Valerius ran.

  He didn’t limp. He didn’t crawl.

  He ran. On broken bones, half-healed limbs, and lungs that had known blood for too long.

  Behind him, the cannibal's screams still echoed—mad and distorted, warped by the toxin coursing through his veins. Valerius didn’t dare glance back.

  The Rift stretched endlessly in every direction, painted in shades of ash and glowing crimson. Jagged cliffs sliced into the sky like broken fangs. Black wind howled between the stone columns. Gravity was still far heavier than Earth, but his body, now hardened from a year of torment, moved like it had finally remembered how to obey itself.

  His breath was fire in his chest.

  His heart was war drum in his ribs.

  And still he ran.

  ---

  He crossed plains littered with bones.

  He leapt over ravines lined with obsidian teeth.

  He slid down slopes of cracked earth, the heat below seeping up like the breath of buried titans.

  Then he saw it—

  A river.

  Not of water.

  But lava.

  Molten rock slithered through the earth like a living thing, pulsing with unnatural light. The air shimmered with blistering heat.

  Valerius barely cleared it—springing from one scorched ledge to another, the soles of his feet smoking as he landed.

  But the Rift was not finished with him.

  The first beast emerged from the smoke—a horned shadow with skin like charred slate and four legs that moved like a nightmare. It sniffed the air once.

  And screamed.

  Others followed. Dozens. Then hundreds.

  All eyes turned to him.

  ---

  They chased.

  Valerius ran faster.

  Stone cracked under his feet. Dust roared behind him like a storm. Claws scraped. Jaws snapped. The Rift came alive with fury as creatures older than logic surged after him.

  And ahead—there it was.

  The ground ended.

  A cliff.

  ---

  Valerius didn’t stop.

  Wind tore at his skin as he approached the edge. The roar of falling water thundered in his ears. Not just a drop—it was a waterfall of impossible size, spilling down into a cloud-filled abyss.

  Behind him, a beast lunged.

  Valerius leapt.

  ---

  For a moment, he flew.

  Weightless. Limitless.

  Then the air gave way to cold.

  The fall was brutal.

  He crashed through the white mist, hit the water hard.

  The current seized him like a wrathful god.

  He tumbled. Twisted. Slammed against submerged rocks. The river dragged him without mercy, hurling him forward, down a violent path through caverns of stone and tunnels of rushing death.

  He didn’t fight it.

  He couldn’t.

  He was too broken, too tired.

  The world spun.

  Light vanished.

  ---

  Then—suddenly—

  Impact.

  He slammed into something immense and stopped.

  Not stone. Not water.

  It was flesh.

  The current spewed him out like a discarded offering—right at the base of something colossal. Gasping, coughing blood, Valerius blinked through the haze—

  And stared.

  A foot.

  Huge. Pale. Flat-toed. Taller than trees. Etched with ancient markings like scars from a war long past.

  Valerius craned his neck upward.

  The figure standing above him towered into the sky—a giant, a hundred feet tall at least. His skin was smooth and light beige, his frame broad and solemn. Ears pointed slightly backward, more elegant than beastlike. Long brown hair fell like braided rope behind his shoulders, and his eyes—far above—watched the boy at his feet with the stillness of a statue.

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  The air quieted.

  Valerius did not move.

  And the giant...

  Lowered his hand.

  ---

  The giant’s hand closed gently around Valerius’s battered frame—careful, but firm. He lifted the boy high, holding him aloft before his face like one might examine a strange insect found beneath a leaf.

  Valerius dangled helplessly, arms limp at his sides. The giant’s face was massive—eyes the size of shields, skin smooth like river-polished stone. A strong brow cast shadows over his features, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled through the air like thunder rolling over distant hills.

  It was a language Valerius had never heard before.

  Not Stern.

  Not Synelee.

  Each word vibrated like it carried weight—not just meaning. The vowels stretched like ancient chants, the consonants snapped like stone cracking under pressure.

  The giant tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

  Then he turned and began to walk.

  ---

  “Hey!” Valerius shouted, swaying in the wind of the giant’s strides. “Where are you taking me?!”

  No reply.

  The giant’s pace was steady, unstoppable—each step a controlled quake beneath his feet. He moved through jagged hills and colossal boulders as if they were minor inconveniences, the terrain shrinking before him.

  Then, they crested a rise—and Valerius saw it.

  A village.

  But not of men.

  ---

  Nestled in the valley below was a place carved from mountain and mist. A true giant’s village.

  The homes were made of stone blocks the size of cathedrals, roofed with dragon-scale tiles, and supported by wooden beams thicker than trees. Some houses were circular with thatched domes. Others were tall towers with wide staircases spiraling around the outside.

  A narrow river ran through the center of the village, but it was not narrow to Valerius—it was wide as a canyon. The bridges were slabs of stone so heavy they had cracked the earth where they rested.

  Torches the size of pillars burned with blue fire, and from iron chimneys rose plumes of violet smoke.

  Tables sat in open courtyards—massive, oaken slabs laid out with whole beasts roasting on spits, their scent heavy in the air. Barrels the size of houses were stacked near a central plaza, beside carts pulled by six-legged brutes twice the height of a war elephant.

  Everything here was impossibly big.

  Even the grass was knee-high to Valerius. The cobblestones were like hills. It was a medieval stronghold designed for titans.

  ---

  At the center of the village, seated on the ground like men gathered around a fire, were four giants.

  They were resting around a broken anvil that served as their table. Their bodies loomed like statues—one had skin dark as wet stone, another pale and freckled like birch bark. One was bald with scars etched across his scalp. And the fourth—

  Was fat.

  Muscular, but round, with a barrel-like belly and a thick brown beard braided with silver rings.

  The giant carrying Valerius approached them.

  He raised his voice.

  “Hey—look what I found. An Elvhein.”

  The giants turned.

  Then laughed.

  The bearded one slapped his thigh, his deep chuckle echoing through the square. “You really know how to tell jokes,” he said, reaching for a chunk of roasted meat the size of a wagon.

  “I’m not joking,” the carrier replied, eyes steady. “Look.”

  He held Valerius forward, his right hand outstretched. The other giants leaned closer.

  Four enormous faces loomed in.

  Eyes the size of basketballs. Pupils like dark mirrors.

  Valerius could see the reflection of his broken body in them.

  They narrowed their eyes.

  The bearded one squinted, leaned in, then paused. “Wait... One heart?”

  He exhaled slowly. His jovial tone faded.

  “He really is an Elvhein…”

  Then, the amusement returned—but colder.

  “Throw him away,” the bearded one muttered. “We don’t want no defects.”

  ---

  The giant who had found Valerius didn’t move.

  “I think we should keep him,” he said calmly. “The mere fact that he’s alive in this place means he has potential.”

  Another giant raised a brow. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying…” he shifted Valerius to one hand, voice thoughtful. “Let’s try Project Might. With him.”

  Silence fell.

  The bearded one leaned back, resting his meaty hands on his knees. “He’ll die. Just like the others.”

  “He might not,” the carrier said.

  “The last one didn’t die,” another chimed in.

  “But he couldn’t complete the technique,” the bearded one growled. “He begged for death.”

  “And if this one dies,” the carrier shrugged, “then so be it. But if he doesn’t… we may finally succeed.”

  ---

  The bearded giant stood up slowly.

  Then tilted his head to the sky.

  His voice erupted like a war horn:

  “ALAHOOOOOOS!”

  The name boomed across the valley.

  One by one, heads turned. Doors opened. Windows shuttered. From every corner of the village, giants began to emerge—farmers, guards, blacksmiths, children—each of them tall as towers, carved like living monuments.

  They walked toward the plaza, drawn by the call, forming a ring around the newcomers. Dozens. Then hundreds. Footsteps thundered. Dust rose.

  And in the center, held aloft like a rare artifact, was Valerius.

  Bruised. Dirty. Small.

  But still alive.

  ---

  These giants—save for the bearded one—were all carved like statues of war. Even the women and the children bore physiques so perfect, so honed, that they seemed to have been born in the crucible of gods. Valerius stared at them, his breath shallow. Their presence didn’t threaten him… it drowned him. Each movement they made was heavy with force. Their eyes—sharp, ancient, judging—made his lungs hesitate with every breath.

  This was no ordinary village.

  It was the sanctuary of Steadfast Might, a legendary sect of giants whispered about across Yilheim with reverence and dread. Even their children, it was said, could shatter mountains. All of them were masters of Bravo—not students. Masters. It pulsed in their blood.

  And they were all here. Surrounding him.

  A scarred giant with long black hair cracked his neck with a deep, grinding sound. His voice rolled like thunder.

  “What is this, Sikovik? Why summon us?”

  A female with long brown hair folded her arms tightly.

  “You better explain yourself.”

  Even a giant child, arms crossed, brow furrowed, snapped with irritation.

  “You know better than to use the call lightly, Sikovik.”

  Sikovik—the bearded giant—stood firm but raised a calming hand.

  “Alvatik. Raise him.”

  The one holding Valerius obeyed. Alvatik lifted his hand high, presenting Valerius like an offering to the sun. Valerius now stood in the open palm of the towering giant, exposed before them all.

  Sikovik jabbed a finger at Alvatik.

  “Alvatik claims to have found another candidate. Says this one has… potential.”

  “Which, I highly doubt. Still—he insists we give Project Might another try.”

  The crowd erupted in murmurs.

  A female giant snarled, stepping forward.

  “Project Might is dead. We all know it. Even the last one—the one Havarik believed in—failed.”

  She thrust a hand toward Valerius. “And this? This… thing? You think he's different?”

  Alvatik’s voice thundered with urgency.

  “What do we have to lose? Nothing. But if he completes it—if—then we've done it. We’ve succeeded. And we can finally leave this place.”

  The murmurs broke. The crowd parted.

  Footsteps echoed—measured, strong.

  She emerged through them like a storm parting clouds.

  A female giant. Towering. Fearless.

  Thick, muscular thighs. Slim waist. Strong arms—not bulky, but coiled like steel cables.

  Her hair blazed red, flowing down her back like a banner of fire. Her eyes matched—deep crimson irises that shimmered with heat and danger.

  Her name was Esky.

  She walked straight to Alvatik and stopped before his open hand. Her gaze fell on Valerius—and locked there.

  She didn’t blink.

  Didn’t breathe.

  She felt something.

  Something… wrong. Something ancient.

  Something that should not be.

  It chilled her blood.

  Her lips barely moved, but her mind was screaming:

  What is this…?

  Suddenly she shouted, voice sharp with awe and dread:

  “Everyone. Look at him. Feel it.”

  Silence fell. The giants obeyed.

  And then—

  Shock.

  Every single one of them felt it.

  Some sensation crawling into the deepest parts of themselves.

  It was Bravo, terrifying bravo.

  Even the strongest among them staggered back, eyes wide.

  Weapons were drawn in an instant—great spears, colossal swords, axes that could cleave kingdoms in two

  The stronger they were, the clearer they felt it—something dwelling within Valerius.

  A pressure. A terror.

  As if they were standing too close to something not meant to exist.

  Alvatik’s hand trembled beneath Valerius. Sweat poured down his brow. He could no longer move.

  Sikovik’s voice was low. Distraught.

  “How… did I let this slip by me?”

  A voice screamed from the back—

  “Kill him! Now! Before it awakens!”

  But Esky raised a hand, stepping in front of Valerius. Her body tense. Her eyes locked on his. She didn’t know what he was—but she knew one thing:

  “No,” she said.

  “I think… this might very well be the one.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...