The Giants

The sky above the Mountains of Eldruun churned in a swirl of grays, the wind sharp and restless, flinging flakes of snow like spirits untethered from the earth. Kol stood with Elizabeth at the precipice of the great valley, their silhouettes framed against a horizon of colossal stone spires. The mountains rose like ancient titans, watching in silence as mist curled through the deep chasm below, veiling the realm of giants in a ghostly shroud.

"Beautiful," Kol murmured, breath steaming in the cold. "And deadly."

Elizabeth folded her wings behind her, their feathers catching flecks of snow. "The giants chose their kingdom well. Their strength is carved into the rock itself."

They began their descent down the winding switchbacks, narrow trails etched into the mountainside by hands larger than Kol's entire body. As they moved lower, the veil of mist gave way to reveal a kingdom forged from the bones of the world: terraces carved into the cliffs, immense bridges lashed together from entire trees, and fires burning in braziers the size of carriages. The air smelled of pine, molten stone, and cold iron.

Giants of every shape and hue moved about their work. Some hauled slabs of granite as if they weighed nothing. Others sculpted monoliths with chisels larger than a man's sword. Children the size of grown humans laughed as they chased each other between the cliffs, their joy echoing like distant thunder.

Elizabeth's eyes lingered on the architecture. "Their craftsmanship is beyond mortal. It's as if the mountain obeys them."

Kol's gaze was solemn. "They've mastered patience. That's a different kind of power."

At the realm's heart stood a massive open plaza surrounded by towering stone columns—the Hall of Pillars. Each one was engraved with the giants' legacy: battles against sky-serpents, pacts with elder gods, and the crowning of kings who wore thunder as their mantle.

Two figures waited beneath the columns. One was Chief Frederick, his granite-toned skin laced with glowing runes. His presence radiated authority carved from centuries of silence. Beside him stood a younger giant, lean and curious-eyed, his dark hair tousled by the wind. His name was Noah.

Frederick's voice rumbled like shifting earth. "Kol Vaelros. Elizabeth. Why do you tread in our domain?"

Kol inclined his head, respectful but unwavering. "We seek alliance. The gods have declared war on all other realms—humans, demons, even their own. We need the strength of the giants to withstand what's coming."

Frederick's expression was carved in stone. "Our kind chose solitude. We've kept to our peaks while the world below burns. Why should we break that silence now?"

Noah stepped forward, clutching a carved staff. "Father, we may be safe now, but if the gods burn the world, that fire will rise. There will be no sanctuary left—not even here."

For a moment, Frederick's eyes softened. He turned back to Kol. "Words carry wind. Stone is moved by more."

What followed was a silent test. Frederick led Kol and Elizabeth through the living heart of the mountain. In the hanging groves, trees with roots thicker than ships grew out of cliffside crevices. The giants harvested their bark, tougher than steel, to bind their homes. In the underground forges, smiths pounded glowing ingots into weapons that sang like thunder. Every strike sent ripples through Kol's bones.

At the lowest point of the valley, they came to a pool etched with runes: the Well of Whispers. Frederick placed his palm upon one of the ancient symbols, and the surface shimmered, showing distant visions—tempests over oceans, storms looming on the horizon. The future moved like smoke across the water.

Throughout their walk, Noah remained close to Kol, asking about the gods, about demons, about what it meant to fight against fate. His questions were honest, bright with the fire of youth. A contrast to the ancient calm of the mountain.

As they returned to the Hall of Pillars, Noah glanced sideways at Kol. "They call you the King of Ruin," he said quietly. "But all I see… is someone carrying too much. I want to fight beside you."

Kol placed a hand on Noah's massive shoulder. "You've got the heart of a warrior. But this war will ask much of your people. You deserve time to decide."

As night fell, fires flickered across the valley. In the center of the Hall, beneath the cold stars, Kol and Elizabeth joined Frederick and his council. Snow swirled in slow spirals around them. The silence was a question waiting to be answered.

Frederick's eyes glowed faintly with the runes of his forefathers. "We will not march in blindness," he said at last. "But if war comes to our peaks… then we will meet it with open eyes and closed fists. Your war is ours, when the storm breaks."

Kol nodded. "Then fate has already begun to shift."

Elizabeth's voice was softer, but resolute. "The giants will be remembered among the free peoples of the realms."

Then the wind changed.

Snow stopped falling.

A pressure built in the air, ancient and unnatural. High above, clouds churned into a spiraling vortex, black and crackling with energy. A deafening roar split the sky.

Lightning flashed—and from the storm descended a figure clad in armor forged from stormclouds. His eyes were whirlwinds, his presence a tempest made flesh.

Ruhamiel, the God of Wind.

Behind him, dozens of wind-spirits followed, blades drawn and banners fluttering like wings. Divine warriors, faces veiled, fell into formation above the mountain cliffs.

The giants tensed. Noah's staff cracked in his grip. Frederick's runes blazed like coals. Kol and Elizabeth stepped forward, side by side.

Ruhamiel's voice echoed across the Hall like the wrath of the sky.

"Giants of Eldruun," he thundered, "your time apart ends now. The gods offer unity—an end to chaos. Join us in reshaping this world into one people, one order. No races. No difference. Only divine will."

Silence.

Snow danced once more, slow and quiet.

Kol's gaze locked with Elizabeth's. There was no need for words. The war had come to the mountains.

And the giants would answer.