Page 48 of Feral Gods
Gradually, a new awareness unfolds within my consciousness—a sense of the temple as a unified whole rather than separate chambers and corridors. I can feel the pressure points where magical attacks probe for weaknesses, sense the countermeasures Zephyr initiates through the altar's mechanisms.
"It's working," I murmur, surprised by the certainty in my voice. "I can feel the defenses strengthening."
"Remarkable," Zephyr breathes, his scholarly fascination momentarily overriding tactical concerns. "You're integrating with the temple's defensive matrix as if born to it."
Pride flashes through me at his approval, and the connection intensifies in response. The magenta glow from our earlier exercise returns, spreading from my hands across the altar's surface, interweaving with the existing blue-white patterns in a complex dance of complementary energies.
For several minutes, we work in synchronous harmony Zaphyr directing the temple's established defenses while I reinforce them with my newly awakened power. The external attacks continue but find increasing resistance as our combined efforts strengthen the sanctuary's magical architecture.
Then, without warning, a magical surge unlike anything previous slams against our defenses. The altar beneath my palms cracks, a jagged line appearing across its ancient surface. Zephyr staggers backward, one clawed hand pressed against his chest where a corresponding fissure has opened in his stone-like skin.
"Zephyr!" I cry, abandoning the altar to catch him as he stumbles.
"Direct countermeasure," he gasps, turquoise eyes dimming with pain. "They've identified the control nexus."
Blood-like silver ichor seeps from the wound in his chest, staining my hands as I try to support his much larger frame. Despite his injury, he pushes me back toward the chamber doorway.
"Go," he urges. "They'll target this chamber specifically now. You must reach the inner sanctum."
"Not without you," I insist, struggling against his superior strength.
"I'll follow," he promises, though the grimace of pain belies his reassuring tone. "Go, Kaia. Please."
Before I can argue further, the chamber door bursts open. I expect Ravik or Thane, but instead, a dark elf warrior stands framed in the entrance, his violet eyes widening at the sight of us. Behind him looms a hooded figure whose presence radiates magical power that makes my skin crawl.
"The bloodline child," the hooded figure says, voice carrying the lilting accent I now recognize as purna. "Matriarch Elowyn's heir, awakened at last."
Fear and rage intertwine within me—fear of this unknown threat, rage at Zephyr's injury and the violation of our sanctuary. The magical energy still coursing through my veins responds to these emotions, surging and building like water behind a weakening dam.
The dark elf advances, sword drawn. "Step away from the creature, girl. Come quietly, and you won't be harmed."
"An unlikely promise," Zephyr counters, straightening despite his wound. "King Kres is not known for gentle handling of valuable assets."
The purna witch laughs, a sound like dry leaves rustling. "The king's interests are secondary to the coven's. The bloodline returns to its rightful guardians today."
"I am not property to be claimed," I state, my voice steadier than expected given the fear coursing through me. "Not by dark elves, not by purna, not by anyone."
"Brave words from a runaway slave," the dark elf sneers, closing the distance between us with measured steps. "But ultimately meaningless. You'll come with us—willing or unconscious matters little."
He reaches for my arm, and something snaps within me—a final barrier between conscious control and instinctive power. The magic erupts outward from my core, no longer channeled through my hands but emanating from my entire being in a wave of magenta energy.
"NO!" The denial tears from my throat, my hands rising in an unconscious warding gesture.
The effect is immediate and astonishing. A translucent barrier materializes between us and our attackers—a shield of pure magical energy pulsing with the now-familiar magenta light. The dark elf's sword strikes it and rebounds, nearly flying from his grasp with the force of rejection.
"Impossible," the purna witch hisses, pushing back her hood to reveal an aged face marked with the same symbol I bear on my shoulder. "No untrained bloodline child should be capable of directed shielding."
I stand my ground, hands still raised, the barrier maintaining its position between us through what feels like pure force of will. "Apparently I'm full of surprises."
The witch's eyes narrow, her hands beginning to weave a complex counterspell. "Raw power without technique. Impressive but ultimately futile."
Before her spell can complete, a massive form crashes through the chamber's side wall Thane, his iron-black skin streaked with fresh blood, crimson eyes blazing with battle-fury. Without hesitation, he hurls himself at the dark elf warrior, the impact sending both tumbling into the corridor beyond.
The witch turns toward this new threat, momentarily distracted from her counterspell. I seize the opportunity, concentrating on expanding the barrier, pushing it outward with all the determination I can muster. The shield responds, surging forward like a physical wave, knocking the witch off her feet and out of the chamber.
"Zephyr," I gasp, the effort of maintaining the barrier draining my newfound strength rapidly. "Can you move?"
He straightens with visible effort, one hand still pressed to his wounded chest. "Well enough. That was... extraordinary."
