Page 4 of Feral Gods
Both turn to me, shock evident in their expressions. I am no friend to humans—none of us are, not after what we enduredat the hands of purnas and their human collaborators. Yet the protective impulse that seized me at her plea only intensifies as I look down at her vulnerable form.
"She broke our curse," I continue, meeting their stares with unwavering intensity. "That creates a debt."
Thane bares his fangs. "Since when do we honor debts to lesser beings?"
"Since one of them freed us from eternal imprisonment," Zephyr interjects smoothly, ever the voice of reason. He rises, dusting stone fragments from his lean form. "Besides, the dark elves hunting her may lead the purna back to us. We should at least learn what she knows before deciding her fate."
The hunting horns sound again, accompanied by the distant baying of batlaz. The dark elves draw closer to our sanctuary, following the human's trail through the snow.
Decision made, I gather the woman into my arms. She weighs nothing to my strength, her body cold against my chest. Something stirs within me at the contact—an unfamiliar protectiveness tinged with something more primal. I push the feeling aside, focusing instead on practical matters.
"Zephyr, see what you can do about the temple defenses. The neptherium nodes should still function if you can awaken them. Thane, secure the perimeter. Kill any dark elf who approaches." I fix him with a hard stare when he seems ready to object. "That is not a request."
Thane's crimson eyes narrow, but he nods curtly. As aggressive and combative as he is, he recognizes the authority I held before our imprisonment—commander of the elite guard, second only to the king himself in matters of battle. Some hierarchies transcend even centuries of curse.
I carry the woman deeper into the temple, toward the inner sanctum where the sacred fire once burned eternal. The chamber lies cold and dark now, but the ancient hearthremains intact. With a thought, I summon a fraction of the magic that flows through my veins—magic born of chaos and transformation. Fire blooms between my clawed fingers, dancing across my obsidian skin without burning. I direct it to the hearth, where it catches on the remnants of wood left there centuries ago.
The sanctum fills with warm light, illuminating walls covered in faded murals depicting the glory of the Thirteen. I lay the woman carefully on the stone altar—once used for ritual sacrifice, now serving as an impromptu bed. Her skin appears even paler in the firelight, her lips tinged with blue.
"Live," I command her, as if my will alone could force life back into her failing body. "You freed us. You do not have permission to die."
Her eyelids flutter at the sound of my voice, but she does not wake. I remove my scaled cloak—manifestation of my power, not fabric—and lay it over her still form. It carries my body's heat and will protect her from the cold better than her tattered slave garments.
As I stand watching over her, confusion wars with instinct within me. Why do I care whether this human lives or dies? She is nothing to me—a lesser being, like all humans. Yet something about her plea, her desperation, her willingness to trust unknown entities for protection, has awakened something within me I thought long dead.
Behind me, I hear the distant sounds of combat Thane engaging the first of the dark elf hunters, judging by the screams. Good. Let him slake his bloodthirst on our ancient enemies. It will help clear his mind regarding the human.
Zephyr enters the sanctum, his steps silent as always. "The temple defenses are reactivating," he reports. "Slowly, but they will hold against common dark elves. If they bring purna witches, however..." He leaves the implication hanging.
"They won't," I reply with certainty. "Not initially. The purna keep to themselves these days, from what little I could sense during our imprisonment. This is likely just a slave hunt, nothing that would warrant magical intervention."
Zephyr's gaze shifts to the woman on the altar. "Curious, isn't it? That after years and years of stone sleep, we would be awakened by a human slave seeking refuge from dark elves. The symmetry is... intriguing."
I grunt noncommittally. Zephyr has always seen patterns where I see only chaos, meaning where I see only coincidence. Still, even I must admit the situation carries a strange sense of fateful design.
"What will you do with her?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.
"Keep her alive," I answer curtly. "Beyond that, I haven't decided."
Zephyr studies me with those unnerving turquoise eyes, seeing more than I wish to reveal. "You feel it too, then? The compulsion to protect her?"
I clench my fists, reluctant to admit to such an inexplicable weakness. "It is merely obligation. She broke our curse, intentionally or not. That creates a debt."
"A debt," Zephyr echoes, his tone suggesting he believes otherwise. "Of course."
Before I can respond, the woman on the altar stirs, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her eyes flutter open, revealing irises of hazel-green that widen in shock and fear as they focus on me.
"W-what..." she gasps, attempting to scramble backward only to find herself too weak to move. "What are you?"
I lean forward, bringing my face closer to hers, letting her see the full measure of what she has awakened. Let her fear me—fear will keep her obedient, compliant, alive.
"I am Ravik," I rumble, watching her pupils dilate with terror. "And you, little human, have stumbled into the sanctuary of the gargoyles of Causadurn Ridge."
She swallows hard, her gaze darting between Zephyr and myself, taking in our inhuman forms with remarkable composure for one so clearly afraid.
"Gargoyles?" she whispers. "But those are just legends..."
"As are many truths on Protheka," Zephyr interjects, his voice gentler than mine. "Yet here we stand, awakened after centuries of stone sleep by your plea for sanctuary."
