Page 84 of Feral Gods
"This place wasn't built by dark elves or purna," I observe, examining the nearest pedestal. "It may predate both our civilizations."
"Can you read it?" Kaia asks, joining me beside the strange text.
I trace the unfamiliar symbols, searching my remaining knowledge for comparable linguistic structures. "Not directly, but there are patterns... similarities to proto-elven pictographs."
As my fingers connect with the inscription, unexpected information flows into my consciousness—not translation in the conventional sense but direct concept transfer, as if the stone itself communicates with my mind.
"Resurrection," I gasp, the knowledge settling into place with crystal clarity. "This chamber contains resurrection magic—the original source, not the corrupted forms that survived in later grimoires."
"Resurrection of what?" Thane asks, warrior's caution evident in his tone.
"Not what—who." I gesture to the stone gargoyles lining the chamber. "These warriors weren't merely imprisoned by Morwen's curse. They were killed first, their life essence bound to stone form rather than permitted natural dissolution."
Kaia's expression shifts from wonder to horror. "They're dead?"
"Not entirely," I clarify, continuing to absorb information from the pedestal. "Their consciousness remains tethered to physical form through the curse, prevented from either true life or final death."
"A fate worse than our own," Ravik observes grimly.
"But potentially reversible," I add, the chamber's purpose becoming increasingly clear as more knowledge transfersthrough my contact with the inscription. "The wildspont energy concentrated here, combined with the right catalyst, could restore them fully."
"What catalyst?" Kaia asks, though her tone suggests she already suspects the answer.
"Blood of the curse-maker's line," I confirm. "Your blood, Kaia. Combined with the sacrifice of life essence from beings already transformed—already walking the boundary between life and death."
Ravik steps forward, protective instinct immediately evident. "You've already sacrificed enough, Zephyr. And Kaia's power is nearly depleted from creating our escape."
"I don't propose immediate action," I assure him, withdrawing from the pedestal. "Merely sharing discovered knowledge so we can make informed decisions when our strength returns."
The crystal pool pulses more intensely, as if responding to our discussion. The chamber itself feels alive somehow—aware in a manner beyond conventional consciousness.
"We should rest," Thane suggests pragmatically. "Recover our strength while our enemies search fruitlessly above."
"Agreed," Ravik nods. "I'll establish a perimeter, ensure there are no other entrances that might compromise our position."
As they move to secure our temporary sanctuary, Kaia remains beside me at the pedestal, her expression thoughtful despite her evident exhaustion.
"This is why they fear me," she says quietly. "Not just because I might awaken a few gargoyles, but because I could potentially restore an entire army."
"An army with considerable grievance against the current regime," I confirm. "Yes, from King Kres's perspective, you represent existential threat to his rule."
She studies the frozen warriors surrounding us, compassion evident in her gaze. "They deserve freedom. As you three did."
"Freedom, yes. But resurrection carries greater moral complexity." I gesture to the pedestals surrounding the pool. "These inscriptions warn that restored life comes with costs beyond the obvious sacrifice. Those returned exist differently than before—changed in ways subtle but significant."
"Like your transformation," she observes, reaching up to trace the new contours of my face with gentle fingers.
"Precisely. Neither what we were nor what the curse made us, but something new entirely." I catch her hand, pressing it against my chest where my heartbeat now resumes after centuries of stone silence. "Neither fully living nor truly dead, but balanced between—existing in harmonious contradiction."
Her eyes meet mine, weariness momentarily replaced by the curiosity that first drew me to her. "Is that terrifying or liberating?"
"Both," I admit, the simple truth easier than scholarly equivocation. "As all profound transformations must be."
A slight smile curves her lips. "Always the philosopher, even now."
"Some aspects of identity remain constant despite external change." I return her smile, feeling the expression form more naturally on my transformed features. "As do certain affections."
The tenderness in her gaze deepens, her hand still resting against my chest. "We should join the others. Rest while we can."
