Page 96 of Feral Gods
Free will. Mutual respect. Shared purpose.
And love in all its complex, transformative glory.
22
RAVIK
Beneath Liiandor, the air hangs thick with magic and malice. Every breath tastes of power—ancient, dormant, and now stirring to wakefulness as we approach the Primary Confluence Point. My transformed body resonates with the ambient energy, amplifying strengths but also heightening the curse's underlying constraints. The contradiction creates a peculiar tension in my muscles, a simultaneous feeling of power and restraint.
"The palace dungeons connect directly to this passage?" I confirm, voice kept low as we navigate the narrow tunnel leading upward from vrakken territory. Three days of sanctuary among the serpent-people ended at dawn, their elder escorting us to this little-used access route with cryptic warnings about fate and choice.
Kaia nods, the Codex cradled against her chest like a talisman. "According to the knowledge it's sharing, the Confluence Point lies directly beneath the throne room—either by cosmic coincidence or deliberate design when the palace was constructed."
"Knowing dark elf royalty, deliberate design," Thane mutters from his position guarding our rear. "Control the magic, control the kingdom."
"Yet they've forgotten what they built upon," Zephyr observes, turquoise eyes studying the increasingly ornate stonework as we ascend. "These carvings predate dark elf occupation of Liiandor by millennia. See how the ancient glyphs have been overlaid with more recent decorative elements? The builders knew they constructed their seat of power atop a magical nexus but lost understanding of its significance."
In another situation, I might appreciate the historical insights. Now, with enemies converging from two directions and the most dangerous confrontation of our lives approaching, such observations feel like unnecessary distraction.
"Focus," I remind them, senses hyperalert for any hint of detection. "We'll have time for academic discussions after we've completed the ritual and escaped with our lives."
If we escape at all, my tactical mind amends silently. The odds against us have never been higher—King Kres's entire elite guard plus Morwen's coven, all coordinating to prevent exactly what we intend. And we're walking directly into their stronghold.
But the alternative—continuing to flee, forever hunted—is no alternative at all. Especially with what the Codex revealed to Kaia during our sanctuary among the vrakken: the ritual to permanently transform the magical foundations that allow curses like ours to exist in the first place.
Not just freedom for ourselves, but potential liberation for thousands of gargoyles imprisoned throughout Protheka. A true revolution, magical rather than military, but no less profound in its implications.
The passage widens slightly as we near the dungeon level, ancient stone giving way to more recent construction. Magicalwards shimmer around us—security enchantments I once helped design during my service as commander of the royal guard. A lifetime ago. A different being entirely.
"Wait," I whisper, halting our advance with an upraised hand. "Detection ward ahead. Standard palace security."
Kaia steps forward, the Codex opening of its own accord to a relevant page. "I can disarm it," she says, confidence replacing the hesitation that would have marked such a statement mere weeks ago. "The Codex shows me the counter-pattern."
I watch with carefully concealed awe as she traces complex sigils in the air, her fingers trailing magenta light that interacts with the invisible ward. Where once I might have questioned or commanded, now I step back, giving her space to work. The transformation in our dynamic mirrors the physical changes wrought by the wildspont energy—a rebalancing of power, a recognition of complementary strengths.
"There," she murmurs as the ward flickers and fades. "Disabled without triggering the alarm sequence."
Pride warms my chest, an unfamiliar but increasingly welcome sensation. "Well done."
We proceed more cautiously now, approaching the intersection where the ancient passage connects with palace infrastructure. According to Kaia's information, the Confluence Point lies directly ahead—beneath the central tower that houses both throne room above and high-security vaults below.
"Strange," Zephyr comments as we reach the junction. "No guards. No additional security measures. Almost as if?—"
"They're expecting us," I finish grimly, tactical instincts screaming warning. "This is too easy."
As if summoned by my suspicion, a slow, mocking applause echoes through the stone corridor ahead. From shadows too perfect to be natural steps a tall, elegant figure in ornate royalarmor, white hair bound in elaborate war-braids, violet eyes gleaming with triumph.
"Commander Ravik," King Kres greets, voice carrying the same cultured venom I remember from centuries before. "Predictable as always. When backed into a corner, you invariably choose the most audacious possible response."
His elite guard materializes around him—at least thirty warriors in formation, weapons drawn but held at ready rather than attack position. A display of confidence rather than immediate threat.
I shift subtly, positioning myself between Kres and Kaia. Thane and Zephyr move without command to flank us, creating a defensive triangle with Kaia at its center.
"Your Majesty," I respond, keeping my tone neutral despite the hatred burning in my gut. "Still hiding behind your guards, I see. Some habits transcend centuries."
His smile never reaches those cold violet eyes. "And you still mistake calculation for cowardice. Some lessons remain unlearned despite ample opportunity for education." His gaze shifts to Kaia, visible between our protective formation. "My wayward pet. How determined you've become in your rebellion. And how predictable in your choice of sanctuary."
I feel Kaia stiffen behind me, her voice steady despite the fear I sense through our connection. "I am not your pet, Kres. I never truly was, despite the chains and collars."
