Kraken took a deep breath. "Alright then."
His voice grew distant, rougher, like dust being stirred after decades of settling.
"Twenty-five years ago, right before I became chief, a beast wave came…"
—
Back then, I wasn't chief yet. Sidner and I were just two warriors—he was the Lead Hunter, and I was Head of Security. We walked side-by-side through two massive wooden doors leading into the war room. The scent of smoke and old steel lingered in the air. Ahead of us sat a large oak table, hand-carved with ornate beasts along the trim, and around it were seven chairs—each already filled.
At the head of the table sat Chief Rufus. A massive, dark brown orc with light brown hair and shoulders as broad as the gates of the village. He wore nothing above the waist, only a pair of fur pants made from a bear's hide, held up by thick rope tied in a crude bow. Behind him stood Namor, his right hand—lean and deadly, with deep brown eyes that saw everything. He wore armor that was a perfect blend of black leather and light plate, designed for stealth and speed.
On the right side of the table sat three more figures. Ashen—your mother—our head alchemist, was wrapped in a loose robe of forest green and brown. Next to her sat the Sacred Maiden, Lena—a White Titan like you. Silver-haired, silver-eyed, slender but undeniably powerful. Her robe shimmered in white and gold, hugging her form with understated elegance. Beside her, Master Oron—head of the forge. His hands rested on the table, already stained with soot and lined with burn scars that had become part of his legacy.
I took the seat across from Ashen. Sidner sat to my left.
Once we were all settled, Chief Rufus rolled out a map across the table.
"A few hours ago, a scout brought word of a beast wave," he said, his gravelly voice dead calm. "Four chaotic kings. Over a hundred beasts. Coming from the eastern wilds."
None of us said anything at first. We just… stared.
"A hundred?" I asked, eyes narrowing. "And four kings? How's that even possible? Chaotic kings don't travel together. They kill each other on sight."
"We don't know," the chief replied, leaning forward. "But Namor confirmed it."
Namor nodded. "While scouting, I saw them with my own eyes. But I also saw something else."
He paused, as if unsure whether to speak. Then: " Small figures in red and black robes. A black hand symbol across their chests. Masks covering their faces. They moved like shadows—and the moment I spotted them, they spotted me. Their aura… I'm third stage, and every one of them felt stronger. I quickly retreated."
The room grew colder.
"Humans?" Ashen asked.
Namor nodded. "Yes. That's what makes it even more concerning."
Chief Rufus slammed a fist on the table. "Forget them. That's not our concern. What matters is the village. We cannot flee—moving five thousand Titans would take weeks. We must fight."
His gaze turned to the Sacred Maiden. "Lena, we'll need you to perform the Ancestral Blessing Ritual when the wave begins."
She nodded solemnly.
He turned to Ashen. "Cancel everything else. Focus on crafting poisons and healing tonics. Use everything you've got."
Then to Master Oron. "Forge javelins for poisoning. And arrows—hundreds. Check every weapon twice. Nothing less than perfect."
Oron grunted in acknowledgment.
Finally, he turned to Sidner and me.
"You two will take strike teams. Pick them carefully. Spend the week thinning their numbers before they reach us. We can't let all of them reach the village walls."
Sidner and I locked eyes. We knew what had to be done.
The week that followed was bloody. Every night we slept under stars, every day we stained the grass red. Twenty, thirty beasts fell under our blades—but their numbers didn't drop. Somehow, they kept coming. A hundred turned into a hundred and twenty.
Then came the final day.
The ritual began. Lena stood in the center of the ritual ground, her disciples surrounding her—eight Titans, all with flame affinities. The Sacred Flame swirled in a massive ring around them. The disciples poured their Vol into Lena, who bore the pressure of it all acting as a core. Then, that sacred energy was injected back to here disciples them acting as nodes. They transformed the energy within them, the energy of every tribe members who had burned in those flames. Afterwards they injected that transformed into every warrior chosen to lead—myself, Sidner, Ashen, Oron, Namor, and Chief Rufus, and some of the other stronger titans that would be leading the charge.
We felt it the moment it entered us—strength multiplied, Vol control sharpened, elemental affinities strengthened, senses expanded. The fire of the Ancestor burned in every limb.
Then, the battle began.
The battlefield stretched across the open plains east of the village. Grasslands that once swayed gently beneath the wind now burned beneath claw, fang, and flame.
Each of us had a target.
Chief Rufus charged the Earth Bear Demon, a fifteen-foot wall of muscle and rage with two horrifying traits: Earthen Claws—dense, rock-like extensions that could shear through armor—and Rage, a trait that fed on adrenaline, letting it grow faster and stronger the angrier it became. Even the Ancestor's blessing didn't balance the scale completely. That beast was a monster in every sense of the word.
Ashen and Oron took on the Black Scale Serpent, a venomous beast nearly thirty meters long, with fangs that could melt flesh and scales that reflected most direct hits. Oron's thunder affinity made him fast—unnaturally fast for someone of his size. His attacks struck like hammer-blows from the sky. Ashen, with her poison affinity, neutralized the serpent's venom and slowly wore it down with her crafted toxins and precise strikes. Their synergy was perfect.
Sidner and Lena, the Sacred Maiden, were assigned to the Thunder Wyvern—a flying king that discharged bolts of lightning and controlled the skies. It didn't last long. Lena's flame-based constructs dragged it out of the sky, while Sidner slashed through its wings with wind-forged blades, using mid-air platforms to leap and strike with perfect rhythm. Together, they grounded and executed it swiftly.
That gave them time to reach Namor and me—just in time.
Our beast was a Giant Praying Mantis, nearly the size of a small building, with bladed arms that moved faster than sound and eyes that shimmered with bloodlust. Its armor was so dense that even Oron's weapons struggled to pierce it. Namor and I held our ground, barely, using his stealth and my explosive constructs to keep it off balance.
When Sidner and Lena joined us, we coordinated—blinding it with flame, slicing its legs, crushing its carapace with rapid flaming Vol-enhanced strikes. In the end, I drove a gauntleted fist through its core, detonating a construct from inside.
When we finally regrouped, we made our way to check on Ashen and Oron.
They had already won.
Oron stood panting, his armor torn in places, steam rising off his shoulders. Ashen was kneeling, hands glowing green as she healed his burns. The serpent lay dead—its head severed, its body blackened and riddled with cracks.
But then the final truth hit us.
The Chief hadn't returned.
We sprinted.
We found him… lying in the mud. His massive body was crushed beneath the Earth Bear Demon's corpse, his chest shattered, yet his hands still locked around the beast's throat.
He had taken it down with him.
That beast had gone into such a berserker rage that its heart exploded—adrenaline and Vol igniting from within. But not before it had landed the fatal blow.
We didn't speak. We couldn't.
The following day, we burned the fallen in the Sacred flame and fed the tribe with the beasts they had slain. The ceremony was massive, hundreds gathered, the air thick with liquor and chants of the ancestor. The flames carried our brothers and sisters to the Ancestor.
But after the fire came the silence—and with it, the decision.
Who would become the next chief?
There were only two choices.
Sidner.
And me.
Master Oron, as brilliant and powerful as he was, had no interest in leadership. Lena, as the Sacred Maiden, was devoted solely to the Sacred Flame. Ashen declined, and Namor, despite being one of the strongest, held a role too essential to sacrifice. His family had always served as the chief's right hand. His scouting affinity—perfect for gathering information across vast distances—meant he had to be out in the field often.
That left the two of us.
And so began the Trials of the Chief.
The first trial was the Hunt.
After a month of rest, both Sidner and I ventured alone into the wilds.
Sidner returned with the head of a Dire Wolf, alpha of its pack—fast, strategic, and dangerous. I returned with a Forest Boar, a brute of a beast, known for its explosive charges and raw power.
Though both were formidable, wolves were pack creatures—meaning Sidner had fought not just one, but an entire group. He earned the point.
Next came the Trial of Endurance—to survive a full month in the deepest reaches of the forest. We both passed, returning with wounds and trophies, but the point was shared. It came down to the third and final trial.
A duel.
We traveled five miles from the village to a grassy plain with no trees, no rocks—only space.
Sidner stood tall, his silver longsword gleaming in the sunlight.
I wore my black gauntlets—shaped like demon faces, each with a hollow core in the forehead where fire could be channeled and released.
"Come with all you got," I said, cracking my knuckles.
Sidner sneered. "Fucking bastard, who you think you're talking to?"
I chuckled. "When will that filthy mouth of yours change?"
"Enough chit-chat. Let's go," he growled, shifting into a stance.
No more words.
He moved first—slashing at lightning speed, his blade trailing wind. I dodged and blocked, using my gauntlets to parry, but he was relentless. Mid-combo, he threw wind-enhanced daggers, adjusting their path mid-air with Vol.
I clapped, forming a flaming shockwave barrier that detonated mid-air, intercepting the daggers.
He used that moment to dive through the blast.
Anticipating it, I stepped forward and caught his slash with my left gauntlet, countering with a punch to his face. But he twisted his hips mid-air and elbowed me, then followed up with a spinning kick to my ribs that sent me skidding.
"That one stung," I muttered, wiping blood from my mouth.
"You aimed for my face first. Bastard," he snapped, half-smirking.
Then I activated my gauntlets. Black-blue flame erupted from the horns as they materialized—like demon constructs made of molten plasma.
He responded in kind. A silver sheen coated his sword—dense, sharp, beautiful.
I moved first—blasting a fire construct beneath my feet that launched me forward like a cannon.
Sidner pierced with his sword—but I slipped past and landed a punch to his gut that sent him flying.
"Cheap bastard," he coughed, recovering mid-air.
He responded with a slash of wind—so sharp it cleaved the air. I didn't dodge—I blasted through it with another construct, fists burning.
Sidner created a wind platform, dodged mid-air, then launched himself downward.
I met him there, fire and wind clashing. He slashed my chest, I punched his side.
We landed hard, both panting.
Then, we grew.
He enlarged first—seventeen feet tall, his Vol thick in the air. The pressure of each slash now carved lines in the grass. I followed, growing to eighteen. My horns burned brighter, the flame particles swirling like a storm.
He came in fast—too fast. Each slash was backed by wind acceleration. I dodged, barely, but he was speeding up with every move, using wind from his last slash to fuel the next.
Thinking fast, I detonated the ground beneath me, launching myself upward. I summoned a construct beneath my feet mid-air and dove again, fists blazing.
I landed a solid blow to his chest—his wind barrier absorbed most of it, but the force sent him crashing down.
He barely retaliated in time—daggers hurled at me mid-fall, striking the fireball I had thrown to finish the job. The explosion engulfed him.
When the smoke cleared, he was coughing, bleeding. His armor—similar to Namor's blend of leather and metal—was shredded. But he wasn't done.
He dashed out of the smoke, pushing through fatigue. We clashed again.
Blades. Fists. Fire. Wind.
Then, our Vol gave out. The large forms faded. We dropped back to normal size, chests heaving.
And that's when I saw it.
His eyes.
Burning with passion.
And for the first time, I hesitated.
I pulled a punch.
He noticed instantly.
"You fucking bastard," he growled. He dropped his sword and punched me square in the jaw.
Then again. "You think I can't win?"
Another punch. "You think I need your pity?" (couldn't find a better word)
And again. "In this sacred duel, of all places?!"
I didn't move.
"And what about Ashen, huh? Will you reject her if she chooses you instead of me?"
I stiffened. The punch to my gut and the sweep that followed left me in the dirt.
"I forfeit," he said, voice shaking. "I fucking hate you."
He picked up his sword, turned his back, and walked away.
I stood there, too stunned to follow.
I had disrespected him.
I had betrayed our bond.
I became chief that day. But it never felt like a victory.
Two years later, Ashen and I fell in love. And yes… the thought crossed my mind. I'd taken the title. Now her too. I almost rejected her, just to not hurt him again.
But I couldn't. I loved her. And I hoped… that maybe he'd forgive me one day.
Kraken's voice faded.
Across the table, Sovereign stared at his father. His food had gone cold. His thoughts swirled like smoke.
He'd always known the broad strokes: that his father became chief after the beast wave. That Sidner was bitter. But this?
Now he understood.
After dinner, he excused himself and went to his room It was already night now. He couldn't sleep.
He lay staring at the ceiling, whispering to himself.
"I was wrong. He's not just a bitter drunk. He's… amazing. You're definitely going to teach me, Master Sidner. No matter what."
He reached for his forging books and began to read—eyes burning with a new kind of fire—until sleep finally took him.