Year 397 before the Ascension of the Celestial Monarch
Firm, resonant steps planted themselves before the beast. It was gigantic, possessing a sinister and baneful appearance; it looked like some sort of deformity of a wild dog, with toned muscles and a thick jaw from which fangs protruded, but it was far from being a dog. After all, it was not made of flesh.
Ice crystals formed a kind of armor and skin around the creature, which oozed what could only be described as fog and wind from within. This unnatural creature roared like a gale while its opponent simply stood before it and sliced the air in front of him, causing the earth to tremble.
The shadow cut the air with what appeared to be a sword, while the void itself stagnated for a few moments before exploding. The pressure in the area increased as the beast was pushed back by an indefensible force, falling into a state of panic and confusion. By that point, its opponent had already appeared in front of it.
The Nifel sidhe exploded into ice crystals and freezing fog that froze the man who had slain it, causing even the hairs on his bare arms and shoulders to freeze slightly.
He was a tall man, even for a Fey; he stood over two meters in height, had ebony black hair, and a square face clean of any beard or mustache, giving him a somewhat more youthful appearance. His arms and chest were nearly bare aside from a wolfskin cloak that seemed to emerge from his shoulder and light leather armor; the rest of his body was carved in crimson runes, giving him a much more solemn and savage appearance that, coupled with his thick sword similar to a greatsword, was further enhanced.
Regrettably, in the distance, not one but several more white shadows emerged; the Nifel sidhe appeared as if in response to the death of their kin. The warrior prepared for a tough confrontation; after all, although he was skilled, he was still young, and the sidhe were not something to be underestimated, especially in large groups.
Suddenly, a shadow just as large as the warrior himself emerged.
Unlike the warrior, who had pale skin except for his fingertips which were entirely metallic black, this shadow was clearly female and was not Fey. Her face and body were covered in white tribal paint, as well as tattoos of the same hue on her arms and legs; her blonde hair was of a wheatish shade, and her blue eyes were like two bright sapphire gems. But what stood out most about her were her ears, much longer than those of any Fey, moving in unison with the flow of temperature and pressure in the air.
She was a Storm Giant, and unlike the warrior, she was significantly larger than him by at least nearly two heads. The giant, as if she were a storm goddess, manipulated lightning and thunder as if she were the very incarnation of the tempest; her tribal tattoos glowed brightly as a hammer made of lightning impacted against the group of sidhe, shattering them completely and turning their essence and vitality into ice dust.
Ducanor Kal Arreus could not help but admire the prowess of Masha, who fought with unparalleled grace and impetus like a wolf among a flock of sheep. But aside from that, he couldn't help but take note of Masha's other attributes, especially her beauty and seductive body. Over time, the little giant girl had surpassed him in size, displaying her giant lineage. Although Ducanor was even larger than most Feysir, he still fell short compared to a giant woman, much less a man.
Though at this point he couldn't complain; after all, he was still growing. If he wasn't mistaken, this year he would finally turn sixteen winters, although he himself didn't think he would grow much more. Little by little, the characteristics of maturity began to emerge in his body, to his prompt confusion and subsequent clarity. After all, his adoptive family wasn't too aware regarding the maturity and growth cycle of the Fey and blamed them. Only a few seasons ago, he hadn't even seen another Fey in his life, but now, after the catastrophe, things had changed.
...
Ducanor Kal Arreus—that was the name Ducanor had taken for himself after arriving at the so-called Fey civilization, or at least what they considered civilization. Ducanor had been the runic name given to him by the Storm Giant tribe that had taken him in as a child. Those days were confusing; according to what he had heard from his adoptive family and other tribe members, he, despite being an infant, had managed to survive by devouring the corpses of dead beasts, insects, and plants. When they found him, he was barely an infant of a few months, but they didn't know how long he had been alone... Or at least that's what they said. He himself doubted such exaggerated claims, but that didn't mean he wouldn't repeat them ad nauseam, boasting of those feats.
The Storm Giants were an ancient race of uncertain lineage to the Fey, but they had always been hidden in the forests and mountains to the north of the continent where storms and the climate rejected the weak. But in the end, his own tribe had become weak; after all, they had been expelled from their home, forced to live off the scraps of the Fey.
"What are you looking at?" asked a cold voice he easily recognized as his beloved adoptive sister's.
Masha had dispatched the rest of the sidhe while he was in his daydreams, and now she observed him with a somewhat accusatory look. Masha's appearance was outstanding even in giant aesthetic terms. Giants didn't wear much clothing and covered themselves with light armor and tattoos, but even Masha, who was starting to grow, needed to cover her considerable tits with some fur. Dressed in white and blue-dyed leather armor and a skirt; her face still held somewhat childish features but now showed the beauty of a woman, which paled in comparison to her demonic body. Legs thick as tree trunks, a slim waist, and a bust so large that each breast was the size of an ordinary adult Fey's head.
"Nothing, just reflecting on how much we're going to earn for the sidhe crystals," said Ducanor without showing a single shred of shame, even though his own body betrayed him as he took one last glance at the shadow of the nipple that inadvertently escaped Masha's tight chest piece.
"Tsk, it seems men are all the same as Mom said: trash, even Arreus," she mocked acidly as she turned to leave the hunting ground.
Left speechless for a moment, Ducanor couldn't help but feel offended, and with the typical stubbornness and impulsiveness of youth, he replied cuttingly:
"What did you expect, if you have tits so big you'd need a shield for each one to protect you from injuries?"
The response to those words was obviously not friendly.
...
"I'll never get used to cities," Ducanor grumbled as he observed the series of tall buildings surrounded by a steel wall and houses of refined wood and stone.
Although Ducanor had called it a city, in truth it couldn't be considered one; the Octavia outpost was more a fort that over time began to expand rather than a city. Compared to the true cities of Ulheim, this small place with barely forty thousand people could hardly be considered densely populated.
"It's normal, after all, you were born in the mud," Masha grunted with her typical sharp and poisonous comment.
If someone who didn't know them observed their interactions, they would be surprised that they had been raised together given that attitude, but the fault wasn't hers... Or well, maybe a little. The reason for Masha's bad mood and acidity was something Ducanor himself was clear on, and at this point, he had to fix it if he wanted to avoid those comments for a while.
"You're still upset? Is it because I slept with that Fey girl? What was her name?" Ducanor grunted in an attempt to recall. "Lettie," he tried to guess.
"Did you already forget her name?" she roared, now even more furious, leaving Ducanor speechless as he shrank from her aggression.
The duo of adoptive siblings had left the hunting ground and at this point were both dressed in a more civilized manner. While he wore a shirt and tight trousers in addition to his trusty wolfskin cloak, Masha herself wore a one-piece dress with a skirt that was longer in the back, while at the same time walking barefoot. Both were members of the Independent Hunting Corps; really what they were was practically vermin cleaners. They traveled to hunting grounds near the outpost alone and without equipment or horses to clear out beasts; as ordinary citizens of Ulheim without training or housing, they could only aspire to a second-rate position like that with shit pay to boot.
And now both were waiting in line at the outpost entrance through a checkpoint; practically, this place was the border crossing into the de facto domains of Ulheim.
"It's not that I've forgotten her, I just haven't seen her anymore," Ducanor shrugged. "I think she has a fiancé in a village to the south and went to get married."
His words left Masha with a blank expression, observing her brother as if she didn't know whether to believe him or not. But seeing his stupid and innocent expression, even Masha, who complained the most in her heart about Ducanor's carefree and almost childish attitude, couldn't help but be moved.
"Oh, my poor brother, I suppose a bitch deceived you; she simply used you for her own benefit, leaving you with a bitter heart, right?" she murmured with an expression full of pity while caressing her brother's shoulder.
Meanwhile, in Ducanor's own mind, he couldn't help but feel a bit of confusion at how quickly things had twisted.
Wait, now I'm the good guy? The poor wretch cast aside by a heartless woman? he thought, stupefied. Although he was tempted to say he didn't really think much about that fleeting relationship he had with that girl who worked as a waitress in a restaurant, he didn't plan on wasting this opportunity to get Masha to stop bugging him.
Well, this conclusion doesn't hurt anyone, Ducanor thought, as he finally passed through the outpost entrance line, finally entering Octavia, his new home.
...
The city was silent, or at least it was calm; the sound of work and the daily labors of its inhabitants did not overwhelm the senses, and both men and women carried them out without a thought of a better life or a clear future. They were Fey; the future was unpredictable and misfortune common. Thinking beyond the now was a luxury they could not afford.
"Have you heard? The Hegemon will soon march south," said an attractive-looking young man, much shorter than most Feysir and much more handsome and delicate than most Fey. Even some Fey women would pale in comparison to him.
Unfortunately for a large number of men in the city, he was a man in every sense of the word, and his name was Uisuk Naohar. He was a good friend of Ducanor as well as the son of a noble branch of Naohar, who was the lord of the lands of Usghnagh, the northernmost lands in the domain of Ulheim. Uisuk had hair black as a thicket of raven feathers, skin pale as snow, and cheeks red and flushed like a tomato; were it not for Ducanor, several men likely would have already taken advantage of him, even knowing he had something dangling down there. After all, despite his high-born status, he was a younger son of a concubine of an impoverished lord, so his only advantage over the rest of mortals was his education and appearance.
"Which Hegemon do you mean, the one in Tara or the one sitting on his golden throne across the sea invading our lands?" Ducanor grunted. He really didn't have much interest or loyalty toward the Hegemon of Tara, but he was better than a foreign ruler, he thought.
At that point in their conversation, suddenly two shadows arrived at their table; they were sitting in the Cat's Eye tavern, of which they were regulars. The two shadows—one of them was none other than Masha, who was grabbing several beers to bring to the group, and following her was a second female figure. She had a much smaller appearance than Masha herself, who measured well over two and a half meters, but still surpassed two meters in height by a little. She was dressed in a white floral dress with a long skirt and sandals with a flower design. Her green hair, of a shade as bright and vivid as the grass in an idyllic garden, fell down her back revealing an oval and almost childish face with large eyes and small lips and nose. Her name was Hebith Catan and, like Uisuk, she was a good friend of Ducanor as well as a daughter of a decaying clan of Ulheim, and together with Masha herself, they formed a small group.
"I didn't think you'd be up for drinking," Ducanor said with a jovial and carefree smile as he snatched one of the beers from Masha's hands and started drinking immediately, letting the bitter sweetness of the alcohol and its warmth run from his stomach to his head.
"Hey, you shouldn't drink so fast, you're going to end up lying on the floor and I'm going to have to drag you home," Uisuk grumbled while uselessly pleading with Ducanor for some self-control, something he unfortunately didn't know—at least when drinking.
Hebith looked bitter seeing that the day would likely end early because of Ducanor, but setting that aside, she asked Uisuk:
"What were you talking about?"
"Nothing, just commenting that things are probably going to be stirred up in the south because of the Hegemons," Uisuk murmured with a somewhat looser tongue as he drank the first jar of beer flowing through his mouth.
"It won't necessarily be quiet in the north," Hebith murmured, adding on as she saw she had gained the attention not only of Uisuk but even of Ducanor and Masha, who seemed to be competing over who had more stamina in the art of drinking. "After all, there are rumors of an invasion by the Gothic monarch into the lands of the Cyrillic Emperor."
The group's expressions crumpled at that information, although at this point it wasn't something they could control; after all, they were young, they hadn't lived through war. At least in the north, this was still a distant concept despite the tensions between the Hegemons. While the conversation shifted to a tone much too dense for Ducanor's taste, he honestly didn't care much for the geopolitics of the mortal realm; what the Hegemons, the Dragon Sovereign, or even the White King did or didn't do mattered little to him.
"What do you think, Uisuk?" asked Ducanor with a grave voice that resonated throughout the premises. "Do you want to join the army of a lord under the Hegemon, or do you want to be a beast hunter for the rest of your days while we drink beer every day from the bellies of maidens?"
Joyful laughter spread through the surroundings as the other inveterate drunks and diners caught the jovial mood; they were Feysir, they were born for battle, alcohol, and women. If they could, most would also wish to have tits and beer coming out of their nipples. Laughing hysterically at his drunken thoughts, Ducanor threw all his weight onto the fragile chair, causing it to give way to his surprise, falling to the floor on his back. The inn fell slightly silent, while a somewhat dizzy Ducanor stood up almost embarrassed and stained with dust and beer. Unfortunately, Ducanor Kal Arreus had no shame.
"It seems the ancestors want me to drink standing up. Who wants another round of Nox? My treat," with a smile that seemed to almost split his face, typical of a drunkard, Ducanor took another beer from the table while feeling the warmth and thick sweetness of the alcohol reach his stomach along with a sensation that soon all the liquid would rise up his esophagus to his throat.
Laughter expanded as Ducanor grabbed a second chair to sit down with a slightly more sober expression.
"Do you seriously plan to join the Magister?" asked Uisuk with some concern as he watched Ducanor.
He sounded simple. Masha seemed somewhat annoyed by the conversation as she looked away, while Hebith remained silent; they knew each other too well, knew his aspirations. Ducanor would not be content hunting beasts or joining a sect like Uisuk or Hebith herself wanted. Or neither could he be like Masha living in the wild killing beasts. Ducanor had his own path; the thrill of combat, the excitement of fighting with your life on the line, the duel, the murder, the death; and the comforts of civilizations were not things he could give up for the forest and silence, or an ascetic life.
"Of course I do; battle is glory, and spilled blood is the alcohol of the earth. How can we take away the Great Mother's favorite drink?"
And with an excited smile, he awaited the next war, the next battle, his own death.