Page 95 of Feral Gods
"Is one of many such repositories scattered throughout Protheka's depths," the elder confirms. "Places where primal magic maintains direct connection to physical reality. The ancients called them Confluence Points."
"And the stone warriors?" I press, seeking confirmation of my growing suspicion.
The elder's expression shifts subtly—a ripple of scales that suggests complex emotion. "Victims of various conflicts throughout our troubled history. The Heart Chamber you discovered contains primarily those transformed during the Height Wars, but other chambers hold similar victims from earlier and later conflicts."
"How many?" Ravik asks, tactical mind immediately calculating implications.
"Thousands," the elder replies simply. "Perhaps tens of thousands across all Confluence Points. The curse-craft you experienced was not unique to your situation, Commander Ravik. It represents a particularly cruel application of transformation magic that has been employed by various factions throughout our history."
The scale of suffering implied by this casual statement staggers me. Not just my three gargoyles, not just the hundreds in the Heart Chamber, but thousands across Protheka—conscious, aware, imprisoned for centuries without hope of release.
"The Codex can free them," I whisper, the knowledge cementing in my mind with absolute certainty. "That's why it revealed itself now, why it chose me despite my limited training and experience."
"Perhaps," the elder acknowledges, its tone neutral despite the revolutionary implications. "Though freedom without purpose often leads to greater chaos than imprisonment with meaning."
"Philosophical debate seems secondary to their right to choose their own fate," I counter, unexpected fire in my voice.
The elder's multiple arms make a complex gesture that somehow conveys both agreement and caution. "Indeed. Yet choice without context merely substitutes one form of imprisonment for another. The Codex chose you not merely for what you might do, but for how you might do it."
With that cryptic statement, the elder withdraws, serpentine body gliding silently across the crystal floor until it disappears into the iridescent city beyond our terrace.
"Well, that was helpfully unhelpful," Thane mutters, breaking the contemplative silence that follows the elder's departure.
Despite everything, a laugh escapes me—the simple, human reaction cutting through layers of magical complexity and philosophical weight. One by one, my gargoyles join me, the sound of our shared amusement echoing through the crystal cavern like music.
In that moment of unexpected joy amid desperate circumstances, I feel the Codex pulse against my hand—approving, it seems, of this capacity for lightness even in darkness. Perhaps this, more than magical aptitude or bloodline connection, represents the quality it truly seeks in its chosen vessel.
As our laughter fades, I open the Codex once more, its pages flipping on their own accord to reveal information previously hidden—detailed instructions for a ritual far more complex than anything we've attempted, yet somehow intuitive to my awakening abilities.
"Is that—" Zephyr leans closer, turquoise eyes widening as he recognizes key elements of the working.
"The complete transformation ritual," I confirm, both excited and daunted by what the pages reveal. "Not just for breaking individual curses, but for fundamentally reshaping the magical constraints that allow such bindings in the first place."
"Revolution through magical restructuring rather than physical conflict," Ravik observes, strategic mind immediately grasping implications.
"Exactly." I trace the intricate diagrams with one finger, the knowledge flowing directly into my consciousness. "Change the underlying rules rather than fighting within their constraints."
"And this is what Morwen fears most," Thane concludes. "Not just an army opposing her ally, but a fundamental threat to the magical system that grants her power in the first place."
"Which makes our next steps extremely dangerous," Zephyr cautions, ever the voice of scholarly restraint. "They will commit every resource to preventing this ritual's completion once they realize our intention."
I close the Codex, decision crystallizing with unexpected clarity. "Then we don't give them time to prepare. We rest tonight, recover our strength, and proceed at first opportunity."
"To where?" Ravik asks, practical as always.
"The primary Confluence Point," I reply, the knowledge flowing from the Codex with absolute certainty. "The place where all wildspont channels converge—directly beneath King Kres's palace in Liiandor itself."
Their expressions register appropriate shock at this revelation.
"Of course it is," Thane groans. "Because nothing in our lives can ever be simple."
Despite the dire implications, I find myself smiling—at his blunt assessment, at the absurd perfection of our target's location, at the loyalty that keeps these three extraordinary beings at my side despite ever-mounting odds.
"Simple would be boring," I tease, reaching out to touch each of them in turn Ravik's indigo cheek, Thane's copper-hued shoulder, Zephyr's slate-blue hand. "And we are anything but boring."
Their responding expressions Ravik's reluctant half-smile, Thane's appreciative grin, Zephyr's scholarly amusement—fill me with renewed determination. Whatever heritage flows through my veins, whatever destiny the Codex envisions for me, my choices remain my own.
And I choose them—this unlikely family formed through desperation and strengthened through love. Whatever comes next, we face it together, bound not by curse or blood or magical compulsion, but by something far more powerful.
