Page 87 of Feral Gods
"Your direct descendant?" I repeat, the horror of this confirmation washing through me like ice water. "How is that possible? The time difference?—"
"Purna lifespans far exceed human understanding," she explains with dismissive wave. "And bloodlines can remain dormant for generations before producing a suitable vessel for inherited power." Her gaze sharpens, focusing on me with uncomfortable intensity. "You are my great-granddaughter twenty generations removed, Kaia. The only one born with sufficient magical potential to channel my full abilities."
The revelation hits like a physical blow, confirming my worst fears. Not just purna blood, not just magical potential, but direct descent from the very witch who cursed my gargoyles.
"No," I whisper, backing away. "I refuse to accept that."
"Acceptance is irrelevant. Blood is truth." Morwen's projection moves toward me, hands outstretched. "Feel it, child. The connection between us. The power that is your birthright."
As she speaks, something within me resonates in response—a deep, primal recognition that transcends conscious thought. The pendant hidden beneath my tunic grows warm against my skin, pulsing in time with the crystal pool's light.
"Stop it," I command, pressing a hand against the pendant. "Whatever you're doing, stop it now."
"I'm doing nothing but revealing what already exists," Morwen replies, her projection now mere feet away. "The connection between us cannot be severed, only embraced or denied. And denial serves no one, least of all yourself."
Zephyr moves between us, wings mantling protectively. "Your manipulations have no place here, Morwen. Kaia chooses her own path, not the one you've predetermined."
"Such loyalty from my former adversary," Morwen observes with evident amusement. "Tell me, scholar, have you shared with her the full extent of your discovery about the resurrection magic? The price it demands? The transformation it requires?"
Zephyr's expression reveals nothing, but I feel his tension through our connection.
"What is she talking about?" I ask him quietly.
"Nothing relevant to our current situation," he replies, never taking his eyes from Morwen's projection.
"Oh, but it is entirely relevant," she counters, violet eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure. "The resurrection magic you discovered requires more than blood connection and willing sacrifice. It demands emotional submission—complete surrender to the magical current. Something my stubborn great-granddaughter seems constitutionally incapable of providing."
Before Zephyr can respond, a disturbance ripples through the chamber—a wave of magical energy that disturbs even Morwen's projection. Her form flickers momentarily as her attention clearly diverts elsewhere.
"Ah," she murmurs, pleasure evident in her tone. "It appears King Kres has finally located your physical sanctuary. How convenient."
Alarm surges through me. "What have you done?"
"Merely fulfilled my part of our arrangement. I locate you through our blood connection, he provides the military force to secure you." Her smile turns predatory. "A mutually beneficial alliance, despite our races' traditional enmity."
At the chamber entrance, Ravik and Thane snap to alertness, sensing the approaching threat. They move toward us with urgent purpose, weapons drawn, transformed bodies primed for combat.
"We have company," Ravik announces grimly, amber eyes narrowing at the sight of Morwen's projection. "Magical barriers breached at the upper entrance. Dark elf elite guard descending rapidly."
"How many?" Zephyr demands.
"At least twenty, with more following." Ravik's gaze never leaves Morwen's translucent form. "I see you've been entertaining our enemy."
"Not by choice," I assure him, moving to his side. "She penetrated our defenses through our blood connection."
Thane positions himself at the chamber's entrance, massive copper-hued body blocking the narrow passage. "We can hold this position temporarily, but we're effectively cornered unless there's another exit."
"There isn't," Zephyr confirms, frustration evident in his voice. "The Heart Chamber was designed as a sanctuary of last resort, not an escape route."
Morwen's laugh draws our attention back to her shimmering projection. "How delightful. The mighty gargoyles, trapped like crystal rats in a mining shaft. Perhaps you should have studiedthe chamber's design more thoroughly before leading your little human into such a perfect cage."
Before any of us can respond, the distant sound of combat echoes down the passage—steel against stone, battle cries in the ancient dark elf tongue, magical discharges that shake dust from the chamber ceiling.
"They're here," Thane growls, crimson eyes gleaming with battle-readiness despite the dire circumstances.
"And so am I," comes a new voice—masculine, cultured, dripping with cruel amusement.
A second projection materializes beside Morwen's—tall, elegant, with the unmistakable white hair and violet eyes of dark elf nobility. His features, beautiful in the cold way of his race, arrange themselves in an expression of smug triumph as his gaze falls on me.
