Page 3 of Feral Gods

Zephyr enters the sanctum, his steps silent as always. "The temple defenses are reactivating," he reports. "Slowly, but they will hold against common dark elves. If they bring purna witches, however..." He leaves the implication hanging.

"They won't," I reply with certainty. "Not initially. The purna keep to themselves these days, from what little I could sense during our imprisonment. This is likely just a slave hunt, nothing that would warrant magical intervention."

Zephyr's gaze shifts to the woman on the altar. "Curious, isn't it? That after years and years of stone sleep, we would be awakened by a human slave seeking refuge from dark elves. The symmetry is... intriguing."

I grunt noncommittally. Zephyr has always seen patterns where I see only chaos, meaning where I see only coincidence. Still, even I must admit the situation carries a strange sense of fateful design.

"What will you do with her?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

"Keep her alive," I answer curtly. "Beyond that, I haven't decided."

Zephyr studies me with those unnerving turquoise eyes, seeing more than I wish to reveal. "You feel it too, then? The compulsion to protect her?"

I clench my fists, reluctant to admit to such an inexplicable weakness. "It is merely obligation. She broke our curse, intentionally or not. That creates a debt."

"A debt," Zephyr echoes, his tone suggesting he believes otherwise. "Of course."

Before I can respond, the woman on the altar stirs, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her eyes flutter open, revealing irises of hazel-green that widen in shock and fear as they focus on me.

"W-what..." she gasps, attempting to scramble backward only to find herself too weak to move. "What are you?"

I lean forward, bringing my face closer to hers, letting her see the full measure of what she has awakened. Let her fear me—fear will keep her obedient, compliant, alive.

"I am Ravik," I rumble, watching her pupils dilate with terror. "And you, little human, have stumbled into the sanctuary of the gargoyles of Causadurn Ridge."

She swallows hard, her gaze darting between Zephyr and myself, taking in our inhuman forms with remarkable composure for one so clearly afraid.

"Gargoyles?" she whispers. "But those are just legends..."

"As are many truths on Protheka," Zephyr interjects, his voice gentler than mine. "Yet here we stand, awakened after centuries of stone sleep by your plea for sanctuary."

Her expression shifts from fear to confusion, then to a cautious hope. "You... you heard me? You woke because of me?"

"Yes," I confirm, studying her reaction carefully. "Your desperation activated ancient magic woven into this temple's foundations—magic of sanctuary and protection that predates even the curse that bound us."

She closes her eyes briefly, as if struggling to process this information. When she opens them again, a new resolve has replaced some of the fear.

"The dark elves," she says, her voice stronger. "They're coming. I heard the hunting horns."

A crash and a scream echo from the temple entrance, followed by Thane's triumphant roar. I smile grimly, baring fangs that could tear through dark elf armor with ease.

"Let them come," I tell her. "They will find more than they bargained for in this sanctuary."

She studies me for a while, her gaze unflinching despite her obvious terror. "You hate them," she observes quietly. "The dark elves."

"With every fiber of my being," I confirm, a growl underlining my words. "As should any creature with sense. They abandoned us. We were once dark elves, too.”

Something in her expression softens—recognition, perhaps, or relief at finding common ground. "My name is Kaia," she offers, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I... I think I've traded one danger for another in coming here."

I lean closer still, until my face is mere inches from hers, close enough that she can feel the heat of my breath against her cold skin. Her pulse quickens visibly at her throat, prey instinct recognizing predator despite her outward composure.

"Make no mistake, little Kaia," I rumble, my voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

"You have indeed found danger in this sanctuary.

" I reach out one clawed hand to brush a strand of dark hair from her face, watching as she flinches at my touch.

"But unlike the dark elves, we repay our debts.

You freed us from our curse, and so you shall have what you asked for. "

"What I asked for?"

"Sanctuary," I reply simply. "For as long as you need it—and for as long as you prove useful."

Kaia's eyes flash with something that might be defiance, quickly masked behind caution. Interesting. Most humans would be broken by years of slavery, yet this one maintains a spark of spirit.

"And if I'm not useful?" she asks, her voice surprisingly steady.

I smile, showing the full extent of my fangs. "Then pray you never recover your strength enough to find out."

Behind me, Zephyr makes a small sound of disapproval, but says nothing. He knows better than to challenge me openly, especially now, when the first taste of freedom in centuries has my blood singing with savage joy and barely contained violence.

Outside, Thane's battle continues, each scream of a dying dark elf sweeter than the finest music. Soon he will return, bloodied and satisfied, and we will need to decide our next steps. But for now, I am content to watch this curious human who has unwittingly changed the course of our existence.

Kaia holds my gaze for several heartbeats before exhaustion claims her once more, her eyes drifting closed despite her obvious effort to remain alert. Wise to fear sleep in the presence of predators, but her body gives her no choice.

As she slips back into unconsciousness, I find myself oddly fascinated by her fragile form, by the spark of defiance in her eyes, by the mystery of how one insignificant human could break a curse that has held three powerful gargoyles captive for centuries.

One thing is certain Kaia may have found sanctuary in our temple, but she has also awakened something dangerous. Not just three gargoyles from stone sleep, but something within me that I scarcely recognize—a possessive, protective instinct that wars with my natural suspicion and rage.

I do not understand it. I do not welcome it. But as I watch her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, I cannot deny it.

She is mine to protect now. Mine to command. Mine to keep.

And may the Thirteen help any who try to take her from me.