Page 35 of Feral Gods

Lyra's expression hardens. "You understand nothing of our struggle. For centuries we've survived on the margins, hunted by dark elves, our numbers dwindling, our knowledge fragmenting. Your awakening represents opportunity for restoration, for reclaiming what was stolen from us."

"I am not a tool for your vengeance or ambition," I state firmly, the declaration feeling right in ways I cannot fully articulate. "My blood may carry your heritage, but my choices remain my own."

"And you choose these creatures?" she asks incredulously, gesturing toward the main chamber where my gargoyle protectors wait. "Twisted abominations born of dark elf arrogance and purna curse-craft?"

Anger flares within me at her dismissal. "I choose those who protected me without condition, who value me for more than my bloodline or magical potential."

"Without condition?" Lyra laughs softly. "How naive you remain, cousin. They value you precisely for your bloodline—the key to their freedom, the guarantee against renewed imprisonment. Why else would such beings protect a human female?"

The question echoes doubts I've struggled with myself, but something in her condescending tone strengthens rather than weakens my resolve. "You know nothing about them, or about me."

"I know they've manipulated your gratitude and isolation to bind you to them," she counters. "I know they've taken physical advantage of that bond."

Heat floods my cheeks at the implication she somehow knows about my intimate relationships with Ravik and Thane. "My choices. My desires. My life."

"For now," she concedes with maddening confidence. "But consider this, cousin. You've lived six years as property, defined by others' expectations and limitations. The coven offers true freedom—self-determination through knowledge and power."

"Knowledge without choice is merely another form of captivity," I counter, though her words strike uncomfortably close to fears I've not fully acknowledged even to myself.

Lyra sighs, apparently recognizing the futility of further persuasion.

"Matriarch Valeria anticipated your reluctance.

Your human upbringing and recent experiences make trust difficult.

" She reaches into her cloak, withdrawing a small leather pouch.

"A gift, regardless of your decision. It belonged to your mother. "

She places the pouch on a nearby crate, stepping back immediately to demonstrate it contains no threat. "When you're ready to learn the full truth of your heritage, use the contents to contact us. The Matriarch will come herself."

"My mother," I repeat, the words catching in my throat. "You knew her?"

"Not personally," Lyra admits. "She disappeared before my time with the coven. But her legacy remains—as does yours, waiting to be claimed."

Voices approach from the main chamber Ravik and Thane, likely checking my absence from my sleeping place. Lyra glances toward the sounds, her expression shifting to practical urgency.

"They come. Consider what I've said, Kaia Flameheart. Consider who truly seeks to control your destiny—those who would keep you ignorant of your heritage, or those who offer knowledge and belonging."

Before I can respond, she retreats toward the hidden passage, movements fluid and silent. "Until we meet again, cousin. Sooner than you might expect."

She slips through the opening, which closes behind her with a soft scraping of stone against stone. By the time Ravik appears at the storage alcove entrance, Lyra has vanished completely, leaving only the leather pouch as evidence of her visit.

"Kaia?" Ravik's amber eyes scan the small space, concern evident in his expression. "Why are you here alone?"

I should tell him immediately about Lyra's intrusion, her message, the hidden passage that compromises our sanctuary's security.

Yet some instinct holds me silent on these points, at least momentarily.

Instead, I gesture to the supply crates.

"Checking our remaining provisions. Planning tomorrow's meals. "

His gaze sharpens, clearly sensing the partial truth in my response. Before he can question further, I retrieve the leather pouch from the crate, holding it up for his inspection. "I found this among our supplies. It wasn't here earlier."

Ravik's reaction is immediate and intense—wings flaring, runes etched across his obsidian chest pulsing with amber light. "Stand back," he commands, moving to place himself between me and the pouch. "Zephyr! Thane!"

The other gargoyles appear with startling speed, summoned by the alarm in Ravik's voice. "Intruder," he informs them tersely, gesturing to the pouch in my hand. "Left this while we were distracted."

Zephyr approaches cautiously, turquoise eyes studying the item with scholarly assessment. "May I?" he asks, extending a clawed hand.

I surrender the pouch, watching as he examines it without opening the drawstring closure. "Purna craftsmanship," he concludes after a moment. "Old, judging by the leather's patina. No obvious magical signatures beyond a preservation spell."

"She said it belonged to my mother," I admit, the partial confession emerging before I can reconsider.

Three pairs of inhuman eyes fix on me with varying degrees of surprise and concern. "She?" Thane growls, crimson gaze sweeping the chamber for threats. "You saw the intruder?"

No point concealing the encounter now. "A purna scout—Lyra, apprentice to someone called Matriarch Valeria. She came through a hidden passage in the rear wall."

Ravik's expression darkens to thunderous proportions. "When? What did she want?"

"Just now," I answer, bracing for his reaction. "She offered sanctuary with the Flamekeeper Coven. Training for my abilities, knowledge of my heritage, protection from King Kres's forces."

"A trap," Thane declares immediately. "Designed to separate you from our protection."

"Obviously," I agree, somewhat irritated by his assumption that I would fall for such transparent manipulation. "I refused. She left this as... persuasion, I suppose. Then disappeared back through the passage."

Zephyr examines the wall where Lyra entered and exited, his scholarly curiosity momentarily overriding security concerns. "Fascinating. The stonework shows no obvious seam or mechanism. Likely magical in nature."

"Which means our position is compromised," Ravik concludes grimly. "We move at first light."

"Is that necessary?" I ask, reluctant to face another relocation so soon. "She could have attacked while I was alone but didn't. She delivered her message and left."

"After confirming your presence and our defensive positioning," Ravik points out. "Information that will guide the full coven's approach when they come for you."

"If they come," I counter. "She seemed more interested in persuasion than abduction."

"For now," Thane growls. "Tactics change when gentle methods fail."

The truth in his assessment is undeniable, yet something about the encounter continues to trouble me. "She knew things—about my mother, about my bloodline. Called me Kaia Flameheart, as if I have a surname I never knew."

Zephyr's expression softens with understanding. "The temptation of identity—of connection to your past—is powerful. The coven understands this, which makes their approach particularly insidious."

"Not just manipulation," I insist, needing them to understand. "She said my mother disappeared before her time with the coven. That suggests my mother was once part of the Flamekeepers but left—or was taken—before I was born."

The implications hang heavy in the confined space. If my mother was indeed a Flamekeeper who somehow ended up enslaved in the human territories where I was born, many questions about my past might find answers through coven knowledge.

"What's in the pouch?" Thane asks, practical as always.

Zephyr loosens the drawstring carefully, turning the pouch to spill its contents into his palm. A single item emerges—a delicate silver pendant on a fine chain, its central design matching the birthmark on my shoulder. The Flamekeeper symbol.

"May I?" I ask, oddly breathless.

Zephyr examines it briefly for magical traps before placing it gently in my outstretched hand. The metal feels unexpectedly warm against my skin, pulsing faintly with the same magenta energy I've been learning to manifest.

"It recognizes you," Zephyr observes, scholarly fascination evident in his tone. "Magical artifacts sometimes attune to bloodlines specifically."

I close my fingers around the pendant, searching for some emotional connection to the woman who might have worn it—my mother, whom I last saw being dragged away in the Liiandor slave market six years ago.

No clear memories emerge, only a vague sense of familiarity, as if the pendant belongs with me despite our long separation.

"Lyra said I could use this to contact the coven when I'm ready to learn the full truth of my heritage," I explain, opening my hand to reveal the pendant once more. "That Matriarch Valeria would come herself."

"Convenient communication device," Zephyr muses, leaning closer to study the artifact. "Likely blood-keyed to respond only to Flamekeeper essence. Impressive craftsmanship."

"And dangerous," Ravik adds, his protective instincts clearly triggered by the potential magical connection to our enemies. "We should destroy it."

"No!" The objection bursts from me with surprising force. "It may have belonged to my mother. It's... it's all I have of her."

The naked emotion in my voice brings momentary silence to the chamber.

All three gargoyles study me with varying expressions Ravik conflicted between tactical necessity and reluctance to cause me pain, Thane surprisingly sympathetic beneath his warrior's exterior, Zephyr thoughtfully assessing alternatives.