As soon as the king's servant departed, Mother sat me down, her expression solemn. "I know you've been wondering about the events that have disturbed our peaceful life," she said. "It's time you learned the truth."
It was as if she possessed a sixth sense, able to detect the turmoil that had been weighing on me. Without hesitation, she answered the questions I had yet to voice. The reason we had fled to the woods, the isolation, the secrecy, it was all because of me. Because of what I was.
From the moment I was born, I had been an outcast. Smaller than any Colossal newborn, I was a curiosity, a thing to be shunned. Colossals despised what they could not understand, and my very existence was an anomaly.
Even my lack of a name was a reminder of my rejection. In Colossal tradition, it was the father's right to name his child at birth. But my father had never cared enough to grant me one. To him, I was nothing more than a mistake, a half-blood, or worse, a mere fraction of a Colossal.
Yet, my father was no ordinary man. He was Titus, the great king of all Colossals. The one I had idolized from afar. My mother, once a servant in his court, had become his concubine, but I could not bring myself to hate him. And now, after all these years, he had summoned us to his castle. Guilt, perhaps, had finally taken root in his heart.
The days passed until autumn arrived, and with it, our farewell to the woods, the only home I had ever known. The king's servants packed our belongings, loading them onto a chariot drawn by powerful horses. As we rode toward the city, I gazed through the glass window, watching Colossals go about their daily lives, moving with the purpose and efficiency of ants in their vast stone metropolis.
Then, at last, we arrived.
The castle loomed on the hill, a towering fortress of power and prestige. It was the grandest structure I had ever seen, rising above the city as if it belonged to the sky itself. As we stepped inside, rows of servants bowed low in greeting, their movements practiced, their expressions unreadable. Yet, behind their lowered heads, their eyes betrayed them.
They stared at me with quiet revulsion.
Their lost master had returned, but not as they had hoped.