Page 43 of Feral Gods
"Meaning?" Ravik prompts, his tactical mind requiring practical implications rather than theoretical framework.
"Meaning the curse could only be broken by someone sharing Elowyn's blood," I explain, watching Kaia's expression carefully. "Someone carrying her magical essence."
Understanding dawns in her eyes, quickly followed by denial. "You think... but that's impossible. I'm just a slave from Lord Vathren's household. My mother was a slave before me."
"And before that?" I ask gently. "What do you know of your earlier ancestry?"
"Nothing," she admits, a new vulnerability entering her expression. "Slaves aren't permitted genealogies or family histories. We exist only in the present, with whatever master currently holds our papers."
The casual brutality of this reality strikes me anew, despite my intellectual familiarity with dark elf slavery practices. Knowledge of self—of origins and ancestry—is fundamental to identity. To deliberately strip this from a sentient being is a particularly insidious form of control.
"I believe you may have purna ancestry," I state carefully, watching her reaction. "Possibly direct descent from the Flamekeeper line."
She shakes her head in reflexive denial. "That's absurd. I have no magic."
"Don't you?" I counter gently. "You broke a curse designed to be unbreakable. You activated defensive sigils that should have required years of training to master. Your blood responded to the temple's ancient magic in ways that cannot be explained by coincidence."
Kaia steps away from the table, arms wrapping around herself in unconscious self-protection. "If what you're suggesting is true, why wouldn't I have known? Why wouldn't I have felt something before now?"
"Magic can lie dormant when unexpressed," I explain, resisting the urge to comfort her physically—a gesture that might be unwelcome given her current distress and my awareness of her recent intimacy with Ravik. "Particularly in bloodlines diluted through generations of non-magical partnerships. Sometimes it requires a catalyst—extreme circumstances, proximity to sources of magical power, or specific triggering events."
"Like pleading for sanctuary in a temple built on ley lines," Ravik concludes, his sharp mind connecting the disparate pieces.
"Precisely." I turn a page in the grimoire, revealing a diagram of the sanctuary's magical architecture. "This temple was constructed at a convergence of natural power currents. Your desperate plea, combined with your latent magical heritage, created the perfect conditions for awakening both our curse and your dormant abilities."
Kaia's gaze returns to the book, a new wariness in her expression. "How certain are you about this?"
The critical question—demanding absolute honesty despite the pain it might cause. I consider prevarication, providing reassurance through ambiguity, but dismiss the impulse as unworthy of both of us.
"I found your name," I admit quietly. "In the family registry at the back of this grimoire. You are descended directly from Elowyn through an unbroken maternal line."
Her face pales, one hand rising again to her shoulder. "The birthmark..."
"The Flamekeeper symbol," I confirm. "A magical inheritance passed through generations of your maternal line."
Ravik's expression shifts from tactical assessment to protective concern as he observes Kaia's distress. "This is why King Kres pursues her so relentlessly. Not merely as a runaway slave, but as a magical resource of immense value."
"And why the purna witch tracked us in the forest," I add. "If any Flamekeepers remain active, they would sense the awakening of Elowyn's blood, particularly after such a significant magical event as breaking our curse. That purna is probably the one that inscribed my name in this."
Kaia sinks onto the stone bench, the weight of revelation visibly overwhelming her. "So I'm not just a fugitive slave, but a magical bloodline prize that multiple factions are hunting."
Her succinct summary encompasses the grim reality of her situation perfectly. I nod, offering no false comfort. "I believe so, yes."
"And that's why you three feel so protective of me," she continues, her gaze shifting between Ravik and myself. "Not because of me specifically, but because of what I represent—the key to your permanent freedom or potential re-imprisonment."
The accusation cuts deeper than anticipated, striking at insecurities I hadn't recognized until this moment. Is shecorrect? Is our growing attachment merely a product of magical connection rather than genuine regard?
"No," Ravik answers before I can formulate a response, his voice carrying the absolute certainty of command. "Our protection began as an obligation, yes. But what has grown since then is not about magic or curses."
His amber gaze meets mine briefly, acknowledging the complex reality we both face—that whatever our initial motivations, our feelings for Kaia have evolved beyond strategic value or magical utility.
"Ravik is correct," I affirm, choosing honesty over self-protection. "While your heritage explains certain aspects of our awakening, it does not define the connections that have formed subsequently."
Kaia looks unconvinced, her earlier confidence replaced by understandable doubt. "How can any of us know that for certain? If my blood broke your curse, might it not also be influencing your feelings? Creating artificial attachment where none would naturally exist?"
The question reveals both intelligence and insight—qualities I've come to deeply appreciate in her. Rather than dismissing the possibility outright, I consider it with scholarly thoroughness.
"Magic can influence emotion, certainly," I acknowledge. "But it cannot create genuine attachment from nothing. At most, it might amplify existing tendencies or lower inhibitions against forming connections."
