Page 6 of Feral Gods

ZAPHYR

K nowledge is the one true currency that never devalues.

Even after centuries of stone sleep, this principle remains my north star as I trace delicate claws along the temple's forgotten passages. The dust of ages billows beneath my feet, dancing in the faint blue glow I've conjured to light my path through corridors untouched since our imprisonment.

Ravik focuses on fortifying our newly reclaimed sanctuary, while Thane patrols the perimeter, still bloodthirsty after our encounter with the dark elf hunters. I, however, seek a different kind of defense—the understanding locked within these ancient stones.

The temple's inner archives lie three levels below the main chambers, accessible only through a narrow stairwell carved directly into the mountain.

My wings press uncomfortably against the constricted space, a reminder of how much was taken from us when we were transformed.

Once, I moved through these passages with the lithe grace of a dark elf scholar.

Now I navigate them in a body designed for battle rather than research.

The irony does not escape me. None of us chose this existence—transformed into weapons during the war with the vrakken, then discarded when our power grew inconvenient.

Yet of the three of us, I have perhaps adapted best to the changes.

Ravik lost position and authority, Thane lost the simplicity of his warrior's life, but I.

.. I merely gained a different perspective from which to observe the world's complexities.

The archive chamber opens before me, a circular space lined with stone shelves carved directly from the mountain.

Most of the ancient scrolls and bound texts have deteriorated beyond recovery, but here and there, protected by preservation spells that have outlasted even our curse, pockets of knowledge remain intact.

I move methodically through the chamber, carefully examining each preserved text, sorting useful information from historical curiosities.

A treatise on neptherium (magic stones) manipulation—essential for strengthening our defenses.

A codex of binding sigils—potentially useful for analyzing the remnants of our curse.

A historical account of the temple's original purpose?—

My hands still as I unfurl this particular scroll.

The temple of Causadurn was not merely a sanctuary or fortress, as I had believed.

It was a nexus point, deliberately constructed at the convergence of ancient ley lines to amplify magical workings.

This explains much about how the human girl's desperate plea managed to shatter enchantments that had held for centuries.

The human. Kaia.

A fascinating puzzle that defies my considerable analytical skills.

By all logic, a half-frozen slave fleeing through a blizzard should not have possessed the magical resonance to break a purna curse.

Yet she did, and more intriguingly, the temple's ancient magic recognized her right to sanctuary—a right typically reserved for those with significant magical bloodlines.

I gather the most critical texts and make my way back toward the main chambers, my mind cataloguing possibilities.

Could she possess purna blood, diluted through generations?

Might she be something other than the mere human she appears?

Or perhaps the desperation of her plea somehow harmonized with the temple's fundamental purpose in ways even the purna had not anticipated?

As I emerge into the main hall, I find Ravik standing before the shattered entrance, now temporarily sealed with a combination of stone and magical wards. The tension in his massive frame speaks volumes about his concerns.

"The hunters will return by tomorrow," he says without turning, his acute senses having detected my approach. "With greater numbers."

"And we will be better prepared," I reply, setting my collected texts on a stone table. "I've found information about the temple's defensive systems. They can be fully reactivated, though it will require significant magical expenditure."

He turns to face me, amber eyes glowing in the dim light. "Will it be enough?"

A practical question from a practical mind. Ravik has always valued directness over nuance.

"Against conventional forces, yes," I answer, choosing my words carefully. "Against purna witches... that remains uncertain. The temple's defenses were originally designed to work in concert with a full complement of mages. We are but three."

"Three who were once among the most powerful warriors in the king's guard," he reminds me, a hint of pride coloring his graveled voice. "And we have the advantage of surprise. The dark elves believe us still imprisoned in stone."

"A tactical advantage that will evaporate once King Kres learns of our awakening," I counter. "We must consider long-term strategies, not merely immediate defenses."

Ravik's expression darkens. "You always were one for excessive planning, Zephyr."

"And you for impulsive action," I return smoothly. "Which is why we balanced each other well, even before our transformation."

The reminder of our former camaraderie seems to soften his demeanor slightly. We were not always friends, Ravik and I, but we were effective colleagues—he the commander who made swift decisions in the heat of battle, I the advisor who considered all angles before conflict arose.

"What of the human?" he asks, changing the subject. "Have your discoveries shed any light on how she broke our curse?"

"Not directly," I admit. "Though I've learned this temple stands at a convergence of powerful ley lines. It amplifies magic, particularly magic related to protection and sanctuary. Her plea may have resonated with the temple's original purpose."

Ravik makes a noncommittal sound, but I note the way his gaze shifts toward the inner sanctum where Kaia rests. Something about the human affects him more deeply than he cares to admit—a fact I find both intriguing and potentially concerning.

"She should be informed about what we face," I suggest. "Knowledge of our history and the current political landscape of Protheka could prove useful to her survival. And ours."

He considers this for a moment, then nods curtly. "Proceed. But do not overwhelm her with excessive details. Humans have limited capacity for complex information."

I resist the urge to point out that his assessment of human cognitive abilities might be outdated after our stone sleep. Instead, I gather the most relevant texts and make my way toward the inner sanctum, leaving Ravik to his brooding contemplation of our defenses.

The chamber is warmer now, the ancient hearth blazing with magical fire that requires no fuel. Kaia sits cross-legged on the floor before it, her small form still wrapped in Ravik's cloak. The garment dwarfs her, yet she wears it with a curious dignity that belies her status as a fugitive slave.

She looks up as I enter, her hazel-green eyes immediately alert and wary. The survival instinct is strong in this one—a trait I can appreciate from both scholarly and practical perspectives.

"I've brought information," I announce, gesturing with the scrolls. "About this temple, our history, and what you might expect in the coming days."

"Knowledge freely given?" she questions, her tone suggesting skepticism. "That seems unlike your kind."

"My kind?" I echo, settling gracefully onto the stone floor across from her, arranging my wings comfortably behind me. "Dark elves hoard knowledge, yes. But I am no longer entirely dark elf, am I?"

She studies me with remarkable composure, considering the circumstances. "No. You're something else entirely. A gargoyle, but with the mind of a scholar rather than a warrior."

Her perception impresses me. Most would see only the monstrous exterior, the stone skin and claws and wings. But she has already begun to distinguish our individual natures.

"Before my transformation, I served as historical advisor to the king's elite guard," I explain, unrolling the first scroll between us.

"Ravik was commander of that guard, and Thane one of his most formidable lieutenants.

We were selected for transformation during the war against the vrakken precisely because of our specialized skills. "

"Transformation?" she repeats, leaning forward with evident curiosity. "You mentioned you were once dark elves. How did you become... this?"

I gesture to the ancient text between us, which depicts crude illustrations of the ritual that forever altered our existence.

"The dark elves were losing the war against the vrakken.

The vampiric race possessed natural advantages—immortality, heightened strength, flight.

The king's purna advisors, more like slaves as they are those that didn’t manage to flee with their kin, proposed a solution: transform the most elite warriors into beings that could match the vrakken in physical power while retaining the tactical intelligence of dark elves. "

Her eyes widen as she examines the illustrations. "They did this to you willingly?"

"We volunteered," I correct her, the ancient bitterness rising despite centuries of philosophical contemplation. "We believed we would be heroes, saviors of our race. We were not told the transformation would be permanent, nor that our success would ultimately be rewarded with imprisonment."

I turn the scroll to reveal the next section, showing the chaotic battle that followed the vrakken's retreat underground.

"When the war ended, we gargoyles became.

.. problematic. Too powerful to control, too different to reintegrate into society.

The purna witches who had created us were commanded to neutralize the threat we posed. "

"By turning you to stone," Kaia says softly, her fingers hovering over the illustration of gargoyles frozen in various poses of defiance and agony.