Page 42 of Feral Gods
Yet concealing such critical information feels wrong on a fundamental level. Knowledge has always been my guiding principle, the foundation upon which I've built my existence. To withhold it now, even with benevolent intent, would betray everything I believe.
I close the grimoire carefully, securing it within my satchel. The chamber's magical illumination fades as I rise, leaving me in near-darkness relieved only by the faint glow emanating from the runes etched into my silver-gray skin. The weight of discovery sits heavy on my shoulders as I make my way back through the hidden passage toward the main sanctuary.
My mind continues to churn with conflicting imperatives as I ascend the ancient stairs. The scholar in me demands immediate disclosure—full transparency regarding Kaia's heritage and its implications for our situation. The strategist cautions measured revelation—careful introduction of facts to avoid overwhelming her already precarious situation. And something else, something less rational but increasingly powerful, urges protection—shielding her from knowledge that might bring only pain and greater danger.
This last impulse surprises me with its intensity. When did Kaia become more than an academic curiosity or strategic asset? When did her wellbeing begin to matter to me beyond its practical implications for our survival?
Perhaps it was when she listened to my historical explanations with genuine interest rather than mere politeness. Or when she asked insightful questions about magical theory that revealed a quick, curious mind beneath her cautious exterior. Or possibly when she stood her ground against Ravik during the attack, revealing a core of strength I find increasingly admirable.
Regardless of when it began, I cannot deny the truth—I care for her as an individual, not merely as the key to our freedom or a subject of scholarly interest. The realization is both unsettling and oddly liberating.
As I near the upper levels of the sanctuary, another scent reaches my sensitive nostrils—the unmistakable musk of intimacy. My steps falter momentarily as I process the implications. Ravik and Kaia have coupled in my absence, their scents now intermingled in a way that speaks of physical completion.
An unexpected surge of jealousy catches me off-guard, the emotion so foreign to my scholarly nature that I nearly stumble on the ancient stairs. I have never been the possessive type—even before our transformation, I preferred to observe and analyze rather than claim or control. Yet something about this development stirs an uncomfortable heat in my chest.
Is it merely territorial instinct—the primal aspect of our gargoyle nature asserting itself? Or something deeper, more personal, rooted in my growing regard for Kaia herself?
I pause at the corridor junction, gathering my composure. Whatever my private feelings, they cannot interfere with the larger imperatives of survival and protection. Kaia's heritage represents a critical piece of information that affects all of us, regardless of who has claimed physical intimacy with her.
Decision made, I continue toward the healing chamber where I left Kaia earlier. The scent of coupling grows stronger as I approach, confirming my initial assessment. When I open the door, the scene tells its own story Kaia and Ravik standing slightly apart, her cheeks flushed, his amber eyes holding a possessive gleam I've never seen before.
Both turn toward me as I enter, Kaia's expression shifting from private contentment to alert curiosity at the sight of my satchel and the obvious tension in my bearing. Ravik's response is more measured—a subtle shift of weight that places him fractionally closer to her, unconsciously protective.
"I've found something in the archives," I announce, deciding that immediate partial disclosure serves our collective interests better than either complete revelation or total concealment. "Something about the purna witch who may be tracking Kaia."
Kaia steps forward, eager for information as always. "What did you find? Is it connected to the pouch Thane and I discovered?"
I hesitate, weighing precisely how much to share in this initial conversation. "Possibly. I discovered a hidden chamber beneath the sanctuary—a purna record hall containing genealogical information about the twelve major covens."
"Twelve?" Ravik questions, his strategic mind immediately grasping the significance. "The historical records mentioned only seven."
"The official histories were incomplete," I explain, moving further into the chamber. "Deliberately so. The purna concealedmuch about their true numbers and bloodlines, especially after relations with dark elf nobility deteriorated."
Kaia's gaze sharpens with interest. "And this connects to the witch in the forest how?"
"I believe she belongs to the Flamekeeper bloodline—a particularly powerful coven specializing in binding magic and curse-craft." I set my satchel on the stone table, carefully avoiding the exact spot where their coupling likely occurred. "The same coven responsible for our imprisonment."
Ravik's expression darkens. "They still exist? After all this time?"
"In diminished numbers, but yes." I withdraw Elowyn's grimoire from my satchel, placing it gently on the table. "This belonged to their Matriarch—the witch who designed and implemented our curse."
Kaia stares at the book with visible fascination, one hand unconsciously rising to touch her left shoulder—precisely where the birthmark rests beneath her tunic. The gesture sends a jolt through me. Does she know? Has she always suspected her connection to the purna?
"May I?" she asks, reaching toward the grimoire.
I nod, watching carefully as she opens the ancient tome. Despite having no formal magical training, she handles it with instinctive reverence, as if recognizing its significance on some fundamental level.
"I can't read this," she says after a moment, fingers hovering over the flowing script. "Yet it feels... familiar somehow."
"Purna script," I explain, moving to stand beside her—close enough to guide but not so near as to invade her personal space. "Deliberately designed to be difficult for outsiders to decipher."
She glances up at me, hazel-green eyes reflecting the neptherium lamplight. "But you can read it?"
"I was a scholar of ancient languages before our transformation," I confirm. "Though this particular dialect required some effort to translate."
Ravik joins us at the table, his massive form radiating protective heat as he examines the book over Kaia's shoulder. "What does it tell us about our current situation?"
Here lies the critical juncture—how much to reveal, how much to withhold. I choose my words with scholarly precision. "The grimoire details the construction of our curse, including its fundamental anchoring mechanism. The Matriarch, Elowyn, bound the curse to her own bloodline, creating a magical tether that would persist through generations."
