Chapter 32 – The Titan Who Waited

Cain's pulse hammered in his ears. The weight of the air around him had shifted, growing heavy, thick with something he couldn't name.

It wasn't power.

It wasn't fear.

It was recognition.

The figure before him was unlike anything he had faced before. They weren't an enemy, not in the way the Forsaken were. They weren't an executioner, not like the Warbringers. They didn't even feel like the Titan trapped in chains beneath the abyss.

No, this was something else entirely.

Something older.

Something waiting.

Cain's Titan Core burned inside him, reacting to the presence of the figure as though it knew them. And yet, Cain had never seen them before in his life.

Or at least—he didn't think he had.

The figure stood still, watching him, their golden gaze calm, unwavering. Not a flicker of doubt, not a trace of hesitation. They simply observed him, like they had been doing so for a long, long time.

Cain clenched his fists, Titan energy curling around his fingers in defensive embers. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, his voice sharp.

The figure smiled—not mocking, not cruel. But knowing.

"You already know," they said.

Cain's jaw tightened.

No.

No, he didn't.

He was tired of the half-truths, of the riddles, of being led by unseen forces toward a fate he never asked for. His whole life had been spent fighting for survival—nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't some chosen one. He wasn't some lost relic of the past.

He was just Cain.

And yet—his Titan Core told him otherwise.

It reacted to this person in a way that unnerved him. Not with aggression. Not with rejection.

With acceptance.

Cain took a slow breath, forcing himself to stay steady. "If I already know, then say it." His voice was steel. "Say it anyway."

The figure's eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"You are not the first," they said simply.

Cain stilled.

He didn't move, didn't breathe.

The words sank into him, carving deep into something he didn't know existed.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Not the first what?"

The figure took a step forward. The ground beneath them didn't tremble. The sky didn't crack. But Cain felt the shift.

"You believe yourself to be the last Titan," they said. "You believe you are alone."

Cain felt his stomach twist.

"You are not," the figure continued, their voice carrying a weight beyond time. "You never were."

The golden flames flickering around Cain's form flared. His Titan Core pounded violently in his chest, reacting—**no, rejecting—**the statement.

He had seen the memories. The war. The Purge.

The Titans were gone.

Their flames had been snuffed out.

That was why he had survived. Because there was no one else.

"You're lying," Cain hissed.

The figure didn't blink. "Am I?"

Cain took a step forward, his body tensed, his heart racing. "Then where are they?"

The figure studied him for a moment. Then, slowly, they lifted their hand.

And the world around them changed.

The abyss fractured.

Cain's body seized up as his surroundings split apart like glass, the dark, endless void peeling away to reveal—

A city.

Not ruins. Not remnants.

A city still standing.

Cain staggered back.

The golden wasteland stretched endlessly before him, its towers reaching into a sky that burned with a dim, eternal fire. The streets were lined with massive stone structures, ancient yet untouched by time. The air was thick with energy, not like the abyss—but something greater.

This wasn't just a memory.

This wasn't an illusion.

This was real.

Cain swallowed hard. "Where are we?"

The figure didn't look at him.

They were looking past him.

Cain followed their gaze—and his breath caught.

Because the city was not empty.

Figures stood in the streets, watching him.

Hundreds. Thousands.

Titans.

Cain's blood ran cold.

They weren't moving. They weren't speaking. They weren't even blinking.

But they were there.

Golden eyes, all locked on him.

Cain's fingers twitched. This wasn't possible.

They were gone. They were supposed to be gone.

And yet—

"Cain Voss."

The voices whispered his name.

Not in malice.

Not in anger.

In recognition.

Cain's body locked up.

This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a memory.

This was a calling.

He turned sharply toward the figure, his breath uneven. "What is this?"

The figure finally looked at him again.

"This is what was hidden from you."

Cain's Titan Core roared in his chest.

Something inside him cracked open, an ancient pressure flooding his limbs.

The city reacted to him.

Not like a stranger.

Not like an outsider.

Like he belonged.

Cain's knees nearly buckled.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

Because suddenly, the truth wasn't just some vague prophecy, some abstract lie whispered by the Forsaken.

It was standing in front of him.

It was staring at him.

It was waiting for him.

And he had nowhere left to run.