prison through sheer force of will.

Dark elves. The betrayers. The reason for our curse.

Fragments of memory flash through my consciousness—leading warriors into battle against the vrakken, standing proud in the king's court, the purna witch's face twisted in fury as she cast the spell that locked us in eternal stone. My brothers beside me, turned to statues in an instant.

The horns grow louder, and with them comes something else—the rapid, frightened breathing of prey. Footsteps stumble across the temple threshold, hesitant and light. Not dark elf. Something smaller. Weaker.

Human.

I struggle to focus my awareness, straining against the curse that binds me.

I sense the human collapse within our sanctuary, its life force flickering like a candle in the wind.

Death approaches swiftly in this cold, and soon the temple will once again stand empty, save for three stone guardians locked in eternal sleep.

Then the human speaks.

"Please," a female voice whispers, desperation evident in every syllable. "If anyone or anything dwells in this place... help me. I ask only for sanctuary."

Her words ripple through the temple, stirring ancient magic long dormant. I feel the spell that binds us shudder in response to her plea. The woman continues, her voice growing fainter.

"I have nothing to offer in return. But I swear by whatever gods might listen that I will repay any kindness with loyalty. Just don't let them take me back."

Something fractures within me—within the curse itself. The sincerity in her voice, the desperation, the willingness to pledge loyalty to unknown entities simply for protection... it resonates with magic older than the purna's spell, magic woven into the very foundations of this sanctuary.

I feel the stone encasing me begin to crack.

Pain lances through my consciousness as awareness floods back in a torrent.

Sensation returns—the cold air against skin that has known only stone for centuries, the weight of my own body, the burning in lungs that suddenly remember how to breathe.

My limbs, stiff from eons of immobility, tremble as the last of the stone shell falls away.

I open my eyes to near-darkness, my vision adjusting instantly to reveal the familiar contours of our ancient temple.

Nothing has changed, yet everything has.

Dust and neglect have claimed what was once a sacred place of power.

The neptherium lanterns, once bright with blue-white light, lay dormant and dark.

My attention fixes on the small form crumpled on the temple floor. The human—the female who somehow broke our curse. She lies motionless, her skin pale with cold, her breathing shallow. Death's shadow hovers close.

I take a step toward her, stone fragments falling from my massive form as I move.

My wings unfurl behind me, stretching painfully after centuries of confinement.

I tower over her slight figure, standing nearly eight feet tall, my obsidian skin etched with ancient runes that glow faintly in the dim light.

Rage surges within me—rage at the dark elves who hunt her, at the purna who cursed us, at my own weakness in succumbing to stone sleep. But alongside that familiar fury burns something unexpected: a fierce, overwhelming impulse to protect this fragile creature.

I kneel beside her, my clawed hands hovering uncertainly over her still form.

She appears young by human standards, though age means little to one who has existed for millennia.

Dark curls frame a face marked by exhaustion and cold, yet still bearing a stubborn determination even in unconsciousness.

A slave, judging by the rough gray dress and the faint scar of a brand partially visible on her wrist.

The hunting horns sound again, closer now. The dark elves approach, and with them comes the prospect of recapture—for the human, and perhaps for us, should the purna learn of our awakening.

"Ravik?" A voice, hoarse from disuse, echoes through the temple chamber. "Is that truly you?"

I turn to see Zephyr emerging from his own stone prison, silver-gray skin catching what little light filters through the temple entrance. His turquoise eyes widen as they fall on the unconscious human.

"What is happening?" he demands, his voice growing stronger with each word. "How is this possible?"

Before I can answer, another crack of stone announces Thane's awakening. The largest of us after myself, his iron-black skin seems to absorb the very shadows as he shakes off the last remnants of his stone shell.

"By the Thirteen," he growls, crimson eyes blazing as he takes in our surroundings. "We're free." His gaze falls on the human, and his expression darkens. "What is that doing here?"

"She broke the curse," I reply, my own voice a graveled rumble after centuries of silence. "Her plea for sanctuary awakened magic older than the purna's spell."

"A human?" Thane spits the word like a curse. "Impossible."

Zephyr approaches cautiously, crouching to examine the woman more closely. "She's dying," he observes, his scholarly detachment failing to mask the concern in his voice. "The cold has nearly claimed her."

"Let it," Thane snarls, stretching his massive wings. "We owe humans nothing. Less than nothing."

A growl builds in my chest, surprising even me with its ferocity. "She stays."

Both turn to me, shock evident in their expressions. I am no friend to humans—none of us are, not after what we endured at the hands of purnas and their human collaborators. Yet the protective impulse that seized me at her plea only intensifies as I look down at her vulnerable form.

"She broke our curse," I continue, meeting their stares with unwavering intensity. "That creates a debt."

Thane bares his fangs. "Since when do we honor debts to lesser beings?"

"Since one of them freed us from eternal imprisonment," Zephyr interjects smoothly, ever the voice of reason. He rises, dusting stone fragments from his lean form. "Besides, the dark elves hunting her may lead the purna back to us. We should at least learn what she knows before deciding her fate."

The hunting horns sound again, accompanied by the distant baying of batlaz. The dark elves draw closer to our sanctuary, following the human's trail through the snow.

Decision made, I gather the woman into my arms. She weighs nothing to my strength, her body cold against my chest. Something stirs within me at the contact—an unfamiliar protectiveness tinged with something more primal. I push the feeling aside, focusing instead on practical matters.

"Zephyr, see what you can do about the temple defenses. The neptherium nodes should still function if you can awaken them. Thane, secure the perimeter. Kill any dark elf who approaches." I fix him with a hard stare when he seems ready to object. "That is not a request."

Thane's crimson eyes narrow, but he nods curtly. As aggressive and combative as he is, he recognizes the authority I held before our imprisonment—commander of the elite guard, second only to the king himself in matters of battle. Some hierarchies transcend even centuries of curse.

I carry the woman deeper into the temple, toward the inner sanctum where the sacred fire once burned eternal.

The chamber lies cold and dark now, but the ancient hearth remains intact.

With a thought, I summon a fraction of the magic that flows through my veins—magic born of chaos and transformation.

Fire blooms between my clawed fingers, dancing across my obsidian skin without burning.

I direct it to the hearth, where it catches on the remnants of wood left there centuries ago.

The sanctum fills with warm light, illuminating walls covered in faded murals depicting the glory of the Thirteen. I lay the woman carefully on the stone altar—once used for ritual sacrifice, now serving as an impromptu bed. Her skin appears even paler in the firelight, her lips tinged with blue.

"Live," I command her, as if my will alone could force life back into her failing body. "You freed us. You do not have permission to die."

Her eyelids flutter at the sound of my voice, but she does not wake. I remove my scaled cloak—manifestation of my power, not fabric—and lay it over her still form. It carries my body's heat and will protect her from the cold better than her tattered slave garments.

As I stand watching over her, confusion wars with instinct within me.

Why do I care whether this human lives or dies?

She is nothing to me—a lesser being, like all humans.

Yet something about her plea, her desperation, her willingness to trust unknown entities for protection, has awakened something within me I thought long dead.

Behind me, I hear the distant sounds of combat Thane engaging the first of the dark elf hunters, judging by the screams. Good. Let him slake his bloodthirst on our ancient enemies. It will help clear his mind regarding the human.