Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Emerald Dream Realm, City of Lorelia.

The moment the great gates of the Dragon Crucible ground open, the trial was officially over.

Rolan strode out, his shoulders set broader than before. The first thing he saw was the waiting crowd: Lilith, Pallas, Elara, and the rest of the elders.

"Mistress Lilith, Elders…" Rolan gave a firm, respectful nod to the assembly. He was the last one to emerge from the Crucible.

"There you are." Lilith pulled Rolan into a warm embrace, then held him at arm's length, her hands instinctively straightening the collar of his worn tunic. "Look at you. Taller, stronger."

It was true. The Crucible had reforged him. The power thrumming in his veins had added a new density to his frame.

"Hah! That's Orion's disciple, all right!" Rendall's booming laugh echoed across the plaza as he clapped a heavy hand on Rolan's shoulder. "Not even a man grown and already hit Alpha-level. The youngest elder in the history of the Stoneheart Horde."

"Damn right," another elder chimed in.

"You've already caught up to us old-timers. Keep this up, and you'll be on your mentor's heels before you know it." Rendall's eyes, usually clouded with age, were sharp with pride.

Rolan's ascension wasn't just a personal victory; it was a signal. The new generation of the Stoneheart Horde was here, and he was at the crest of the wave.

"Heh, you're giving me too much credit," Rolan said with a sheepish grin, though a thrill of pure joy shot through him. Reaching Alpha-level was a huge milestone. As Orion's only disciple, the pressure he put on himself was immense. All those brutal training sessions, all the sweat and blood—it had finally paid off. Orion was his goal, but catching up to his mentor? Yeah, right. Not in this lifetime. He knew the chasm that still separated them.

"Don't be so modest," Rendall insisted, his mood infectious. "Your mentor has enough humility for the both of you. Don't be afraid to own your strength. It's not a bad thing."

The old warrior was practically glowing. The Crucible's energies had benefited him as well, pushing him from late-stage Alpha to Alpha-peak and putting the rank of Lord within his grasp. The path was still unclear, but a spark of hope had been rekindled in him, a fire that had long since dwindled to embers. His eyes were brighter now.

Behind him, Onyx, Thundar, and Fergus were all grinning, buzzing with their own newfound power. Onyx, while still at Alpha-peak, now carried himself with a deeper, more condensed energy, like a coiled spring.

"Well, the whole gang's here," Rendall declared, turning to Onyx. "It's been too long. What say we grab a round and celebrate properly?"

Onyx nodded in agreement, then glanced toward Lilith for the final say.

Lilith smiled and gently patted Lorelia's head. "The city of Lorelia is your fiefdom, isn't it? Aren't you going to play host for your people?"

Never one to miss a party, Lorelia's eyes went wide. A huge grin spread across her face.

"Alright, listen up! Elders, everyone, all you younglings!" she yelled, projecting her voice across the plaza. "As long as you're in Lorelia, all the food and drink is on me!" She puffed out her chest, every bit the generous ruler.

A massive cheer erupted from the crowd, a chorus of praise for Lorelia's generosity.

As the noise died down, her mischievous voice piped up again. "But hey, house rules still apply! My Mistress and I just got promoted to Lord and became Wardens. You guys didn't forget our gifts, did you?"

A moment of stunned silence fell over the crowd.

Then, it broke in a wave of roaring, heartfelt laughter.

"Don't you worry, Warden! Your gift is on its way!"

"Yeah, we wouldn't forget your cut!"

.....

Silverwood Realm, The Stillness.

With Caesar and Xylia having rescued several hundred more of their kin, the once-empty settlement was now bustling, humming with the vibrant energy of the Wood Elves.

It was a welcome sight, but Orion knew it was time for structure. He summoned Aerin and Xylia to the castle's war room.

"Our ultimate goal isn't just the Forest of Nature," he began, his voice calm but absolute. "It's the lands beyond it. In my grand design, the Forest itself will be granted to the Wood Elves. It is, after all, your natural home."

This had always been the coalition's plan. Orion knew it, Tangere and Caesar knew it, and Aerin knew it. You don't call allies to war without promising them a share of the spoils.

But Xylia and the rest of the rescued Wood Elves were not privy to these high-level discussions. Without Orion's express permission, Aerin couldn't simply spread that information. Now, he was giving that permission, speaking not just to Xylia, but through her to her entire people.

"However," he continued, his gaze hardening slightly, "before that happens, I require a complete reintegration of the Wood Elf race. I have no use for a people who have abandoned their strength, who know only of peace and tranquility. That path leads to extinction."

He looked from Aerin to Xylia, the two de facto leaders of their people—one handling internal affairs, the other external. A decent pairing.

"You are my vassals now. That means you will serve me, and you will fight for me. Periodically, the Wood Elf race will provide a levy of troops to serve and train within my armies."

His tone was flat, devoid of negotiation. It was an order.

"Aerin. Xylia." He pinned them with his gaze. "For the future of your people, can you do this?"

"My lord, we will obey your command," Aerin said, her voice firm.

"We will obey, my lord," Xylia echoed, her resolve just as strong.

The recent war had been a brutal but necessary lesson. Their old ways might have bought them temporary peace, but they would never guarantee lasting security. If you don't want to be the one on the receiving end of the whip, you'd better be the one holding it.

"You must understand," Orion added, driving the point home. "There is a world of difference between being defenseless and choosing not to draw your sword."

The Stoneheart Horde didn't need the Wood Elves to be aggressors—in fact, their pacifist nature was a strategic asset. But they could not afford for them to be weak. Their entire culture had to be reforged.

Now, in the ashes of their former lives, was the perfect time to tear down the old traditions and build something new, something stronger. Orion saw it as his duty to guide them.

"Now," he said, leaning over the tactical map on the table, "we need to re-evaluate the classifications of your people."