Page 113 of Feral Gods
"For what specifically?" Zephyr inquires, scholarly precision seeking clarification even in emotional moment.
"For everything," I answer simply. "For awakening to my desperate plea. For protecting me when I couldn't protect myself. For seeing me as person when I'd forgotten how to see myself that way. For loving me as equal rather than possession or symbol."
"The gratitude flows both directions," Ravik counters, amber eyes holding uncharacteristic emotional openness. "You awakened us from stone sleep, yes, but also from rigidity of thought and feeling that imprisoned us more completely than physical curse."
"You made us alive again," Thane adds with simple eloquence that requires no scholarly translation. "Not just moving and breathing, but truly living."
As night deepens toward dawn, we remain awake—savoring connection formalized through ceremony yet existing long before ritual acknowledgment. Outside our dwelling, the hidden valley continues its peaceful existence—waterfall cascading into luminescent pool, night-blooming flowers releasing sweet fragrance into gentle breeze, magical lights marking pathways between scattered buildings that house occasional visitors seeking temporary sanctuary.
Our creation. Our home. Our chosen destiny.
The future remains uncertain—Morwen and King Kres temporarily distracted but not permanently neutralized, awakened gargoyles still finding their place in transformed Protheka, magical restructuring continuing to alter fundamental power dynamics throughout the realm.
Yet whatever challenges arise, we face them not as separate individuals with conflicting priorities but as unified whole with complementary strengths. Not commander and subordinates, not protectors and protected, but equal partners whose differences enhance rather than divide.
Family created through choice rather than circumstance. Sanctuary built through love rather than fear. Future shaped through conscious decision rather than passive acceptance.
As first light touches eastern horizon, illuminating our valley sanctuary with golden radiance that transforms ordinary landscape into magical realm, I find perfect contentment in simple truth that once seemed impossible:
We are home. We are whole. We are free.
KAIA
Spring transforms our valley into living artwork—crystalline waterfalls reflecting rainbow light, meadows carpeted with wildflowers whose scent perfumes the air, fruit trees heavy with blossoms promising abundant harvest in seasons to come. One full year since we established our hidden sanctuary, and nature has responded to our care with extravagant beauty that sometimes catches my breath with its perfection.
From my perch on the natural stone terrace overlooking our expanded garden, I watch as two figures move among the cultivated plots—one copper-hued and powerfully built, the other small and delicate with pale blue skin. Thane and Lyria, the young gargoyle girl who arrived last month after wandering lost through Causadurn Ridge for weeks following her awakening. His massive hands demonstrate proper planting technique with surprising gentleness, her delighted laughter carrying upward on the spring breeze when her first seedling settles successfully into fertile soil.
"Another gardener in training?" Zephyr's melodic voice comes from behind me, his approach deliberately audible despite his natural grace. Since our binding ceremony ninemonths ago, such small considerations have become instinctive between us—tiny acknowledgments of respect and care that require no discussion.
"Thane claims she has natural talent," I reply, leaning comfortably against his slate-blue chest as his arms encircle my waist. "Though he says that about every child who shows the slightest interest in his plants."
"Accurate assessment nonetheless," Zephyr observes, turquoise eyes tracking the pair with scholarly precision softened by genuine affection. "Lyria demonstrates remarkable aptitude for nurturing growth—both botanical and personal. Her recovery progression exceeds statistical expectations for traumatic awakening circumstances."
The clinical phrasing fails to mask the pride in his voice. Though our sanctuary has welcomed dozens of awakened gargoyles over the past year, Lyria holds special significance—the first child found preserved in stone sleep, her age equivalent to human eight-year-old when transformation occurred centuries ago. Her arrival challenged and expanded our sanctuary's purpose in ways we never anticipated.
"The network messenger arrives within the hour," Zephyr continues, referencing our established communication system that operates through trusted contacts across Protheka. "Ravik awaits your presence for message review before responding."
Though phrased as casual information, the subtle request beneath his words speaks to the continued balance we maintain between individual autonomy and collective decision-making. No orders or commands, merely information allowing informed choice.
"Important news?" I ask, already rising from my comfortable position.
"Potentially significant," he confirms, falling into step beside me as we follow the winding path toward our main dwelling."Preliminary indications suggest increased underground resistance activity in Liiandor and corresponding escalation in King Kres's suppression tactics."
The information sends familiar tension through my shoulders despite our sanctuary's remote security. One year of safety hasn't completely erased survival instincts honed through years of slavery and months of desperate flight.
Zephyr's hand finds mine, his touch grounding and reassuring. "Our security protocols remain uncompromised," he reminds me gently. "Multiple defensive layers, both conventional and magical, protect our location from discovery."
"I know," I acknowledge, squeezing his hand in gratitude for understanding the anxiety I didn't need to verbalize. Our binding connection allows such emotional resonance without requiring explicit expression—one of countless benefits from the ceremony that formalized our unusual family.
Our dwelling has expanded over the year, growing from simple structure to harmonious complex that incorporates living spaces for permanent residents and temporary quarters for those seeking brief sanctuary. The central building—our original home—remains private space for just the four of us, while satellite structures accommodate both long-term companions like Lyria and transient visitors seeking respite or guidance.
Ravik awaits in the communication room, his transformed indigo form bent over detailed maps spread across the circular table dominating the space. Amber eyes lift at our approach, his serious expression softening slightly upon seeing us together.
"Perfect timing," he greets, straightening to his impressive height. Wings folded neatly against his back, he gestures toward the maps with characteristic precision. "The latest intelligence reports suggest significant developments in three key regions."
I move to his side, studying the marked locations with practiced eye developed through months of similar briefings.No longer the terrified slave who stumbled through wilderness seeking any escape, I've become strategic partner in maintaining our sanctuary network—my personal experience providing insights even Ravik's military brilliance sometimes overlooks.
"Underground resistance in Liiandor grows bolder," Ravik continues, indicating the capital city with talon tip. "King Kres responds with increasingly desperate measures—public executions, extended curfews, magical monitoring in previously exempt districts."
