Page 45 of Feral Gods
Purna. Flamekeeper. Descendant of the very witch who cursed my protectors.
The knowledge sits like a stone in my stomach, heavy and undigested. For six years, I defined myself solely by survival—the clever slave who endured Lord Vathren's household by becoming invisible, unremarkable, forgettable. Now I learn I am something else entirely—heir to a magical lineage powerful enough to break curses that held for centuries.
I trace the birthmark on my left shoulder through the thin fabric of my sleeping tunic. The pattern I've always dismissed as a simple quirk of nature now reveals itself as somethingfar more significant—the Flamekeeper symbol, passed through generations of women in my maternal line.
My mother. Did she know? Is this why she clutched me so tightly when the slavers separated us in the market square? Was she trying to tell me something more important than simple maternal love?
The questions pile upon each other, a mountain with no summit in sight. I close the grimoire with a sigh, my eyes burning from hours of staring at indecipherable text. Zephyr offered to translate more tomorrow, but some restless impulse drove me to examine it alone tonight, searching for connections I might feel rather than understand.
A soft sound from beyond my doorway draws my attention—the whisper of clawed feet against stone, too light for Ravik's commanding stride or Thane's purposeful movements. Zephyr, then, still awake despite the late hour. His revelation earlier today about my heritage clearly troubles him as much as it does me, though for different reasons.
Decision made, I wrap a woven blanket around my shoulders against the sanctuary's perpetual chill and step into the corridor. The gentle blue glow of neptherium nodes guides my path toward the central archive where Zephyr spends most of his time. As expected, I find him hunched over an ancient text, his silver-gray form illuminated by multiple lamps that highlight the intricate patterns etched into his stone-like skin.
He looks up at my approach, turquoise eyes brightening with recognition. "You should be resting."
"As should you," I counter, stepping fully into the chamber. "Yet here we both are."
A hint of a smile tugs at his mouth—a more frequent expression since our conversation about my heritage yesterday. "Scholars and secrets are rarely compatible with sleep."
I settle onto a stone bench across from him, adjusting my blanket more securely around my shoulders. "You're still translating the purna texts?"
"Attempting to, yes." He gestures to several scrolls spread across the table. "Their magical theory is fascinating—fundamentally different from dark elf approaches in several key aspects."
The scholarly enthusiasm in his voice would normally engage me, but tonight I'm driven by more personal concerns. "You knew about my heritage before yesterday, didn't you? I saw your reaction when I touched my birthmark. You recognized it immediately."
His expression shifts, scholarly passion giving way to something more guarded. "I had suspicions after your magical display with the temple defenses. The grimoire merely confirmed what I already suspected."
“You told me I can be purna but not the possibility of being a direct line. It’s a stark difference from being an ordinary purna to this one," I keep my tone neutral despite the accusation in my words.
Zephyr sets down his quill carefully, giving me his full attention. "I wanted certainty before potentially upending your understanding of yourself. Was that wrong?"
The direct question deserves an equally direct answer. "I don't know. I'm still processing what it means—who I am now, compared to who I thought I was yesterday."
"You are exactly who you've always been," he says with unexpected gentleness. "Your bloodline explains certain abilities and connections, but it doesn't define your character or worth."
"Doesn't it?" I lean forward, the blanket slipping from one shoulder. "Everything has changed, Zephyr. My relationship with you three, my understanding of why I'm being hunted, evenmy own body feels like a stranger now that I know what potential it carries."
"Change can be disconcerting," he acknowledges, "but it need not be destructive. Think of it as expansion rather than replacement—you are more than you knew, not less than you were."
His philosophical approach would be comforting under normal circumstances, but frustration bubbles up inside me now. "That's easy for you to say. You've had centuries to come to terms with your transformation. I've had less than a day to accept that I'm descended from a purna witch powerful enough to curse three elite warriors into stone for hundreds of years."
"A fair point," he concedes, surprising me with his willingness to acknowledge my perspective. "Though I would argue that transformation is rarely easy, regardless of timeframe."
Something in his expression—a flicker of ancient pain quickly masked—reminds me that his own journey from dark elf scholar to gargoyle warrior was likely filled with struggle I cannot fully comprehend. My irritation softens into empathy.
"I'm sorry," I offer. "I know your cursing was traumatic in ways I can't imagine."
"As is your current situation," he acknowledges. "Discovery of self is rarely a gentle process, especially when catalyzed by external threat."
The understanding in his turquoise eyes draws me out further. "I tried reading the grimoire tonight. The symbols mean nothing to me intellectually, but my fingers seem drawn to certain patterns."
Interest flares in his scholarly gaze. "Magical memory often manifests physically before mentally. The body remembers what the conscious mind has yet to grasp."
"Can you teach me?" I ask, the question emerging with unexpected urgency. "Not just theory, but practical application. If this power is truly mine by blood, I need to understand how to control it."
Zephyr hesitates, unusual for one typically eager to share knowledge. "Purna magic differs significantly from the arcane arts I studied. I can teach principles and theory, but the specific expressions of Flamekeeper magic may require intuition I cannot provide."
"But you'll try?" I press, leaning forward. "I refuse to be merely a passive vessel for power others seek to control. If this magic is my heritage, it should serve my will, not make me a target for everyone else's ambitions."
