Hindan opened his eyes.

  He awakened from a deep slumber, one that had wrapped around his mind like layers of stone and time. At first, there was only silence—then something felt wrong. A disturbance rippled through the air, unnatural and sharp, tugging at his senses like a warning whispered by the world itself.

  Slowly, the giant raised his head.

  Above him, the sky was alive.

  Dozens—no, hundreds—of dragons filled the heavens, their massive wings cutting through the clouds as they flew in a single, unified direction. Their scales shimmered under the light, their roars echoing faintly as they surged eastward without hesitation, without disorder.

  Hindan’s brow furrowed.

  Confusion settled into his massive features as he pushed himself upright. His colossal body rose from the earth, stone plates shifting and grinding against one another. The ground trembled violently beneath him, shockwaves rippling outward as if the land itself protested his awakening. Moss-covered limbs stretched, ancient and weathered, bearing the marks of centuries spent unmoving.

  The dragons adjusted their flight paths, weaving around the rising giant, but none of them slowed. None of them turned back.

  Hindan stood fully now, his towering stone form visible for miles. He was as tall as the mountains that surrounded him, his legs thick with hardened rock, great patches of moss and vine clinging to his arms and shoulders. From afar, he could easily be mistaken for part of the landscape—until he moved.

  With a deep, rumbling growl, Hindan reached for his obsidian mace. The massive weapon rested against the ground, its dark surface cracked with age yet still pulsing faintly with dormant power. He wrapped his enormous fingers around its handle and began to move.

  Each step shook the earth.

  He followed the direction of the dragons, his pace quickening despite his immense size. Forests trembled as he passed through them; trees snapped and fell beneath his feet, crushed like brittle twigs. Hills cracked. Mountains groaned in the distance. The tremors spread far and wide, reaching kingdoms that lay miles away, sending fear through the hearts of those who felt the sudden quaking beneath their homes.

  Then he stopped.

  At the edge of the forest, Hindan froze.

  Before him stretched a vast sea of dragons, still flying eastward in unbroken formation. Beyond them, something else caught his attention—something far more alarming.

  Mana.

  Particles of glowing energy rose unnaturally from the air itself, swirling and gathering, bending together as if drawn by an unseen force. They began to form a shape, translucent yet undeniable—a massive barrier slowly taking form across the border between East and West.

  Hindan’s breath hitched.

  “What is happening?” he asked aloud, his voice deep and thunderous.

  Questions flooded his mind, but none of them carried answers. The situation made no sense. Dragons fleeing east. Mana forming a wall. The world behaving as if it were being torn apart and rewritten at the same time.

  Then instinct took over.

  With a roar that split the air, Hindan charged forward.

  His run shook the land with catastrophic force. Mountains crumbled at their edges as he passed. Entire sections of forest were flattened beneath his feet. The earth cracked open, and the shockwaves rolled endlessly outward, felt across countless kingdoms that now stood in fearful silence, wondering what calamity had begun.

  Hindan reached the border just as the barrier neared completion.

  Only a single rupture—one small opening—remained unsealed.

  Without hesitation, he hurled his obsidian mace forward. The weapon struck the forming barrier with a deafening impact, sending waves of energy rippling across its surface. Hindan leapt after it, slamming into the incomplete section and gripping the open edges with both hands.

  He pulled.

  Stone muscles strained. His hands trembled violently as he fought to tear the barrier apart before it could fully form. The mana resisted him, pushing back with relentless force, burning against his palms.

  Then he saw him.

  Through the crack in the barrier, on the opposite side, stood a lone figure.

  A man cloaked in shadow.

  Hindan’s fury ignited.

  “Why are you doing this?” he roared.

  His voice erupted outward, shockwaves blasting through the air, cracking the ground beneath him as he continued to pry at the barrier. His hands shook violently, veins of glowing energy pulsing across his arms.

  The man did not answer.

  He simply looked up at Hindan, his face hidden beneath his cloak. His silence was colder than any spoken threat.

  Moments passed.

  Then the man slowly raised one hand and pointed.

  A tremendous force slammed into Hindan, driving him backward. He snarled and tightened his grip, digging his fingers deeper into the unstable edges of the barrier. He took a step forward, fighting against the pressure—but his entire body began to tremble.

  From behind him came movement.

  Hindan sensed it before he saw it—vehicles, soldiers, the armies of the West approaching in haste. Then another presence washed over him, unmistakable.

  Alvan.

  Violet mana radiated from within the forest behind him, powerful and familiar.

  Hindan turned his head just enough to see the glow.

  Then he felt it.

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  His strength was fading.

  His stamina drained rapidly, far faster than it should have. Even his mana—his endless, ancient mana—was weakening. He sensed the truth with growing horror: the mana in the atmosphere itself was vanishing.

  Without hesitation, Hindan made a choice.

  He inhaled deeply and began absorbing every remaining trace of mana around him, leaving the land momentarily bare. With an earth-shattering roar, he condensed all of it into his hands and tore the barrier wide open.

  The mana screamed.

  The barrier split.

  Hindan fell to his knees, exhausted, his strength completely spent.

  In that moment, Alvan saw the opening.

  He sprinted forward and leapt through the broken barrier, landing on the eastern side just before it sealed itself shut once more.

  Hindan did not see him.

  By the time his vision cleared, it was too late.

  The barrier stood complete.

  Slowly, Hindan rose to his feet. Understanding crashed down upon him like a mountain.

  Alvan was alone.

  Anger consumed him.

  He pounded the barrier with his fists, striking it again and again with all the power he had left. The barrier did not break.

  “Why, Alvan?” he whispered, his voice deep and trembling.

  Behind him, the armies of the West arrived at last. Their rulers stood among them. Queen Silvana dismounted her steed and approached the towering giant.

  “Oh great Giant Hindan,” she called out, her voice raised so it could reach him, “why do you look so troubled?”

  Hindan turned slowly.

  “Alvan is on the other side of this barrier,” he said. “There is little chance we will ever see him again.”

  Before Silvana could respond, she collapsed.

  One by one, soldiers and rulers fell unconscious around him. Hindan’s eyes widened in shock as he felt the truth settle in.

  Mana was disappearing.

  His obsidian mace cracked in his grip, then shattered completely.

  Pain surged through him.

  If all mana vanished, all races would perish. The West would end.

  Hindan closed his eyes.

  He made his decision.

  “If God wills it,” he said softly, “I shall be reborn.”

  His body began to crumble, piece by piece, as all the dormant mana within him was released into the world. Light poured outward, washing over the land.

  Those who had fallen slowly regained consciousness.

  They watched in silence as the great Giant Hindan sacrificed himself—giving them one final chance to live.

  In The East

  Alvan descended from the sky and struck the ground with a thunderous impact, dust and fractured stone bursting outward in a violent ring. When the debris settled, he stood alone at the center of the battlefield, surrounded on all sides by thousands of warriors. Human soldiers tightened their grips on spears and swords. Mages raised trembling staffs already glowing with layered spells. Beast men snarled, muscles tensed, claws scraping against the earth. Fairies hovered behind the lines, wings shimmering as mana gathered around them.

  They were closing in slowly, cautiously, as if the very air around Alvan warned them to hesitate.

  Alvan lifted his hand.

  A sphere of dense, violet mana formed above his palm, pulsing like a living heart. The pressure it emitted bent the air, warping light around it. Whispers spread through the army as fear crept into hardened expressions.

  “ATTACK!”

  Arthur’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

  The king charged forward, long sword raised high, his armor gleaming beneath the sky. He did not hesitate, nor did he look back. Seeing this, Alvan moved as well—no retreat, no caution. The purple sphere in his hand elongated, reshaping itself into a blade of pure mana.

  The two figures collided.

  Steel met magic with a deafening shockwave. For a single breath, it seemed as though the clash might be equal.

  Then Arthur’s head fell.

  It struck the ground first, rolling once before coming to rest, eyes still wide. A heartbeat later, his body followed, collapsing forward in a lifeless heap. Silence rippled across the battlefield, broken only by the sound of blood soaking into the soil.

  Before shock could fully take hold, Alvan’s blade dissolved. In its place, a bow of violet energy formed in his hands. Without pause, he drew and released.

  Arrows screamed through the air.

  Each one detonated upon impact, explosions tearing through advancing ranks. Soldiers were thrown skyward, armor shattered, bodies torn apart. In response, mages and knights activated their strongest defensive barriers, layers of magic flaring into existence to halt the onslaught.

  From the rear lines, the fairies raised their voices in unison.

  “The one who gives us air to live,

  Oh the one who is ever green,

  You who reflects the positive—”

  Mana surged beneath the battlefield.

  “Roots Emergence.”

  The earth split open. Massive roots burst forth, twisting violently around Alvan’s legs and torso, locking him in place. At the same time, mages unleashed waves of weakening spells, curses, and suppression magic. Energy crashed against him from every direction.

  For a moment, Alvan staggered.

  The roots cracked and fell away. He took a step forward, shoulders swaying slightly. His lips moved, murmuring words so faint only he could hear them.

  The soldiers saw weakness.

  They roared and surged forward, weapons raised, seizing what they believed was their chance.

  Then Alvan vanished.

  He reappeared behind the back lines in an instant. A single flash of movement followed—and every mage collapsed at once, their lives extinguished in a blink. The speed was beyond perception, too fast for even trained eyes to track.

  With the spellcasters gone, the weight on Alvan lifted. His presence returned, overwhelming and absolute.

  He teleported again—this time into the heart of the army.

  Chaos erupted.

  Anyone who approached him died. Blades shattered before touching him. Bodies fell faster than screams could form. The ground turned crimson as soldiers were cut down in waves, the battlefield painted red by relentless slaughter. With each passing moment, more lives ended, while Alvan remained nearly untouched.

  A thunderous roar shook the sky.

  Alvan looked up.

  Dragons descended, their wings blotting out the sun. Dragon riders mounted atop them unleashed fireballs from above, flames raining down in violent arcs. Alvan moved calmly, weaving through the inferno, dodging each attack with terrifying precision.

  From the sky, King Derick watched, seated behind a dragon rider. His eyes widened as he took in the devastation below.

  “So this is the power of the Developed Chosen One,” he muttered, dread creeping into his voice.

  His mind raced.

  “Dragon rider, put me down,” Derick ordered.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The dragon descended, touching down away from the chaos. Derick dismounted and made his way toward Valir, his expression grim.

  “Listen, Valir. I have something to tell you.”

  “What is it, King Derick?” Valir asked.

  Derick hesitated—only for a second longer than necessary.

  “Your king has died.”

  “What?” Valir’s voice cracked in shock.

  “I know it’s hard,” Derick said quietly. “But he died for a good cause.” He then hardened his tone. “Valir, we are in a dire situation. That man has slaughtered most of the army. Go. Release the dragon.”

  Valir hesitated, doubt flashing across his face. Then he nodded and turned away.

  Suddenly, an earth-shaking roar echoed across the battlefield.

  Panic spread instantly. Soldiers fled in terror. Dragon riders pulled back, retreating far from the field. Alvan turned toward the source of the sound.

  The sky darkened.

  A colossal dragon emerged from the clouds, its massive black scales swallowing all light around it. Each beat of its wings felt like the world itself was trembling.

  Alvan’s heart pounded. A grin slowly spread across his face, excitement burning in his eyes. He stood his ground, staring directly into the dragon’s gaze.

  Then he shouted, his voice ringing across the battlefield.

  “GIVE ME WHAT YOU GOT, LIGHT SNATCHER.”