Page 29 of Feral Gods
"Magic," I growl. "Not dark elf. Different."
We advance cautiously until we reach a small clearing dominated by a singular, ancient tiphe tree. Its trunk, wide enough that five humans might struggle to encircle it with joined hands, rises like a gnarled tower into the canopy. But it's what surrounds the base that stops us both cold.
Symbols have been carved into the forest floor in a perfect circle around the tree—delicate, flowing sigils that pulse with a faint violet light. I recognize some from the sanctuary's defenses that Zephyr has been teaching Kaia, but others are unfamiliar and distinctly... feminine in their design.
"Purna markings," I hiss, wings extending partially in instinctive threat display. "Fresh. Days old at most."
Kaia steps forward as if drawn by the sigils. I catch her arm, my claws gentle against her soft skin.
"Don't approach," I warn. "Purna magic is treacherous. It responds to blood and intent in ways even Zephyr doesn't fully understand."
Her eyes remain fixed on the circle. "It feels... familiar somehow. Like the sigils in the temple, but wilder. Less structured."
The admission confirms what we've all begun to suspect since her display of power yesterday. Blood calls to blood, magic to magic. If Kaia indeed descends from purna lineage, these markings would naturally resonate with her dormant abilities.
I scan the surrounding forest, every warrior instinct alert for danger. "Someone wove powerful protection magic here. Recently."
"Protection against what?" Kaia asks.
Before I can answer, a twig snaps in the distance—too deliberate to be wildlife. In one fluid motion, I pull Kaia against my chest and unfurl my wings, creating a living shield around her smaller form.
"We're being watched," I whisper against her hair, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
She nods against my chest, her heartbeat quickening but steady. Not panic—awareness. Again, I'm struck by her resilience. Most humans would be trembling with fear by now.
Through a gap in the branches, I catch movement—a cloaked figure sliding between trees approximately fifty paces east, moving parallel to our position. The figure pauses, head turning in our direction as if sensing our presence despite the considerable distance.
I catch a glimpse beneath the hood—not the violet eyes of a dark elf, but a human face, aged and weathered, with eyes that seem to glow with an inner light even at this distance.
Purna. Has to be.
The figure raises a hand, palm out—not in threat but in acknowledgment. Then, with unnatural speed, she vanishes deeper into the forest.
Only when I'm certain she's gone do I loosen my protective embrace around Kaia, though some primal part of me resists even this slight separation.
"Was that...?" Kaia doesn't finish the question.
"Yes." I gather her closer to my side, one wing still partially mantled around her shoulders. "An old one, by the look of her. Powerful."
"She didn't attack," Kaia observes, her voice steady despite the encounter.
"No." This troubles me more than an outright assault would have. "She observed. Assessed."
"Me," Kaia says quietly. "She was watching me, wasn't she?"
I don't insult her intelligence with false reassurance. "Most likely. If you carry purna blood, as your magic yesterday suggests, you would be of great interest to any surviving covens."
Kaia's shoulders straighten beneath my wing. "Then we should return to the sanctuary. Ravik and Zephyr need to know we're facing threats beyond King Kres's forces."
I nod, reluctantly impressed by her practical response to danger. No tears, no hysterics—just clear-eyed assessment anddecisive action. She continues to defy my expectations of her kind.
As we turn to leave, Kaia pauses, looking back at the warded tree. "Wait. There's something else."
Before I can stop her, she steps toward the edge of the sigil circle, careful not to cross its boundary. Kneeling, she points to a small object partially buried beneath fallen leaves.
"There."
With admirable caution, she uses a stick rather than her fingers to brush aside the debris, revealing a small leather pouch marked with symbols that match those in the circle.
