Page 3 of Feral Gods
Sometimes, I catch glimpses of the world beyond—faint echoes of sound, shifts in temperature as seasons change, the occasional presence of creatures seeking shelter within our sanctuary. But these sensations reach me as if through murky water, distant and impossible to grasp.
Today—if there is such a thing as today in this timeless prison—something changes. A storm howls against the ancient stones of our temple, its fury penetrating even my dulled senses. The wind carries whispers I haven't heard in centuries: the hunting horns of dark elves. Their sound awakens something primal within me—hatred so visceral it threatens to crack my stone prison through sheer force of will.
Dark elves. The betrayers. The reason for our curse.
Fragments of memory flash through my consciousness—leading warriors into battle against the vrakken, standing proud in the king's court, the purna witch's face twisted in fury as she cast the spell that locked us in eternal stone. My brothers beside me, turned to statues in an instant.
The horns grow louder, and with them comes something else—the rapid, frightened breathing of prey. Footsteps stumble across the temple threshold, hesitant and light. Not dark elf. Something smaller. Weaker.
Human.
I struggle to focus my awareness, straining against the curse that binds me. I sense the human collapse within our sanctuary, its life force flickering like a candle in the wind. Death approaches swiftly in this cold, and soon the temple will once again stand empty, save for three stone guardians locked in eternal sleep.
Then the human speaks.
"Please," a female voice whispers, desperation evident in every syllable. "If anyone or anything dwells in this place... help me. I ask only for sanctuary."
Her words ripple through the temple, stirring ancient magic long dormant. I feel the spell that binds us shudder in response to her plea. The woman continues, her voice growing fainter.
"I have nothing to offer in return. But I swear by whatever gods might listen that I will repay any kindness with loyalty. Just don't let them take me back."
Something fractures within me—within the curse itself. The sincerity in her voice, the desperation, the willingness to pledge loyalty to unknown entities simply for protection... it resonates with magic older than the purna's spell, magic woven into the very foundations of this sanctuary.
I feel the stone encasing me begin to crack.
Pain lances through my consciousness as awareness floods back in a torrent. Sensation returns—the cold air against skin that has known only stone for centuries, the weight of my own body, the burning in lungs that suddenly remember how to breathe. My limbs, stiff from eons of immobility, tremble as the last of the stone shell falls away.
I open my eyes to near-darkness, my vision adjusting instantly to reveal the familiar contours of our ancient temple. Nothing has changed, yet everything has. Dust and neglect have claimed what was once a sacred place of power. The neptherium lanterns, once bright with blue-white light, lay dormant and dark.
My attention fixes on the small form crumpled on the temple floor. The human—the female who somehow broke our curse. She lies motionless, her skin pale with cold, her breathing shallow. Death's shadow hovers close.
I take a step toward her, stone fragments falling from my massive form as I move. My wings unfurl behind me, stretching painfully after centuries of confinement. I tower over her slight figure, standing nearly eight feet tall, my obsidian skin etched with ancient runes that glow faintly in the dim light.
Rage surges within me—rage at the dark elves who hunt her, at the purna who cursed us, at my own weakness in succumbing to stone sleep. But alongside that familiar fury burns something unexpected: a fierce, overwhelming impulse to protect this fragile creature.
I kneel beside her, my clawed hands hovering uncertainly over her still form. She appears young by human standards, though age means little to one who has existed for millennia. Dark curls frame a face marked by exhaustion and cold, yet still bearing a stubborn determination even in unconsciousness. A slave, judging by the rough gray dress and the faint scar of a brand partially visible on her wrist.
The hunting horns sound again, closer now. The dark elves approach, and with them comes the prospect of recapture—for the human, and perhaps for us, should the purna learn of our awakening.
"Ravik?" A voice, hoarse from disuse, echoes through the temple chamber. "Is that truly you?"
I turn to see Zephyr emerging from his own stone prison, silver-gray skin catching what little light filters through the temple entrance. His turquoise eyes widen as they fall on the unconscious human.
"What is happening?" he demands, his voice growing stronger with each word. "How is this possible?"
Before I can answer, another crack of stone announces Thane's awakening. The largest of us after myself, his iron-black skin seems to absorb the very shadows as he shakes off the last remnants of his stone shell.
"By the Thirteen," he growls, crimson eyes blazing as he takes in our surroundings. "We're free." His gaze falls on the human, and his expression darkens. "What is that doing here?"
"She broke the curse," I reply, my own voice a graveled rumble after centuries of silence. "Her plea for sanctuary awakened magic older than the purna's spell."
"A human?" Thane spits the word like a curse. "Impossible."
Zephyr approaches cautiously, crouching to examine the woman more closely. "She's dying," he observes, his scholarly detachment failing to mask the concern in his voice. "The cold has nearly claimed her."
"Let it," Thane snarls, stretching his massive wings. "We owe humans nothing. Less than nothing."
A growl builds in my chest, surprising even me with its ferocity. "She stays."
