The mountains stretched like ancient titans, frozen mid-roar, their jagged peaks clawing at the heavens. This was theNorthern Pass Mountain Range, a colossal spine of stone that split the central continent ofLiorin two. To the south layElador, the proud Elven Dynasty. To the far north, shrouded in eternal storms, brooded theKingdom of Loatim. And between them, veiled in shadow and legend, lay theForbidden Ground— a wasteland carved by gods and monsters.
A lone figure stood upon that desolate soil, near the yawning mouth of a cave carved into the cliffs. Moonlight spilled down, casting silver across his massive form and the enormous stone axe at his side. Jagged and ancient, its edge bore the scars of centuries — yet it hummed with dormant power. The pale moonlight kissed the weapon's edge, glinting off its cold surface like a whisper of coming war.
was no ordinary creature.
Twelve feet tall. Carved in the shape of war. His skin, like mountain stone, was etched with runes that pulsed faintly beneath the moon — echoes of battles long faded from mortal memory. APrimordial Giant, of the same age-old lineage as the dragons, elves, and demons. His body was carved with runes that glowed faintly under the moon, each one a tale of war etched into flesh.
He sat in stillness, sharpening the axe with a slab of black stone. But his silence was not idleness — it was memory.
He recalled the tales his grandfather once whispered by firelight — of how theGiant King Uenhad clashed withDragon Emperor Euynex, a battle so cataclysmic it shattered the skies and split the world. The war had lasted a month — thirty days of fire, stone, and storm. The aftermath birthed the very mountain range he now stood upon.
He looked up, eyes filled with a warrior's wonder.How powerful must they have been, to scar the bones of the earth itself?
Then—footsteps.
Soft. Subtle. But every fiber of Euen's battle-hardened spirit screameddanger.
He rose slowly, axe in hand, aura flaring blue like lightning waiting to strike.
A silhouette emerged through the mist — wreathed in black fog, its body little more than a phantom stitched from living shadow. No face. No flesh. Justtwo golden eyesburning like twin suns in a storm.
"Night King," Euen said. His voice was stone breaking stone.
Across from him stood one of his oldest rivals — theNight King, the second of the Three Northern Titans.
The figure halted. Eight feet tall, draped in darkness, a massive obsidian sword resting on his shoulder. Despite the void-like form, asmilecurled on his barely-formed lips — smug, familiar.
"Euen," the Night King rasped, his voice like wind in a crypt.
The moment stilled.The mountains held their breath.And then—reality broke
The ground cracked beneath them.
Their bodies blurred.
Steel met stone. Shadow met fury.
The clash echoed through the mountains, shaking snow from the peaks.
Euen swung wide. The Night King dissolved into vapor, reappearing behind him. The axe struck the ground, shattering it. Dust rose like a curtain, but Euen's glowing eyes pierced through.
Another swing —met steel.
The clash of axe and sword rang like church bells of destruction. Night King was pushed back but danced again into shadow. He flashed forward — a flicker of a blade, and a crimson gash opened on Euen's shoulder. Yet, like all giants,Euen's wound closed. The stone skin knitted itself shut.
"Hmm...life steal," Euen said, voice low. Sothatwas how the Night King had fed — draining humanity's life force.
They clashed again. This time, Euen used more than strength — he infused his aura, each strike now laced with raw mana. Waves of blue force carved into the mountainsides. Entire ridges collapsed under the pressure.
The Night King blurred through the falling debris, but Euen was faster. He leapt high, crashing down like a meteor. The shockwave caused the very ground toscream. From that tremor, astone spikeburst upward and impaled the shadowy foe — but he dispersed again, smoke reforming elsewhere.
Euen growled.Physical attacks weren't enough.
But his eyes narrowed —he flinches at aura.
And so, he pressed the assault.
Their battlefield became a ruin of craters and collapsing cliffs. The Night King's form dimmed — his once-pitch black body now tinged grey, unraveling at the edges.
But Euen too paid a price. Each touch from his foedrainedhis life force. His heart thundered. His blood burned.
Then—a sound.
A single, deliberateclapechoed across the cliffs.
He appeared as if drawn from thin air, standing atop a jagged peak. He wore a butler's robe, regal and pristine, with a mask etched with asingle question mark— silent mockery.
Euen's wounddidn't heal.
His body felt heavier. Something was wrong.
That one strike... canceled my regeneration.
He looked skyward, rain beginning to fall. He remembered the legends — the Dragon Emperor and the Giant King. He smiled bitterly.
Then — heroared.
The others jumped aside just in time as his axe slammed down — and he used it topivot, unleashing a spinning kick that launched the masked man into a mountain. Rubble exploded outward. Blood streaked the cracks in the mask.
"Seriously," the man groaned. "This is why I toldDarkoneto handle this." he groaned.
Euen advanced with unrelenting fury. His pride, his legacy —would not be tarnished. Night King retaliated but only found his attacksparried. The masked man tried again, striking low. But Euensensedit — stomped, and spikes of stone erupted.
The battleraged on, a symphony of ruin. The Night King was nowbarely visible, his form fraying, his golden eyes dimming. The masked man bled heavily.The assault didn't slow.
Euen was bleeding life force, but his eyes shimmered with determination.
Euen exhaled smoke.
"If it's come to this..." He raised his axe, the blade behind his back. "...let me show you something."
Wind coiled around Euen like a hurricane. Mana thickened — turning molten gold. The axe nowglowed yellow, devouring all color around it.
The masked manfled. Something deep in his bones screamedrun. Even the giants watching from afar froze — because something in that axe...was not of this world
"You can't run."
The axeswung.
Abeam— vast, divine, and deathly — swept across the land. It cut through mountain, sky, and time. For a moment, theentire world fell silent.
Rainvaporized.Silence reigned.Then — it rained again.
The beam left behind acrater shaped like a V, stretching for miles. From Elador to Loatim, all eyes turned to the northern sky. Whispers spread like wildfire. Across kingdoms, people whispered of thechaotic end.
Euen stood amidst the ruin, steam rising from his body. The air burned around him.
The other giants arrived, auras blazing. One knelt.
"My king. Your orders?"
Euen, bleeding and spent, sat on a stone.
"Scout the area. If they've fled — we retreat."
His eyes drifted shut as voices echoed into the falling rain.
"My king... My king..."
Elsewhere...
Mizin, still mid-discussion, paused.
Abilhad noticed too. These tremors were different. This wasn't war —this was legendbeing rewritten.
Zin's pupils narrowed intoslits, scanning the far mountains. He couldn't see, but heknew.He whispered: "Euen."
Mizin glanced at her arm — her tattoos, ten crescent moons. One of them had faded — almost completely.
"Ai-lyn," she said, voice shaking."Contact all disciples who are absent. Check if anyone has... fallen asleep."
Gasps filled the room.
They knew what that meant. The tattoos werelife signatures, bound to Mizin's soul. If one faded — it meant only one thing.
Death.
She stood, robes flowing. Her presence tightened like a storm forming.
Ariel caught what Zin had whispered. Her heart trembled. Her breath caught.
The world was about to change.