Page 55 of Feral Gods

RAVIK

B eneath Liiandor, the air hangs thick with magic and malice.

Every breath tastes of power—ancient, dormant, and now stirring to wakefulness as we approach the Primary Confluence Point.

My transformed body resonates with the ambient energy, amplifying strengths but also heightening the curse's underlying constraints.

The contradiction creates a peculiar tension in my muscles, a simultaneous feeling of power and restraint.

"The palace dungeons connect directly to this passage?

" I confirm, voice kept low as we navigate the narrow tunnel leading upward from vrakken territory.

Three days of sanctuary among the serpent-people ended at dawn, their elder escorting us to this little-used access route with cryptic warnings about fate and choice.

Kaia nods, the Codex cradled against her chest like a talisman. "According to the knowledge it's sharing, the Confluence Point lies directly beneath the throne room—either by cosmic coincidence or deliberate design when the palace was constructed."

"Knowing dark elf royalty, deliberate design," Thane mutters from his position guarding our rear. "Control the magic, control the kingdom."

"Yet they've forgotten what they built upon," Zephyr observes, turquoise eyes studying the increasingly ornate stonework as we ascend.

"These carvings predate dark elf occupation of Liiandor by millennia.

See how the ancient glyphs have been overlaid with more recent decorative elements?

The builders knew they constructed their seat of power atop a magical nexus but lost understanding of its significance. "

In another situation, I might appreciate the historical insights. Now, with enemies converging from two directions and the most dangerous confrontation of our lives approaching, such observations feel like unnecessary distraction.

"Focus," I remind them, senses hyperalert for any hint of detection. "We'll have time for academic discussions after we've completed the ritual and escaped with our lives."

If we escape at all, my tactical mind amends silently. The odds against us have never been higher—King Kres's entire elite guard plus Morwen's coven, all coordinating to prevent exactly what we intend. And we're walking directly into their stronghold.

But the alternative—continuing to flee, forever hunted—is no alternative at all. Especially with what the Codex revealed to Kaia during our sanctuary among the vrakken: the ritual to permanently transform the magical foundations that allow curses like ours to exist in the first place.

Not just freedom for ourselves, but potential liberation for thousands of gargoyles imprisoned throughout Protheka. A true revolution, magical rather than military, but no less profound in its implications.

The passage widens slightly as we near the dungeon level, ancient stone giving way to more recent construction. Magical wards shimmer around us—security enchantments I once helped design during my service as commander of the royal guard. A lifetime ago. A different being entirely.

"Wait," I whisper, halting our advance with an upraised hand. "Detection ward ahead. Standard palace security."

Kaia steps forward, the Codex opening of its own accord to a relevant page. "I can disarm it," she says, confidence replacing the hesitation that would have marked such a statement mere weeks ago. "The Codex shows me the counter-pattern."

I watch with carefully concealed awe as she traces complex sigils in the air, her fingers trailing magenta light that interacts with the invisible ward.

Where once I might have questioned or commanded, now I step back, giving her space to work.

The transformation in our dynamic mirrors the physical changes wrought by the wildspont energy—a rebalancing of power, a recognition of complementary strengths.

"There," she murmurs as the ward flickers and fades. "Disabled without triggering the alarm sequence."

Pride warms my chest, an unfamiliar but increasingly welcome sensation. "Well done."

We proceed more cautiously now, approaching the intersection where the ancient passage connects with palace infrastructure. According to Kaia's information, the Confluence Point lies directly ahead—beneath the central tower that houses both throne room above and high-security vaults below.

"Strange," Zephyr comments as we reach the junction. "No guards. No additional security measures. Almost as if?—"

"They're expecting us," I finish grimly, tactical instincts screaming warning. "This is too easy."

As if summoned by my suspicion, a slow, mocking applause echoes through the stone corridor ahead. From shadows too perfect to be natural steps a tall, elegant figure in ornate royal armor, white hair bound in elaborate war-braids, violet eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Commander Ravik," King Kres greets, voice carrying the same cultured venom I remember from centuries before. "Predictable as always. When backed into a corner, you invariably choose the most audacious possible response."

His elite guard materializes around him—at least thirty warriors in formation, weapons drawn but held at ready rather than attack position. A display of confidence rather than immediate threat.

I shift subtly, positioning myself between Kres and Kaia. Thane and Zephyr move without command to flank us, creating a defensive triangle with Kaia at its center.

"Your Majesty," I respond, keeping my tone neutral despite the hatred burning in my gut. "Still hiding behind your guards, I see. Some habits transcend centuries."

His smile never reaches those cold violet eyes.

"And you still mistake calculation for cowardice.

Some lessons remain unlearned despite ample opportunity for education.

" His gaze shifts to Kaia, visible between our protective formation.

"My wayward pet. How determined you've become in your rebellion.

And how predictable in your choice of sanctuary. "

I feel Kaia stiffen behind me, her voice steady despite the fear I sense through our connection. "I am not your pet, Kres. I never truly was, despite the chains and collars."

"Semantics," he dismisses with a negligent wave. "Property remains property regardless of its self-perception. Though I admit, you've exceeded expectations in manifesting your heritage." His gaze shifts to the Codex in her arms. "And in acquiring artifacts beyond your comprehension."

Before any of us can respond, a shimmer of silver light announces another arrival—Morwen materializing beside Kres in a display of magical transportation that bypasses conventional space.

Unlike our previous encounters, she appears physically present rather than projected, her ageless beauty hardened by determination and what might be genuine concern.

"The Codex must be secured immediately," she announces without preamble, violet eyes fixed on the ancient text in Kaia's arms. "The girl has activated sequences beyond her control."

"My priority remains the girl herself," Kres counters smoothly. "The artifact is your concern."

"Fool," Morwen hisses, silver hair swirling with magical energy that reflects her agitation. "You still fail to grasp the magnitude of what transpires. She carries the means to unravel the very foundations upon which your power rests."

Their discord provides crucial information. They expect us to attempt escape rather than advance. Their forces positioned accordingly—blocking retreat paths while leaving the way to the Confluence Point relatively unguarded.

I catch Thane's eye, a subtle nod communicating volumes between warriors who've fought countless battles together. He understands immediately, shifting his weight in preparation for what must come next.

"Now," I command, voice pitched for my companions alone.

What follows unfolds with the choreographed precision of a battle plan long rehearsed, though conceived mere moments ago.

Zephyr casts a blinding light spell directly at our adversaries, momentarily disorienting them.

Thane charges forward, not to engage but to create chaos in their formations.

I seize Kaia, wings unfurling to shield her from magical counterattacks as we break through the momentary gap in their defensive line.

Not retreating—advancing. Directly toward the Confluence Point. Toward the one place they least expect us to go.

Shouts of confusion echo behind us as we sprint down the corridor leading deeper into palace territory.

Magical discharges splash against my wings, painfully hot but not penetrating the protective barrier Zephyr hastily erected before our charge.

Thane follows, covering our retreat with controlled destruction—collapsing support columns to slow pursuit rather than engaging in direct combat against overwhelming numbers.

"This way," Kaia directs, the Codex guiding her unerringly through the labyrinthine passages beneath the palace. "The entrance is concealed behind ceremonial stonework."

We round a corner into a grand chamber clearly designed for arcane rituals—dark elf in styling but with undertones of much older traditions visible in the floor patterns and wall carvings. At its center stands an elaborate altar carved from midnight-blue stone veined with silver.

"There," Kaia points to an unremarkable section of wall behind the altar. "The concealed entrance."

Zephyr moves immediately to the indicated spot, hands already glowing with magical energy as he works to reveal what generations of dark elf mages have hidden. Thane takes position at the chamber entrance, weapons ready as the sounds of pursuit grow louder.

"Hurry," he urges, crimson eyes narrowed with tactical assessment. "Two minutes at most before they reorganize and overwhelm our position."