The sloop cut north along the jagged coast for two more days, hugging cliffs that rose like broken teeth from the sea. Captain Mara kept them far enough offshore to avoid Church patrols but close enough that the land never quite disappeared. Elias spent most of the time on deck, watching the water for any sign of Leviathan's return. The primordial did not reappear, but the sea stayed unnaturally calm in their wake, as though bowing to an unspoken command.
On the morning of the third day, Mara steered them into a narrow fjord carved deep into the mountains. The water turned slate-gray and still. She dropped anchor in a sheltered cove where the cliffs met a shingle beach.
"This is as far as I go," she said, tossing a rope ladder over the side. "The abbey you want is three days' walk inland—up through the passes. Watch for rockslides. And watch for him."
She nodded toward the towering peaks that loomed above them, snow-capped even in late summer.
Elara shouldered their small pack. "Who?"
"The giant," Mara said. "Big lad. Lives alone up there. Doesn't like company. But if you're what the whispers say you are…" She looked between them. "He might let you pass. Or he might crush you like shale."
Elias exchanged a glance with Elara. Neither spoke.
They climbed down to the beach and watched the sloop pull away, sails filling with wind. Then they turned inland.
The path climbed steadily—first through scrub pine, then into bare rock and scree. The air grew thinner, colder. Elias's lungs burned with every breath, but the sigil on his chest stayed quiet, as though conserving strength for whatever waited ahead.
They camped the first night in a wind-scoured hollow. Elara built a small fire from dry lichen and twigs; Elias sat with his back to a boulder, staring into the flames.
"You're quiet," she said.
"Thinking about what Mara said. About the giant."
Elara poked the fire with a stick. "If he's one of us, he'll know when we get close. Just like Leviathan did."
"And if he isn't?"
"Then we turn around. Or we fight."
Elias looked up at the dark shapes of the mountains. "Abaddon says there are four of us total. Me. You. Two more. He's… collecting them."
Elara's hand stilled. "Collecting."
"Like pieces. Generals. He calls them his."
She stared into the fire for a long time.
"Then we keep going," she said finally. "Because if we don't, someone else will find him first. And I'd rather know who's on our side than wonder who's coming for us."
They reached the high passes on the afternoon of the third day. Snow dusted the ground here, even in the sun. The trail narrowed to a ledge barely wide enough for one person. Far below, the fjord looked like a silver thread.
A low rumble echoed from above—not thunder, but something heavier. Rock shifting. Stone grinding on stone.
Elara froze. "That's not natural."
Before Elias could answer, the ledge ahead cracked.
A boulder the size of a house tore free from the cliff face and tumbled toward them.
Elara raised both hands. Water surged from the thin snowmelt trickling along the path, hardening into a shield of ice. The boulder struck it with a sound like cannon fire. The ice shattered, but it slowed the rock enough that it rolled past them instead of crushing them.
Dust and snow swirled.
When it cleared, a figure stood blocking the path.
He was enormous—easily seven feet tall, shoulders broader than two men. His skin was the color of weathered granite, hair black and wild, falling past his waist. He wore only rough-spun trousers and boots; his bare chest and arms looked carved from the mountain itself. In one massive hand he held a club fashioned from petrified tree trunk.
His eyes—deep brown, almost black—fixed on Elias.
"You," he rumbled. The word carried like distant avalanche. "You woke something old."
Elias stepped forward slowly, palms open. "We're not here to fight."
The giant tilted his head. "You carry ruin. I feel it. Like stone cracking under pressure."
Abaddon spoke inside Elias—calm, commanding.
Behemoth.
The name landed heavy in Elias's mind.
The giant's eyes widened fractionally. He lowered the club.
"You know my name," he said. Not a question.
Elias felt the sigil pulse once—warm, approving.
"I know yours," he answered. "Behemoth."
The giant exhaled, a sound like wind through a cave mouth.
He stepped aside.
"Come."
They followed him up the final switchback to a wide ledge where a crude stone shelter had been built against the cliff—more cavern than house, open to the elements on one side. A fire pit smoldered in the center. Animal pelts lined the floor. Weapons—axes, spears, clubs—leaned against the walls like silent sentinels.
Behemoth sat on a boulder that served as a bench. It groaned under his weight.
"Sit," he said.
They did—Elias and Elara on opposite sides of the fire.
The giant studied them for a long minute.
"I felt the sea turn," he said at last. "Leviathan bowing. I knew then the old king had returned."
Elara leaned forward. "You serve him?"
Behemoth's gaze shifted to her. "Serve? No. But I remember. Before the light came. Before the cages. We were free. Wild. Unending."
He looked back at Elias.
"You carry him now. The Devourer. The end of all things."
Elias nodded once.
Behemoth placed one massive fist over his own heart. Beneath the skin, faint gray lines glowed—cracks like fault lines in rock.
"I am his," he said simply. "As Leviathan is his. As the others will be."
Elara's jaw tightened. "And if we don't want to be part of his war?"
Behemoth's expression did not change. "Then you fight him. And you lose. Or you accept. And you live longer."
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Finally Elias spoke.
"We're going after the Church. After the one they call God."
Behemoth nodded slowly.
"Then I walk with you."
He rose, towering over them again.
"When do we leave?"
Elias looked at Elara. She met his eyes—resigned, but steady.
"Soon," Elias said. "But there's one more. We need to find the fourth."
Behemoth's mouth curved in something that might have been a smile.
"She waits in the ruins to the south. Shadows cling to her. Lies are her breath."
He turned toward the open ledge, staring out over the endless mountains.
"But she will come. They all will."
Inside Elias, Abaddon's voice rolled like satisfied thunder.
Three now. One remains.
The board is set.
And the pieces move themselves.
Night fell cold and clear over the mountain. The three of them sat around the fire—two vessels and one giant—watching sparks rise toward stars that felt closer here, colder.
Somewhere far below, the world kept turning.
Oblivious.
Unknowing.
That the end had begun to gather its army.
End of Chapter 9