The feast blazed on well into the sun-drenched afternoon, the fire now a bed of glowing embers casting a soft, amber hue across the makeshift camp. The broken remains of steel towers and moss-choked stone formed a jagged circle around them, cradling the gathering in a fortress of ruin and green. The air hung thick with the savory tang of roasted beast, smoke curling lazily skyward as laughter clanged against rusted rebar and weathered bone.
Ethan, seated cross-legged with grease on his cheek, was deep into a very animated story.
"And I told the beast—straight up—'You're not even enough to make me sweat,' and then bam!" He mimicked a downward cleaver swing with a bone in hand. "It exploded into glitter. Like actual sparkling glitter. Pretty sure it was allergic to swag."
The giants burst into thunderous laughter. One of them slapped the ground so hard it cracked. Another bellowed, "Tell it again! The part where it cried before it exploded!"
Dianna rolled her eyes, elbowed Ethan in the ribs. "He's lying. That thing must've bit his leg, and he screamed like a child. I on the other hand—."
"She's bluffing!" Ethan protested, waving his bone like a sword. "Even if my leg gets bit, It was strategically baiting—"
"Strategically bleeding, you mean." Dianna corrected.
Even Sid cracked a faint smile, sipping water from a wooden jug passed to him.
The laughter eventually mellowed, and the warlord leaned forward, chin resting on a fist. His sharp eyes swept over them with something more than amusement.
"You carry weapons far beyond your make," he said, voice like smoldering rock. "Blades born in places your strength alone could never reach. Curious."
A hulking warrior stepped over the firelight, nodding to Dianna. "That sword's form… it's impossible to obtain its materials with your strength, so how did you do it, girl?"
Dianna tensed, her fingers brushing the weapon at her side. A low hum seemed to rise from it—unseen, unheard, but felt
"There's a scent in it," the giant murmured, tone lower. "Not blood. Dread. Like the abyss itself brushed that steel—No, maybe deeper. Hell perhaps? Condemned souls cling to it. Careful with that one—it remembers pain. It keeps it."
Dianna glanced down. The sword pulsed with a faint, dull glow—like a heartbeat in metal. She said nothing.
Another giant stepped forward, bald and broad as a boulder, grinning at Ethan. "You too. That cleaver… it's tasted voidfire, hasn't it?"
Ethan perked up. "You can tell?"
The warlord's voice cut in. "Blackvein ore in the core. Shadowsteel for weight. Veinshard lens in the edge?"
Ethan blinked. "That's… exactly what it is. How do you—?"
"Because I once saw weapons evolved like it. from a legendary figure. A Titanborn," the warlord said, not boasting, just stating. "Your edge is young. But it's awake. still finding its hunger. treat it well… or it'll find it on its own."
Sid leaned forward. "Titanborn?"
The warlord stood, slow and deliberate, towering above all. "A tale for another time. But you've earned one of ours."
He moved to the center of the camp and gestured wide with both arms.
"We are the Tarnak'hul, sons of the Flamehorn Peak. What's left of us, anyway." He pointed to the men around him. "We were forty. Now we're twenty-eight. Lost to beasts, betrayal, storms, and one cursed river worm I'll never forgive."
"We march to the Grayspire Mountains," another added, proud.
"Our ancestor—Orgran, the Light-Hammered—Behemoth will try to ascend. He reached Level Fifty last moon. Soon he'll evolve Maelkraad, the Earthsplitter. A godly weapon that accompanied him in thousands of battles. But he needs a scroll—a epic-grade relic parchment written in Mythic blood. Only one remains. Lost in the peaks."
"It's our solemn duty," the warlord said. "handed to us by the elders. If we fail, we lose balance with the four warring tribes we spill blood against. Chaos will come. Fire and flood. We must keep the scales tipped."
Ethan stopped chewing.
Dianna and Sid listened silently, their eyes lit with quiet awe.
The warlord's gaze swept the jungle beyond. "We've crossed frozen wastelands, silent mountains, jungles thicker than fog, rivers full of ghost eels, swamps that whisper in dreams… for the sole purpose of finding the epic-grade relic parchment our ancestor need."
He sat again, heavy as a statue.
A long breath passed.
Then—
"Don't forget the frog incident!" one of the giants suddenly barked.
The others burst into fresh laughter.
"Oh! When Korg tried to ride it and it exploded!"
"That wasn't a frog, you fools—it was a shadelump! They inflate when scared!"
"I nearly lost a tooth—!"
The giants roared, each adding wild, ridiculous memories of accidents, beast blunders, cooking mishaps, or wrong turns. Even Dianna chuckled. Sid gave a rare soft laugh. Ethan leaned back, grinning—full belly, full heart.
And then—
Snap. Rustle.
Sharp. Urgent..
Three scouts burst through the thicket, streaked in mud, panting hard. For a moment. glanced at the trio.
The warlord stood instantly, eyes aflame. "Speak."
One scout knelt. "Fast approaching. Lizardhounds. Large pack. Forty or more. Alpha-beast leading. Moving with purpose. Fast. Coming straight for us."
The laughter died. Firelight dimmed.
"Were we followed?" a giant growled, hand already on his axe.
The warlord turned his gaze on the trio.
Ethan stood, jaw tight. "Yeah. Probably us."
"We killed a few earlier," Dianna added. "The rest ran. Guess they didn't forget."
The warlord was quiet for a moment.
Then nodded, calm but decisive. "Then we do not fight. Not here."
He spun to his kin.
"Pack up! We move east. Need a new ridge before the sun falls or we'll be at death's mercy."
The feast had long since ended, and the last echoes of laughter still lingered beneath the towering roots and broken beams. When the Tarnak'hul began packing, they moved with efficient precision. Heavy crates, weapons, and salvaged trophies were hauled and bound in bundles that looked twice their size—but the warriors lifted them like sacks of leaves.
"Come," the warlord said to the trio. "If you walk with us, walk fast. If you choose another way, choose it now."
Ethan looked at Dianna. Dianna at Sid. Sid simply nodded.
"We're with you," Dianna said.
The warlord cracked a grin and turned to his kin. "Move out!" he commanded. "Into the brush! Make for the river crossing!"
And together—they vanished into the trees, heading east…
as something feral, blood-slick, and many-jawed closed in from the west—sniffing, snarling, tireless.