Page 105 of Feral Gods
He inclines his head slightly, confirmation without elaboration. "The ritual remains priority. My concerns may simply reflect commander's paranoia."
This admission—acknowledging potential overreaction rather than insisting on absolute certainty—represents profound evolution from the rigid commander who first awakened from stone sleep. Transformation beyond physical form, beyond magical restructuring, into emotional territory once forbidden to all of us.
"We proceed as planned," Kaia decides, leadership sitting naturally upon her shoulders where once she carried only the burdens of slavery and survival. "But maintain heightened awareness during the working. The Codex warns that resurrection magic creates dimensional distortions that might attract... attention."
"Attention from what precisely?" Ravik inquires, tactical mind immediately assessing potential threats.
I hesitate before answering, weighing scholarly accuracy against practical necessity. "Theoretical entities that exist between conventional reality states. Liminal beings attracted to transitional energies."
"Demons," Kaia translates bluntly, her growing magical knowledge bridging scholarly abstraction and practical application. "Or something close enough that the distinction matters little."
Ravik's wings flare slightly, battle-readiness instinctive even in his transformed state. "Additional variable to monitor. Proceed with preparations."
As twilight deepens toward true night, we complete final arrangements for the ritual. The thermal pool steams more vigorously as darkness falls, its mineral-rich waters glowing faintly with bioluminescent organisms that thrive in its heated depths. This natural illumination combines with carefully placed mage-lights to reveal our ritual space in eerie blue-white radiance.
"The first moon rises," Kaia announces, dark eyes tracking the larger of Protheka's twin satellites as it crests the eastern ridge. Its surface appears rust-colored tonight, reflecting solar light through Protheka's atmospheric particulates at this specific angle—the Blood Moon of ancient prophecy and magical significance.
The second, smaller moon will follow within the hour, creating the conjunction we require for our working. Time grows short, yet much remains to be established before we can begin the actual resurrection sequence.
"We should prepare ourselves," I suggest, retrieving three crystal vials from my satchel. Each contains carefully measured potion—my own creation, combining scholarly knowledge with ingredients gathered during our journey. "This will help stabilize our consciousness during partial transition state."
Kaia accepts her vial without hesitation, trust replacing the wariness that once characterized her responses to magical interventions. Ravik examines his briefly before nodding acceptance.
"Effects?" he inquires, ever practical.
"Enhanced perception across dimensional boundaries, temporary immunity to disorientation effects common in liminal spaces, and moderate protection against consciousnessfragmentation." I uncork my own vial, the liquid within shimmering with subtle iridescence. "Duration approximately four hours—sufficient for our purposes unless complications arise."
"And if complications do arise?" Kaia asks, the question requiring answer despite how it tightens anxiety's grip.
"Then we improvise," I reply honestly. "No theoretical model perfectly encompasses resurrection magic's complexities. The Codex provides framework, but actualizing trans-dimensional transition remains partly intuitive process."
Rather than increasing her concern, this admission appears to steady her. "Good thing intuition happens to be my specialty," she says with ghost of smile that momentarily illuminates exhaustion-shadowed features.
In synchronized motion, we consume the stabilizing potions. The effect manifests immediately—enhanced awareness of energy patterns previously at perception's periphery, sharper definition of magical currents flowing through our ritual space, heightened sensitivity to the pulse emanating from Thane's preserved essence.
"By the ancients," Ravik murmurs, amber eyes wide as enhanced perception reveals magical complexities normally invisible even to transformed senses. "The convergence patterns..."
"Magnificent, aren't they?" I acknowledge, scholarly appreciation momentarily overshadowing our dire purpose. "Natural harmonic resonance creating self-sustaining energy matrix perfectly suited to trans-dimensional working."
"It's more than that," Kaia interjects, her natural magical sensitivity amplified by the potion to levels that exceed even my scholarly understanding. "The patterns aren't just compatible with our purpose—they're responding to it. Anticipating. Almost as if..."
"As if the confluence itself possesses consciousness," I finish, the concept simultaneously fascinating and disturbing from theoretical perspective. "Sentient magical nexus. Documented in ancient texts but never conclusively verified."
"Until now," she confirms, wonder momentarily replacing grief in her expression. "It wants to help. It recognizes Thane somehow."
This unexpected variable both complicates and potentially enhances our working. Sentient confluence could provide stability and direction beyond our individual capabilities—or introduce unpredictable factors impossible to calculate in advance.
The second moon crests the ridge, smaller but brighter than its companion, their combined illumination casting double shadows across our ritual space. The celestial alignment we've awaited begins taking shape, the Warrior's Constellation gradually moving into position between the twin satellites.
"It's time," I announce, moving to my designated position at one point of our triangular formation. "Ravik, northeastern point for stability and protection. Kaia, southern point for power channeling and blood connection. I'll take northwestern point for knowledge integration and transition mapping."
They move to their positions without question, absolute trust replacing the hierarchy that once defined our interactions. As we settle into triangular formation around the thermal pool, Kaia places the pouch containing Thane's essence in the ritual circle's exact center, copper particles spilling onto the black stone like metallic constellation.
"The invocation begins with blood offering," I instruct, drawing a small obsidian blade from my robes. "Freely given, precisely measured—three drops each at our individual positions, symbolizing willing sacrifice."
The ancient phrase proves true once more: magic demands symmetry. What we attempt to reclaim through resurrection magic requires payment in kind—life essence offered to guide life essence returned. The small blood sacrifice we make now merely foreshadows greater offering the ritual's culmination will demand.
One by one, we pierce our palms, allowing exactly three drops of blood to fall upon the ritual circle at our respective positions. The effect manifests immediately—magical energy surging through the patterns we've created, the concentric circles illuminating with power that reflects our individual signatures. Ravik's position glows amber, Kaia's magenta, mine turquoise—three points of colored light forming perfect triangle around Thane's copper remains.
