Page 101 of Feral Gods
Rain patters against the rough-hewn roof, the steady rhythm a counterpoint to the hollow silence in my chest where grief has carved a void too deep for tears. I've shed enough of those already—silent rivers tracking down my cheeks as we journeyed through forests and mountains to this remote outpost on the eastern edge of Causadurn Ridge.
Ravik stands sentinel by the single window, his transformed indigo form a darker shadow against the gray afternoon light. The days following our escape have aged him somehow—not physically, for our transformed bodies resist such mundane processes, but in the weight of his amber gaze, the new lines ofhis mouth, the careful gentleness that has replaced commanding authority.
Zephyr kneels before the cabin's small hearth, coaxing reluctant flame from damp wood with methodical patience. His slate-blue hands move with characteristic precision despite the sorrow evident in the slope of his shoulders, the occasional tremor in his movements.
We are broken, the three of us—unbalanced without our fourth, like a table missing a leg. Functioning, but precariously.
"You should rest," Ravik suggests, his voice gentler than I ever imagined possible before recent events. "You've barely slept since—" He stops, unable or unwilling to name what happened.
"Since Thane sacrificed himself," I finish for him, refusing to shrink from the reality despite how it tears at me. "Since he burned out his life force to save us all."
Zephyr glances up from the fire, turquoise eyes reflecting flickering flames. "Naming grief doesn't diminish it, but it does make it more navigable," he offers, scholarly detachment failing to mask his own pain. "Thane would appreciate the directness."
A broken laugh escapes me at this truth. Thane always valued straightforward speech over diplomatic evasion—one of countless small details about him that now cut like glass shards against my heart.
"I keep expecting to hear him," I admit, carefully returning the copper dust to the small leather pouch hanging around my neck. "Some inappropriate joke about our situation, or a blunt assessment of tactical weaknesses. It feels wrong to experience anything without his commentary."
"His absence creates negative space as definitive as his presence once did," Zephyr agrees, abandoning scientific distance for genuine emotion. "A Thane-shaped void in our reality."
Ravik moves from the window to join us by the hearth, his massive frame settling beside me with careful awareness of his greater weight. "He understood the choice he made," he says quietly. "Found purpose in it. There's honor in acknowledging that, even amid grief."
"Understanding doesn't ease the loss," I whisper, fingers curling around the pouch. "Doesn't fill the emptiness where he should be."
A log shifts in the growing fire, sending sparks spiraling upward through the crude stone chimney. Outside, the rain intensifies, drumming against the roof like impatient fingers.
"We should discuss our next steps," Ravik suggests after a moment, ever the practical commander despite his evident sorrow. "The ritual's success buys time but not security. Both Morwen and King Kres will regroup, reassess, pursue new strategies for recapturing you."
"And the awakened gargoyles will need guidance," Zephyr adds. "Leadership during their transition to this new reality."
Their return to practical concerns, though well-intentioned, scrapes against raw nerves. Grief demands space, acknowledgment, time that circumstance seems determined to deny.
"Can we just—" My voice catches, frustration warring with sorrow. "Can we allow ourselves one night to mourn him properly before planning our next tactical maneuver? Just one night to remember who he was to us, what he gave, why it matters?"
The unexpected vehemence in my tone silences them both. Ravik's amber eyes widen slightly in surprise, while Zephyr's scholarly composure slips to reveal genuine remorse.
"Of course," Ravik agrees after a moment, reaching for my hand with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Forgiveness, Kaia.Tactical thinking becomes reflexive after centuries of command. A shield against emotions too complicated to process."
"And scholarly detachment serves similar purpose," Zephyr acknowledges, moving from the hearth to my other side. "Analysis as defense against grief's rawness."
Their honesty—their willingness to acknowledge these coping mechanisms rather than hide behind them—breaks something loose inside me. Tears I thought exhausted well up again, spilling down my cheeks in silent rivulets.
"I miss him so much," I whisper, the simple truth more devastating than elaborate grief.
Ravik's arm slides around my shoulders, drawing me against his side. Zephyr takes my hand between both of his, offering silent comfort through touch. For long moments, we simply exist together in shared sorrow, the fire's quiet crackling and rain's steady drumming the only sounds.
"He knew how to live in his body," Zephyr observes eventually, breaking our silence with unexpected insight. "While I lived in my mind and Ravik in his duty, Thane inhabited the present moment with unparalleled wholeness."
"Made the rest of us look like we were sleepwalking through life," Ravik agrees, a hint of rueful admiration coloring his tone. "Even during stone sleep, his consciousness burned brighter than ours."
Their memories open a floodgate, and suddenly we're exchanging stories Ravik recounting Thane's outrageous battlefield exploits from before their transformation, Zephyr sharing moments of surprising philosophical insight from our seemingly straightforward warrior, me describing the tender care beneath his gruff exterior when he taught me to hunt in the forest surrounding our first sanctuary.
The sharing doesn't diminish grief but transforms it somehow—from crushing weight to bittersweet warmth, fromisolating pain to shared experience. Through our memories, Thane remains present, his essence surviving in stories and recollections.
As I listen to Ravik describe a particularly audacious battle maneuver from centuries past, my hand drifts unconsciously to the pouch containing Thane's remains. Something unexpected happens as my fingers brush the leather container—a tingle of magical energy, faint but unmistakable, pulsing like a heartbeat against my skin.
I freeze, attention shifting abruptly from Ravik's story to the sensation beneath my fingertips.
"Kaia?" Zephyr questions, immediately alert to my changed demeanor.
