Page 89 of Feral Gods
"That's not how family works," I counter, taking another step forward despite the magical tether draining my strength. "Even in dark elf society, even among the purna, ancestral responsibility to descendants remains sacred. Or do you reject the very traditions you claim to uphold?"
A flash of uncertainty crosses her perfect features—the first crack in her composure. "You know nothing of our traditions."
"I know enough to recognize hypocrisy when I see it." Another step forward, each movement requiring greater effort as the drain intensifies. "You demand my submission based on blood connection while abdicating your own responsibility to protect your lineage."
King Kres's projection moves closer to Morwen's, his expression darkening. "Enough of this philosophical debate. My forces have nearly breached the chamber. End her resistance now."
"Silence," Morwen snaps, her focus remaining on me. "The child raises an interesting point about reciprocal obligation." Her head tilts, studying me with new calculation. "What exactly do you propose, great-granddaughter?"
The sound of battle grows louder—metal against stone, magical discharges, the distinctive battle-cries of dark elf elite guard. Minutes at most before they break through.
"Release your hold on me," I demand, forcing strength into my voice despite increasing weakness. "Withdraw your forces. Recognize my autonomy as a descendant who has proven her worth through survival and ingenuity."
"And in exchange?" Her violet eyes narrow suspiciously.
"I refrain from awakening the stone army at my disposal." I gesture to the gargoyle warriors surrounding us. "I use my power selectively rather than launching the revolution you clearly fear."
A complex series of emotions crosses her ageless features—calculation, respect, and something almost like pride. "You play the game well for one so young. But your bargaining position weakens by the second as my ally's forces approach."
"Does it?" I counter, reaching back to grasp Zephyr's hand without taking my eyes from Morwen. "Or does yours?"
On cue, Zephyr channels his energy into me, counteracting the drain from Morwen's blood connection. Ravik and Thane move to flank us, adding their strength to our unified stance. The magical tether between Morwen and me flares with competing energies—her attempt to dominate meeting our combined resistance.
For a breathless moment, power hangs in perfect balance between us. Then, unexpectedly, Morwen's projection laughs—a sound of genuine amusement rather than mockery.
"Magnificent," she declares, studying our united front with clear appreciation. "Four distinct beings functioning as a single magical entity. I had not believed such harmony possible between such disparate essences."
The energy drain eases slightly, though the connection remains. King Kres's projection moves closer, his expression darkening with suspicion.
"What are you doing, witch?" he demands. "Our agreement?—"
"May require reassessment," she interrupts smoothly. "The situation has evolved beyond our initial calculations."
His violet eyes narrow dangerously. "Meaning?"
"Meaning my great-granddaughter demonstrates capabilities that warrant further observation rather than immediate subjugation." Morwen's gaze never leaves mine. "Potential that might be squandered through crude captivity."
"She is my property," Kres hisses, mask of civility slipping to reveal the cruelty beneath. "Recaptured at considerable expense and risk. The agreement was clear—you help locate her, I secure her, we both benefit from controlled study of her abilities."
"Circumstances change. Wise rulers adapt accordingly." Morwen's tone carries warning beneath its diplomatic surface. "Perhaps we should discuss modifications to our arrangement."
As they argue, the crystal pool's pulsing intensifies, its rhythm somehow synchronizing with my heartbeat. The connection feels intimate, fundamental—as if the ancient magic recognizes something in me beyond mere blood relation to Morwen.
Zephyr notices my distraction, following my gaze to the increasingly agitated pool. "It responds to you," he murmurs. "As if awaiting direction."
The chamber entrance explodes in a shower of stone fragments and magical discharge. Through the dust and debris stride dark elf warriors in full battle armor, weapons drawn, expressions cold with deadly purpose. Behind them, robed figures move with sinuous grace—purna witches supporting the military advance with offensive magic.
"Time's up," Thane growls, shifting to battle stance, wings extended to shield us from the initial assault.
Ravik moves to his side, the two warriors presenting a united front while Zephyr maintains our magical connection against Morwen's pull.
King Kres's physical form steps through the shattered entrance, his elegant features arranged in triumphant satisfaction. "Surrender the girl," he commands, addressing the gargoyles directly. "And I might consider a quick death rather than returning you to stone imprisonment."
"Bold words from one who hides behind his guards," Ravik replies, voice deadly calm. "Step forward and make your demands personally,Your Majesty."
As tension builds toward inevitable violence, I feel something brush against my consciousness—not Morwen's cold precision but something ancient and curious, emanating from the crystal pool itself. Without fully understanding why, I take a step toward it, drawn by instinct rather than reason.
"Kaia?" Zephyr questions, concern evident in his voice.
