Page 34 of Feral Gods

"Not yet," Ravik decides after a moment's consideration. "A single scout poses minimal immediate threat. Better to maintain position and gather information than flee blindly into potential ambush."

"I'll intercept them," Thane volunteers, already moving toward the narrow path that winds down from our elevated position.

"No," Ravik countermands, his tone brooking no argument. "If it's a scout, they've already reported our location. Better to strengthen defenses here and prepare for possible engagement."

Thane looks momentarily rebellious before nodding sharply. "I'll check the lower cavern access points. Set traps if necessary."

"Do so," Ravik agrees. "I'll signal Zephyr to return."

As Thane disappears into the tunnel leading to the lower chambers, Ravik moves to a small crystal set into the cave wall—a communication device salvaged from the temple that connects to a matching crystal Zephyr carries.

He presses his palm against it, sending a pulse of amber energy through the neptherium matrix.

"He'll return immediately," Ravik informs me, turning back with renewed vigilance. "Until then, stay within the main chamber where we can protect you."

I want to argue that I'm not helpless—my growing magical abilities provide some measure of self-defense—but the practical truth remains that I'm still untrained and vulnerable compared to my gargoyle protectors. "I'll prepare the meal inside," I concede, gathering the hares Thane provided.

The main chamber of our cave sanctuary serves multiple functions—sleeping area, meeting space, and makeshift kitchen.

A natural chimney in the rear wall carries smoke from our small cooking fire to the outside through some hidden exit in the mountainside, allowing us to prepare hot meals without betraying our position with visible smoke.

I focus on the familiar tasks of skinning and preparing the hares, finding comfort in the routine physical activity. By the time Zephyr returns, breathless from his hasty ascent, the stew bubbles promisingly over the fire.

"Detection perimeter breached," he announces without preamble, his silver-gray form moving directly to the small table where we've spread maps of the surrounding territory. "Single entity, moving with deliberate stealth. Not dark elf."

"Purna?" Ravik questions, joining him at the table.

"Almost certainly," Zephyr confirms, turquoise eyes troubled. "The magical signature is similar to the witch we encountered at the temple, but fainter, less powerful."

"An apprentice," Ravik concludes. "Sent to confirm our location before the full coven commits to attack."

Thane emerges from the lower tunnel, his massive form radiating battle-readiness. "Lower access secured. They'll find nasty surprises if they attempt entry from below."

The three gargoyles fall into tactical discussion, debating defensive positions and potential counterattacks with the practiced efficiency of warriors who have fought countless battles together.

I listen while continuing my meal preparations, contributing when appropriate but mainly absorbing their strategic thinking.

"The central chamber provides best defensive position," Ravik decides finally. "Limited access points, solid overhead coverage, multiple retreat options if necessary."

"Agreed," Thane nods. "Though I still favor preemptive strike. Eliminate the scout before they can report back."

"Too risky," Zephyr counters. "We don't know if they're already in communication with others. Aggressive action could trigger immediate response rather than buying time."

Their discussion continues as daylight fades beyond the cave entrance.

I serve the stew in crude wooden bowls salvaged from the hunting lodge, the simple meal surprisingly satisfying given our limited resources.

Even as we eat, the gargoyles maintain vigilant watch, taking turns monitoring the cave entrance and checking Zephyr's detection wards.

Night settles fully over the mountains, bringing deep darkness broken only by our small fire and the faint blue glow of neptherium crystals Zephyr has placed at strategic points throughout the cavern.

The gargoyles establish a watch rotation, with Thane taking first position near the entrance while Ravik and Zephyr rest.

I should sleep as well, conserving strength for whatever challenges tomorrow might bring, but restlessness keeps me awake. After tossing on my makeshift bed of salvaged furs for nearly an hour, I rise quietly and move toward the small side chamber where we store our limited supplies.

The storage alcove offers momentary solitude—a rare commodity in our close quarters. I lean against the cool stone wall, closing my eyes and practicing the centering breath Zephyr taught me. The exercise helps settle my scattered thoughts, bringing focus to the swirling anxiety.

A faint scraping sound breaks my concentration—so soft it might be imagination or simply the natural settling of the mountain. Then it comes again, more distinct, from the very back of the storage alcove.

I freeze, straining my senses toward the sound. The rear wall appears solid, but as I watch, a portion of it shifts slightly, revealing a narrow crack that widens as something—or someone—pushes from the other side.

I should call for the gargoyles immediately, but curiosity holds me silent. The opening expands until it's wide enough to admit a slender figure who slips through with serpentine grace, hooded and cloaked in the deep purple I glimpsed earlier.

Our eyes meet in the dim light—mine wide with surprise, theirs narrowing with calculated assessment. Neither of us moves for three rapid heartbeats, each taking measure of the other.

"Kaia Flameheart," the intruder speaks first, voice soft but carrying a distinctive purna accent. "Daughter of Liliana, granddaughter of Seraphina, descendant of Elowyn. At last we meet."

The use of my name—my full name, including a surname I've never heard—sends a jolt through me. "Who are you?" I demand, keeping my voice low enough to avoid immediately alerting the gargoyles. Information might prove more valuable than immediate protection.

"One who knows you better than you know yourself," the figure replies, pushing back their hood to reveal a young woman perhaps five years my senior.

Her features show the same delicate bone structure I glimpse in my own reflection, though her eyes are startling violet rather than my hazel-green.

"I am Lyra, apprentice to Matriarch Valeria of the Flamekeeper Coven. "

"You've been tracking us," I state, mind racing to process this confrontation. "Since the temple."

"Since before," she corrects, making no move to approach closer. "Since your magic first awakened during your escape from Liiandor. Such power, untrained and raw, creates ripples even the most insensitive practitioner could detect."

"What do you want from me?" I ask directly, one hand slipping to the small knife at my belt—a pitiful defense against magical attack, but better than nothing.

Lyra notices the gesture and smiles faintly. "If I meant you harm, little cousin, you would already be unconscious. I come as messenger, not hunter."

"Cousin?" The familial term catches me off-guard.

"Distant, but yes," she confirms. "All Flamekeepers share blood connection, though yours runs more direct to Elowyn than most. My line branched from Seraphina's sister eight generations back."

The casual recitation of genealogy she clearly expects me to understand reminds me painfully of how much remains unknown about my own heritage. "What message brings you sneaking through hidden passages rather than approaching openly?"

"Necessity," she answers simply. "Your stone guardians would hardly welcome a purna witch at their threshold, given recent history."

I can't argue with her assessment. "Then deliver your message and be gone. My 'stone guardians' will detect your presence soon enough."

"Indeed," she acknowledges, glancing toward the main chamber. "So I shall be brief. Matriarch Valeria extends sanctuary to you, Kaia Flameheart. Your place among the coven awaits—training for your gifts, knowledge of your heritage, protection from those who would misuse your power."

The offer strikes deeper than expected, touching the sense of dislocation that has plagued me since discovering my purna blood. Knowledge of my past, understanding of my abilities, connection to those who share my heritage—all temptations I cannot entirely dismiss.

"And in return?" I ask, knowing such offers never come without price.

Lyra's expression remains carefully neutral. "You are Elowyn's direct descendant, carrier of her power and potential. The coven requires nothing beyond your presence and participation."

"I find that difficult to believe," I counter, crossing my arms. "The coven tracked me across half of Protheka for the pleasure of my company?"

A flicker of impatience crosses her features.

"Your ignorance is not your fault, but it blinds you to your significance.

The Flamekeeper bloodline has thinned almost to extinction.

Those with direct connection to Elowyn's power grow rarer with each generation.

You represent hope for our coven's continued survival. "

"As breeding stock," I conclude, the realization bringing bitter clarity. "A vessel for producing the next generation of properly trained Flamekeepers."

"As honored matriarch-potential," she corrects sharply. "Your power, once properly trained, could restore our coven to its rightful place among the magical houses of Protheka."

The ambition behind her words reveals more than perhaps intended. "And that's what this is truly about, isn't it? Not my protection or education, but using my bloodline to advance the coven's political position."