Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Silverwood Realm, The Stillness.

In the eastern quarter of the stronghold, inside the newly raised wooden walls, a small grove of trees had been left to flourish. Tucked within the canopy, a series of treehouses had been constructed, built by Aerin and a small team of Wood Elves as a sanctuary for their own.

Now, Aerin stood before the hundred or so survivors they had just brought back to camp. Xylia and Angel flanked her, their expressions a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

"Everyone," Aerin began, her voice carrying through the quiet grove. She had meant to offer a simple greeting, but looking into their haunted eyes, she changed course. "You're safe now."

Safe.

The word hung in the air, a promise more precious than gold to this ragged band of refugees. If this place could truly offer them that, they would cherish it with everything they had left.

"This is the new home of the Wood Elves," she continued, gesturing to the homes woven into the branches around them. "These treehouses are for you."

Her next words were a gentle command. "Get some real rest. Sleep soundly. When you wake, we will begin to rebuild."

Aerin had a list of rules and camp protocols to review, but she bit them back. The raw, skittish fear in their eyes was a clear warning. Her gaze softened. The rules can wait. They're still running in their heads. Don't push them.

After a meager meal, the exhausted elves didn't claim individual homes. Instead, they huddled together in a few of the largest treehouses, finding solace in proximity as they finally succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.

"They haven't processed it yet," Xylia murmured, her eyes fixed on one of the overcrowded dwellings. "They're still not letting their guard down." Her voice was laced with a profound sadness. By tradition, a Wood Elf's home was a private, solitary space. That they would choose to cram together like this spoke volumes of the terror they had endured.

"They will," Aerin said, though her expression was more complex. A quiet satisfaction simmered beneath her concern. With every Wood Elf we bring in, our voice in this place grows stronger.

She was no longer a general without an army. More numbers meant more influence, more resources directed their way.

She turned to her lieutenant. "You can't blame them. The world outside these walls is crawling with demonic monsters. A little paranoia is what keeps you alive out there." She paused, placing a hand on Xylia's shoulder. "Our people value peace, but we can't afford to lose our edge. Or our teeth. Thank you for bringing so many of them home."

As the highest-ranking elder, it was on her to rally her people, to thank them, to give them purpose.

"It was my duty, Elder," Xylia replied, shaking her head. There was no pride in her voice, only the weary frustration of a soldier who knew the war was far from over. "But I can't cover enough ground. We need more search parties." A Wood Elf was always the best choice to find another, to build the instant trust needed to convince a terrified survivor to come out of hiding.

"Tomorrow," Aerin said, her tone firm and decisive. "When they've rested. We'll pick out the ones who can still fight. Half of them will go with you to expand the search. The other half stays with me. We fortify our new home."

The Stillness had erected a basic wooden palisade against the demonic hordes, but it was just timber. It was the task assigned to the Wood Elves—their first official duty—to truly harden it with their nature-binding rites.

"Xylia," Aerin said, her voice dropping slightly. "My lord has officially ceded this entire eastern quarter to us." She swept her arm out, indicating the open land and the surrounding forest. "Any of our people who complete their duties to the settlement can claim a plot here. They can build a home, plant magical herbs, grow their own food."

She let the words sink in. "The days of peace and security are within our grasp again."

Xylia's eyes went wide. "Elder… is that true?"

"My lord gave me his word."

"That's… that's incredible." Xylia was stunned. She knew they'd have to earn their keep, but she never imagined they would be granted their own territory, their own autonomy, so quickly.

"You need to understand something, Xylia. We are not useless refugees here." Aerin's voice was sharp, cutting through the evening chill. "We aren't front-line fighters, but we can communicate with the earth. We can make it yield. My lord's armies and his people need to eat. The demand for food will be immense. That is why we were welcomed. We are needed."

The cold, pragmatic logic of it—a relationship built on mutual need rather than charity—was more reassuring than any empty platitude. Being useful was the surest path to being safe.

Aerin knew this was the message Xylia had to spread. It was the emotional rations her people needed, just as vital as the food and shelter she provided. It was the first step to making them feel safe enough to sleep in their own homes again.

Beyond the Forest of Nature, the Black Tower, a demonic nest.

On the fourth floor of the tower, inside a vast, cathedral-like space shrouded in shadow, the Mist Wraith lord Rize stared at a shattered statue, his expression unreadable.

Dead, then?

The thought slithered through his mind. The statue had been a likeness of Hebika, the Cyclopes lord. Like all the tower's masters, a sliver of his life essence had been bound to it.

"Predictable," Rize murmured to the oppressive silence. The bigger the brute, the faster they fall.

His gaze shifted from the rubble on the floor, turning towards the distant canopy of the Forest of Nature, where his demonic hordes continued to pour in and vanish.

Something is happening in that forest. Something I wasn't prepared for and am in no hurry to confront myself.

He had his answer. Now came the careful calculation.

I'll escalate this. Report it up the chain. Let them know the asset has been lost. He considered his next move. Only when the High Priestess returns to the Black Tower will it be safe enough for me to venture into that forest myself.

Rize was no fool. When he first sensed the anomaly in the forest, he hadn't charged in. He had used a few choice words to provoke the arrogant Cyclopes, needling Hebika's pride until the brute had volunteered to investigate himself.

Now Hebika's death served as a valuable piece of intel: the enemy was not to be trifled with.

The conniving bastard had played his pawn perfectly.

"Send out the scouts," Rize commanded, his voice a disembodied hiss in the darkness. "Continue reconnaissance of the forest's depths. I want to know exactly what broke my toy."