Page 27 of Feral Gods

"Open your eyes," Zephyr instructs gently. "But maintain the visualization."

I lift my eyelids slowly, keeping my attention focused on the sensation in my palms. What I see steals my breath—a small, flickering light hovers between my cupped hands, not quite flame but similar, pulsing with the same magenta hue that appeared during my interaction with the temple defenses.

"I'm doing this?" My voice emerges thin with disbelief.

"You are," Zephyr confirms, his expression reflecting scholarly fascination tempered with something warmer. "Flamekeeper magic, manifesting in its most basic form."

The light pulses in rhythm with my accelerating heartbeat, growing brighter as my excitement builds. "It's responding to my emotions."

"Indeed. Purna magic is intimately connected to emotional states—a strength and vulnerability simultaneously. Strong feelings amplify power but can also make it more difficult to control precisely."

As if to demonstrate his point, the magenta light flares suddenly, expanding beyond my palms to encompass my wrists. Startled, I lose concentration, and the manifestation dissipates like mist in morning sunlight.

"What happened?" I ask, staring at my empty hands with a strange sense of loss.

"A natural fluctuation as you adjust to consciously channeling energy," Zephyr explains, sounding not at all concerned. "Remarkable progress for a first attempt. Most purna apprentices require weeks of practice before achieving visible manifestation."

Pride blooms alongside lingering disbelief. "It seemed almost... easy. As if my body remembered something my mind never learned."

"Blood memory," he nods. "The magical inheritance passed through your maternal line carries not just potential but patterns—instinctual knowledge embedded in your very essence."

The implication sends a shiver through me. "How much of me is truly mine, then? And how much is predetermined by this inheritance?"

Before Zephyr can answer, a high-pitched tone cuts through our conversation—the same alarm that signaled the dark elf attack yesterday, but at a different pitch and rhythm.

He rises in one fluid motion, extending a hand to help me to my feet. "Northern perimeter. Different signature than before."

"More dark elves?" I ask, gathering my blanket around my shoulders as we move quickly toward the main hall.

"Uncertain. The pattern suggests fewer entities but stronger magical signatures." His expression grows grim. "Possibly purna support has arrived for the king's forces."

My heart stutters at the implications. If purna witches have joined the hunt, our defenses—already compromised from yesterday's attack—may prove insufficient.

We reach the main hall to find Thane already there, his massive iron-black form silhouetted against the faint blue glow of the neptherium nodes. His crimson eyes find us immediately, narrowing slightly at our proximity before focusing on more urgent matters.

"Six signatures approaching from the northern ridge," he reports. "Two dark elf, four... something else. Similar to the witch Kaia and I encountered in the forest, but stronger."

"Flamekeepers," Zephyr concludes, his scholarly detachment giving way to tactical assessment. "Likely drawn by the magical discharge when Kaia activated the temple defenses."

"Where's Ravik?" I ask, searching the shadowed hall for his commanding presence.

"Upper observation point," Thane answers. "Tracking their approach vectors."

As if summoned by his name, Ravik appears at the top of the stairs leading to the temple's highest level. His obsidian wings are partially extended, amber eyes glowing with battle-readiness.

"They're not attempting concealment," he announces, descending with powerful strides. "Moving directly toward our position in formation. This is no scouting party—it's a deliberate assault."

"Targeting Kaia specifically," Zephyr adds, moving protectively closer to my side. "The Flamekeepers must have confirmed her identity through magical detection."

Ravik's gaze falls on me, intense and unreadable. "To the inner sanctum. Now."

Yesterday, I might have bristled at the command. Today, with the memory of my newfound abilities still tingling in my palms, I hesitate for different reasons. "What if I can help? The magic I just accessed with Zephyr?—"

"Untrained power is as dangerous to allies as enemies," Ravik cuts me off, though his tone softens slightly. "Your safety remains our priority."

"They're here for me," I argue. "Shouldn't I at least?—"

A tremendous impact shakes the sanctuary, sending dust cascading from the ancient ceiling. The neptherium nodes flare brightly before several wink out entirely, plunging portions of the hall into darkness.

"That was not a physical attack," Zephyr observes grimly. "Magical countermeasures targeting our defensive wards."

"They're dismantling our protections systematically," Ravik growls. "Thane, northern approach. Zephyr, shore up the inner wards. I'll hold the main entrance."

The three move with practiced coordination despite centuries of imprisonment Thane bounding toward the side corridor with surprising speed for his massive frame, Zephyr moving toward the chamber housing the temple's central defense matrix, Ravik striding purposefully toward the hastily repaired main doors.

I stand frozen momentarily, torn between obedience to Ravik's command and a growing certainty that my place is not hiding in the inner sanctum while others fight on my behalf.

The magic still hums beneath my skin, awakened by Zephyr's guidance and now responding to the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Decision made, I follow Zephyr toward the central defense chamber. If I cannot fight directly, perhaps I can at least strengthen the wards as I did before, this time with conscious intent rather than accidental manifestation.

The defense chamber pulses with blue-white light when we enter, the central altar already active with flowing sigils. Zephyr moves immediately to the control mechanisms, his clawed hands manipulating complex patterns with practiced precision despite their size.

"The outer barriers are failing faster than anticipated," he reports without looking up. "These purna know our defenses too well for coincidence."

"They helped create them," I realize aloud. "The Flamekeepers were allies of the dark elves when this sanctuary was built, weren't they?"

"Initially, yes." His fingers never cease their complex movements across the altar's surface. "Before relations deteriorated and they were hunted to near extinction."

Another impact rocks the sanctuary, this one close enough to send tremors through the floor beneath our feet. Several ceiling tiles crack, showering us with ancient dust and small debris.

"Can I help?" I ask, stepping closer to the altar. "Like before, with the sigils?"

Zephyr hesitates, scholarly caution warring with practical necessity. "The risk?—"

"Is acceptable compared to capture or death," I finish for him. "Show me what to do."

After a moment's consideration, he nods sharply. "Place your hands here and here," he instructs, indicating two specific points on the altar's surface. "Focus on the sensation you experienced during our exercise—energy gathering in your palms, connecting with the temple's existing magic."

I position my hands as directed, closing my eyes to better concentrate on the internal sensations.

The warmth builds more quickly this time, flowing from my center down my arms to pool in my palms where they contact the ancient stone.

Beneath my fingers, the altar's surface seems to vibrate in response, as if recognizing something in my touch.

"Good," Zephyr encourages. "Now visualize that energy flowing into the temple walls, strengthening them against external assault."

I follow his guidance, imagining my energy spreading outward from the altar, flowing through channels carved into the very structure of the sanctuary. The connection feels both foreign and strangely familiar, as if I'm remembering rather than learning.

Gradually, a new awareness unfolds within my consciousness—a sense of the temple as a unified whole rather than separate chambers and corridors. I can feel the pressure points where magical attacks probe for weaknesses, sense the countermeasures Zephyr initiates through the altar's mechanisms.

"It's working," I murmur, surprised by the certainty in my voice. "I can feel the defenses strengthening."

"Remarkable," Zephyr breathes, his scholarly fascination momentarily overriding tactical concerns. "You're integrating with the temple's defensive matrix as if born to it."

Pride flashes through me at his approval, and the connection intensifies in response. The magenta glow from our earlier exercise returns, spreading from my hands across the altar's surface, interweaving with the existing blue-white patterns in a complex dance of complementary energies.

For several minutes, we work in synchronous harmony Zaphyr directing the temple's established defenses while I reinforce them with my newly awakened power. The external attacks continue but find increasing resistance as our combined efforts strengthen the sanctuary's magical architecture.

Then, without warning, a magical surge unlike anything previous slams against our defenses.

The altar beneath my palms cracks, a jagged line appearing across its ancient surface.

Zephyr staggers backward, one clawed hand pressed against his chest where a corresponding fissure has opened in his stone-like skin.

"Zephyr!" I cry, abandoning the altar to catch him as he stumbles.

"Direct countermeasure," he gasps, turquoise eyes dimming with pain. "They've identified the control nexus."

Blood-like silver ichor seeps from the wound in his chest, staining my hands as I try to support his much larger frame. Despite his injury, he pushes me back toward the chamber doorway.