Page 100 of Feral Gods
King Kres recognizes the implications immediately, centuries of political survival instinct overriding pride orvengeance. "Tactical withdrawal," he orders his remaining guards, already backing toward the exit. "Secure the palace perimeter. Prepare contingency protocols."
Morwen hesitates longer, her ancient eyes fixed on Kaia with complex emotion. "This isn't finished between us," she states, neither threat nor promise but simple fact. "Blood calls to blood, regardless of your current rejection."
"Then I'll answer on my own terms," Kaia replies, standing taller despite evident exhaustion. "As I have from the beginning."
With a final assessing look at all three of us, Morwen follows Kres up the spiral staircase, magical energy swirling around her in protective layers as they retreat before the approaching liberation.
The moment they vanish from sight, Kaia's composure crumbles. She turns to us with devastation etched across her features.
"Thane," she whispers, the single word carrying immeasurable grief.
I catch her as her knees buckle, the cost of the ritual and emotional toll finally claiming their due. Against my chest, her tears fall hot and silent—not the broken sobs of the helpless but the measured grief of a warrior honoring fallen family.
"He chose," I remind her gently, my own grief tight in my chest. "A warrior's decision. A sacrifice freely given."
"It should have been me," she argues, fists clenching against my transformed chest. "My heritage caused all of this. My blood. My responsibility."
"Thane would disagree," Zephyr observes, joining our embrace with uncharacteristic physical openness. "He understood value beyond tactical calculation. Worth beyond utility."
The truth in this observation strikes deeper than expected. Thane—our warrior, our brother, our passionate heart—saw worth where I once saw only function, connection where I demanded hierarchy, love where I permitted only loyalty.
Through his sacrifice, he taught me what my centuries of command never could: true leadership protects what matters, not merely what serves.
The approaching sounds grow louder—stone warriors finding freedom, gargoyles awakening from centuries of imprisonment. Our success manifested in living form. Thane's legacy given wings and voice and purpose.
"We should go," I suggest, though without my former commanding tone. "Meet the awakened ones, explain what's happened. Help them understand their new reality."
Kaia nods against my chest, drawing strength visibly before straightening in our embrace. "Yes. They'll need guidance. Purpose beyond vengeance."
"Direction without control," Zephyr adds, understanding perfectly.
As we turn toward the staircase and whatever awaits above, my thoughts return to Thane—his fierce joy in battle, his surprising wisdom beneath warrior bravado, his capacity for tenderness despite primal nature. The jagged void in our connection remains, a wound that may never fully heal.
Yet something else grows alongside grief—a determination to honor his choice through how we use the freedom he purchased. Not through vengeance or dominance, but through building something worthy of his sacrifice.
What that something might be remains unclear as we ascend toward chaos and opportunity in equal measure. But for the first time since awakening from stone sleep, we climb toward future rather than past, possibilities rather than constraints.
And in that distinction lies all the difference between mere survival and truly living—a lesson Thane understood before any of us.
"Vale, brother," I whisper as we reach the upper chamber where his final battle took place. Nothing remains of his physical form but fine copper-colored dust scattered across the floor like metallic pollen—beautiful in its way, catching light as we pass through.
Kaia kneels briefly, gathering a small handful of the particles into a pouch at her waist. "For remembrance," she explains, eyes bright with unshed tears. "And perhaps something more, when we understand the resurrection texts more fully."
Hope sparks at her words—not certainty but possibility. Enough to carry us forward into whatever awaits beyond these palace walls, where awakened gargoyles and transformed magic create new reality with every passing moment.
Whatever comes, we face it as Thane would want—not with retreat or despair but with fierce determination to build something worth fighting for. Worth living for.
Worth dying for, if necessary.
But worth far more if lived for to its fullest potential.
23
KAIA
Copper dust shimmers between my fingers, catching the uncertain light filtering through the abandoned forester's cabin we've claimed as temporary shelter. Three days since we fled Liiandor amid chaos—awakened gargoyles flooding the palace while King Kres's forces scrambled to maintain control. Three days of numbness, of mechanical movement without true purpose, of breathing without fully living.
Three days without Thane.
