Page 20 of Feral Gods

RAVIK

B lood sings in my veins as I track the retreating dark elves through the moonlit forest. Their scent lingers in the cold night air—fear mixed with determination, wounded pride poisoning their retreat.

I follow at a distance, wings folded tight against my back for stealth, moving through shadow with the deadly precision that once made me the most feared commander in Liiandor's elite guard.

Ironic, that I now hunt those I once led.

The elite unit moves with disciplined efficiency despite their wounded, breaking into smaller groups at predetermined points, using the terrain to mask their withdrawal.

No random flight of defeated soldiers, but strategic retreat—gathering information, preserving strength for future assault.

Their commander understands the art of withdrawal.

Good. I respect competent enemies. They die more efficiently.

I pause at the ridge overlooking a narrow ravine where the main force converges, counting figures in the darkness.

Seventeen survivors from what began as thirty warriors—not including any they left behind to observe our sanctuary.

Acceptable losses, but not devastating enough to deter King Kres from sending more.

An officer gestures sharply, and the unit forms around a glowing neptherium stone, the light pulsing in a distinctive pattern.

Communication sigil, likely connecting directly to Liiandor.

The patterns shift too rapidly for me to decipher at this distance, but the message is clear: they report failure but not defeat. They will return.

My fingers flex, talons extending with the desire to rend and tear. I could strike now, eliminating this threat permanently. The darkness is my ally, their wounds my advantage. None would escape.

But the greater threat to our sanctuary—to Kaia—lies elsewhere. These soldiers are merely instruments. The true danger comes from purna witches, who even now may be approaching from another direction while I focus on this decoy.

With reluctance, I withdraw, making one final circuit of the temple's surroundings before returning.

The ancient mountain paths remain silent and empty, though whether from absence of enemies or simply their superior concealment, I cannot determine.

My senses, heightened beyond even the exceptional acuity of dark elves, detect no immediate threat—yet unease prickles along my spine like phantom claws.

The sanctuary looms ahead, its weathered stone facade now bearing fresh scars from the attack.

Gouges mark where magical projectiles struck ancient walls, while dark stains on the threshold betray where I separated a dark elf captain from his ambitions.

The makeshift barricade Thane constructed from fallen masonry blocks the shattered entrance—functional but hardly impregnable.

I slip through a narrow gap in the defenses, unwilling to announce my return by moving the larger stones. The main hall lies in shadow, illuminated only by the faint blue glow of damaged neptherium nodes. Weapons and armor fragments litter the floor, testament to the ferocity of our defense.

"They've retreated beyond the outer ridge," I announce, expecting to find Thane standing guard as ordered.

Silence answers.

I extend my senses, filtering through the lingering scents of battle—blood, sweat, the acrid residue of spent magic.

Beneath these, I detect the familiar presence of my companions: Thane's iron-blood musk emanates from the eastern corridor, while Zephyr's more subtle aura drifts from the lower archives.

And Kaia—the honey-snow-autumn-leaves scent that has become as essential as air—flows from the small antechamber Zephyr converted to healing space after the attack.

Alone.

Anger sparks beneath my skin, sending amber light pulsing through the runes etched across my chest. I specifically ordered that she not be left unguarded, regardless of our apparent victory. Does no one understand the stakes? The fragility of human flesh against magical assault?

I move through the temple with silent fury, wings partially extended in unconscious threat display. The heavy stone door to the healing chamber stands partially open, spilling warm lamplight into the corridor. I pause at the threshold, drawn by movement within.

Kaia stands with her back to the entrance, bent slightly over a basin of steaming water.

Her dark curls have been drawn up and secured with a thin leather cord, exposing the delicate curve of her neck.

The simple tunic she wears—fashioned from fabric found in the temple stores—has slipped from one shoulder, revealing a constellation of freckles across skin the color of sun-warmed honey.

The sight sends an unexpected surge of possessiveness through me, so powerful it momentarily steals my breath. Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to claim.

She lifts a cloth from the water, wringing it carefully before raising it to her exposed shoulder. Only then do I notice the angry red abrasion marking her skin—a wound she received during our retreat to the lower chamber, when falling debris grazed her despite Thane's protective shielding.

The knowledge that she was injured, however slightly, beneath my protection ignites something primal within me. A growl builds in my chest, escaping before I can contain it.

Kaia spins toward the sound, eyes wide with momentary alarm before recognition softens her features. "Ravik. You're back."

"You're injured." I step into the chamber, allowing the door to swing closed behind me. "And alone."

She returns to tending her wound, seemingly unconcerned by either fact. "It's just a scrape. And I'm hardly alone in a temple with three gargoyles, even if they're not hovering directly over me."

"I gave explicit instructions?—"

"That I would not be left unguarded," she finishes, meeting my gaze directly.

The timid slave who stumbled into our sanctuary less than a week ago has transformed into something altogether more formidable.

"Zephyr is translating texts about purna warding magic in the archives directly below us.

Thane is reinforcing the eastern tunnel entrance as we discussed. "

Her calm recitation of facts does nothing to soothe my agitation. "And if enemies had breached our defenses while I was gone? If that purna witch had infiltrated our sanctuary?"

"Then I would have called for help and defended myself as best I could until you arrived." She sets down the cloth with deliberate precision. "I'm not helpless, Ravik. Vulnerable, yes. Inexperienced with magic, certainly. But not helpless."

The echo of our earlier conversation—of her assertion of agency during the dark elf attack—stirs conflicting emotions within me. Pride in her growing strength battles with an overwhelming need to shelter her from all harm.

"Let me see your wound," I demand, approaching with careful steps. Despite my transformation, I remain acutely aware of how my massive form might intimidate a being so much smaller and frailer than myself.

Kaia hesitates only briefly before turning, presenting her injured shoulder with quiet dignity. The abrasion looks worse up close—a raw scrape approximately the size of my palm, already beginning to bruise around its edges.

"There's healing salve," she offers, gesturing to a small clay pot on the stone table. "Zephyr found it in the temple stores. Said it was infused with magic for accelerated healing."

I retrieve the container, removing its sealed lid with careful precision despite the size differential between my clawed hands and the delicate pottery. The salve within glows with faint luminescence, confirming its magical properties.

"This will help," I confirm, gathering a small amount on my fingertips. "But it may sting initially."

"I can handle pain," she replies simply, a statement so matter-of-fact it sparks renewed anger at all she must have endured before finding our sanctuary.

I apply the salve with utmost gentleness, talons retracted, using only the pads of my fingers against her tender skin.

Even so, she tenses momentarily at the contact before relaxing into my touch.

The contrast between my obsidian hand and her golden skin captivates me—darkness against light, stone against silk, predator against prey.

Except she has never truly been prey, has she? Not in spirit, regardless of her physical vulnerability.

"You fought well today," I say, surprising myself with the admission. "Your plan to divide our forces was tactically sound."

A smile graces her lips, transforming her face from merely beautiful to radiant. "High praise from the commander of the elite guard."

"Former commander," I correct, continuing to apply the healing salve with careful strokes. "That life ended centuries ago."

"Did it?" Her question carries no judgment, only genuine curiosity. "You still command. Still protect. Still lead."

The observation unsettles me with its accuracy.

Despite my transformation, despite centuries of stone sleep, the core of who I am remains unchanged—a protector, a warrior, a leader.

But something has shifted since awakening, something fundamental that centers around the remarkable human beneath my hands.

"I have never sought to protect anyone or anything as fiercely as I wish to protect you," I admit, the confession dragged from some deep, hidden place within me. "It... disturbs my equilibrium."

Kaia turns to face me fully, her movement bringing us closer than propriety would allow in any dark elf court. The healing salve glistens on her shoulder, already beginning to work its magic as the angry red fades to pink.

"Why?" she asks, a simple question with a profoundly complex answer.

I struggle to articulate emotions I scarcely understand myself. "You broke our curse. You awakened us from eternal imprisonment. That creates obligation."