Page 46 of Feral Gods
A smile of genuine approval lights his features. "Well reasoned. I admire your determination to claim agency rather than simply reacting to circumstances."
The unexpected praise warms me more than it should. Despite our difficult beginning, I've come to value Zephyr's good opinion—his thoughtful perspective balancing Ravik's protective intensity and Thane's blunt pragmatism.
"We could begin with basic principles," he suggests, setting aside the scroll he'd been studying. "Centering exercises to help you connect consciously with the magical current you accessed instinctively when activating the temple defenses."
"Now?" I glance toward the corridor. "Shouldn't we wait for Ravik and Thane?"
"Their presence might actually complicate initial attempts," Zephyr explains. "Multiple magical auras can create interference patterns that make it difficult for beginners to isolate their own energy signature."
The explanation makes sense, though I suspect there's more to his reasoning than purely practical concerns. The dynamics between the three gargoyles have grown increasingly complexsince my arrival—particularly since my intimate encounter with Ravik yesterday. The memory sends heat flooding through me, both from the physical pleasure we shared and the complicated emotions that followed.
Zephyr rises from his seat, moving to a clearer space in the center of the archive. "We'll start with a simple visualization exercise. Come, sit here."
I join him in the open area, settling cross-legged on the cool stone floor as directed. He kneels opposite me, close enough that I can feel the subtle heat emanating from his stone-like body but not so near as to crowd me.
"Close your eyes," he instructs, his melodic voice dropping to a soothing cadence. "Breathe deeply and regularly. With each inhalation, imagine drawing energy from the ground beneath you, up through your spine. With each exhalation, allow tension to flow out through your fingertips."
I follow his guidance, focusing on my breath as it moves through my body. At first, I feel nothing beyond the normal sensations of breathing—the expansion of my lungs, the slight movement of my shoulders. But gradually, something else emerges—a subtle warmth beginning in my center and spreading outward with each breath.
"Good," Zephyr murmurs, his voice seeming to come from both outside and inside my consciousness simultaneously. "Now, try to direct that energy to your palms. Imagine it gathering there, a small flame cupped in your hands."
I visualize as instructed, picturing energy flowing down my arms to pool in my cupped palms. For several breaths, nothing happens beyond the continuing warmth in my core. Then suddenly, a tingling sensation erupts in my hands—like pins and needles but pleasant rather than painful.
"I feel something," I whisper, afraid speaking too loudly might break whatever connection I've established.
"Open your eyes," Zephyr instructs gently. "But maintain the visualization."
I lift my eyelids slowly, keeping my attention focused on the sensation in my palms. What I see steals my breath—a small, flickering light hovers between my cupped hands, not quite flame but similar, pulsing with the same magenta hue that appeared during my interaction with the temple defenses.
"I'm doing this?" My voice emerges thin with disbelief.
"You are," Zephyr confirms, his expression reflecting scholarly fascination tempered with something warmer. "Flamekeeper magic, manifesting in its most basic form."
The light pulses in rhythm with my accelerating heartbeat, growing brighter as my excitement builds. "It's responding to my emotions."
"Indeed. Purna magic is intimately connected to emotional states—a strength and vulnerability simultaneously. Strong feelings amplify power but can also make it more difficult to control precisely."
As if to demonstrate his point, the magenta light flares suddenly, expanding beyond my palms to encompass my wrists. Startled, I lose concentration, and the manifestation dissipates like mist in morning sunlight.
"What happened?" I ask, staring at my empty hands with a strange sense of loss.
"A natural fluctuation as you adjust to consciously channeling energy," Zephyr explains, sounding not at all concerned. "Remarkable progress for a first attempt. Most purna apprentices require weeks of practice before achieving visible manifestation."
Pride blooms alongside lingering disbelief. "It seemed almost... easy. As if my body remembered something my mind never learned."
"Blood memory," he nods. "The magical inheritance passed through your maternal line carries not just potential but patterns—instinctual knowledge embedded in your very essence."
The implication sends a shiver through me. "How much of me is truly mine, then? And how much is predetermined by this inheritance?"
Before Zephyr can answer, a high-pitched tone cuts through our conversation—the same alarm that signaled the dark elf attack yesterday, but at a different pitch and rhythm.
He rises in one fluid motion, extending a hand to help me to my feet. "Northern perimeter. Different signature than before."
"More dark elves?" I ask, gathering my blanket around my shoulders as we move quickly toward the main hall.
"Uncertain. The pattern suggests fewer entities but stronger magical signatures." His expression grows grim. "Possibly purna support has arrived for the king's forces."
My heart stutters at the implications. If purna witches have joined the hunt, our defenses—already compromised from yesterday's attack—may prove insufficient.
