Page 90 of Feral Gods
"Trust me," I whisper, squeezing his hand before releasing it.
As the first clash of weapons fills the chamber Thane and Ravik engaging the front line of elite guards with lethal efficiency—I move against the current of battle toward the pulsing heart of the chamber. King Kres shouts orders, directing his forces to secure me without harm. Morwen's projection watches with calculating interest, making no move to either help or hinder as her purna coven maintains position at the chamber's perimeter.
The moment my fingers touch the crystal pool's edge, knowledge floods my consciousness—not in words or images but in pure conceptual understanding. The Heart Chamber isn't merely a repository of resurrection magic; it's the original source, the wellspring from which all transformation magic on Protheka ultimately derived.
And it recognizes me. Not as Morwen's descendant, but as something rarer—a catalyst, a nexus point where multiple magical traditions converge in perfect balance.
The pool's surface ripples beneath my touch, clear liquid parting to reveal an ancient text bound in material I cannot identify—neither leather nor metal nor stone, but something that shifts between all three depending on the angle of light. Glyphs cover its surface, similar to those on the chamber's pedestals but more complex, more primal.
Without conscious decision, I reach into the pool and take the book, its surface dry despite its submersion. The moment it touches my hands, Morwen's projection reacts with alarm.
"No!" she cries, genuine fear replacing her earlier composure. "Not the Codex Transformae! You cannot possibly comprehend its power!"
"Neither could you," I reply, knowledge flowing from the text into my mind with each passing second. "That's why it remained hidden from you despite centuries of searching."
The fighting pauses momentarily as all eyes turn toward our exchange. Even King Kres seems taken aback by Morwen's uncharacteristic loss of composure.
"What is this?" he demands, violet eyes narrowing at the text in my hands.
"Power beyond your comprehension," Morwen snaps, her projection moving toward me with newfound urgency. "Girl, listen carefully. That text contains magic that predates both our civilizations. Magic with consequences no single practitioner can control. Return it to the pool immediately."
The genuine fear in her voice, more than any threat, gives me pause. The text pulses against my palms, knowledge continuing to flow into my consciousness faster than I can process. Transformation magic beyond anything the modern world remembers—the power to reshape reality at its most fundamental level.
Power that terrifies even Morwen.
For a heartbeat, doubt creeps in. What right have I to wield such forces? What wisdom could I possibly possess that centuries-old Morwen lacks?
Then my gaze falls on my gargoyles Thane bleeding from a gash across his transformed chest, Ravik standing protectively before an injured dark elf soldier rather than delivering a killing blow, Zephyr maintaining our magical shield despite clear exhaustion. These beings who chose protection over vengeance, connection over isolation, love over power.
And I know with sudden clarity why the Codex revealed itself to me rather than Morwen, despite her greater magical knowledge and direct bloodline connection.
"Some powers require more than magical aptitude to control," I tell her, clutching the text firmly against my chest. "They require qualities you sacrificed long ago in your pursuit of dominance."
Morwen's expression darkens with fury. "Insolent child. You know nothing of sacrifice."
"I know enough to recognize the difference between sacrifice for others and sacrifice of others," I counter, backing toward my gargoyles. "Enough to choose a different path than the one you carved through blood and betrayal."
The crystal pool's light intensifies dramatically, bathing the chamber in pulsing blue radiance. The stone gargoyles lining the walls seem to respond, their features appearing almost alive in the fluctuating illumination.
"Enough of this," King Kres snarls, signaling his guards forward. "Secure the girl and the text. Kill the abominations."
As the elite guard advances, Morwen's physical form finally appears at the shattered entrance—silver hair flowing like liquid moonlight, violet eyes blazing with magical energy, power radiating from her slender form in palpable waves.
"The girl is mine," she declares, voice reverberating with magical amplification. "The text is forbidden to all but purna hands. Stand down, Kres, or face consequences beyond your limited comprehension."
The alliance fractures before my eyes—dark elf monarchy and purna coven turning against each other in the face of power too tempting for either to relinquish. As they argue, I clutch the Codex tighter, its knowledge continuing to flow into my mind like water into parched soil.
Within its ancient pages lies the key not just to breaking the gargoyle curse, but to fundamentally reshaping the power dynamics of Protheka itself. The kind of knowledge that starts revolutions—or ends them before they begin.
And now it's mine.
Through the chaos of confrontation, Zephyr appears at my side, his transformed features tight with concern. "We needto move," he urges quietly. "Their conflict provides temporary distraction, nothing more."
"The text—" I begin.
"Keep it," he interrupts. "Whatever it contains clearly terrifies Morwen. That alone makes it valuable to our cause."
With Ravik and Thane creating a defensive perimeter around us, we begin edging toward the far side of the chamber where shadow conceals a narrow fissure in the crystalline wall—an escape route Zephyr discovered during his earlier exploration but kept hidden as contingency.
