Chapter 9: The Titan's Roar
Gray dawn light filtered through low clouds as the convoy wound into the foothills of the Silverspine Mountains. The air carried a metallic chill, hinting at higher altitude. It was day eight of travel, and Asterholt was only two days away by their estimates. Spirits were cautiously high; the worst, it seemed, was behind them.
Connor spent the morning perched at the front of Sela's wagon, the heavy canvas rolled up to let him watch the road ahead. He marveled at the changing landscape. Sheer granite cliffs jutted on either side at times, funneling them through narrow passes. Waterfalls from snowmelt cascaded down mossy rock faces, their mist refreshing on the breeze. The path grew steeper and more rugged, causing wagons to lurch and creak on the incline.
By midday, they reached a plateau known locally as Wind's Corner—an exposed stretch where the mountain winds howled almost constantly. There they paused to let the beasts rest and to scout the upcoming route through the final mountain pass. Connor stepped out with Sela to stretch his legs and gaze upon the valley below. The view was breathtaking: rolling forests giving way to the plains they'd crossed, the thread of the road winding back toward distant Aurelia.
He felt a pang of both pride and disbelief. They had come so far. Through storms, monsters, and human treachery, they had persevered. And he had come far too—from a frightened newcomer to someone who had started to make a difference, however small.
"You've grown quieter these last hours," Sela noted as she approached, handing him a tin cup of hot tea. "Tired?"
"Not exactly," Connor said, sipping. The tea was laced with peppermint and something invigorating. "Just… thinking. About everything."
She nodded, leaning on the wooden fence that marked the overlook's edge. "It's a lot to process. This world has thrown more at you in a month than some face in years."
He traced a finger along the cup's rim. "I keep wondering: why me? Why am I here, doing these things? Some accident of fate… or something more? At times I feel like I'm living someone else's story."
Sela looked at him thoughtfully. "I can't answer the cosmic why. But I know that in the short time I've known you, you've shown more adaptability and courage than many who were born to this life. Maybe fate knew what it was doing putting you here." She offered a small smile. "Or maybe it's all random and we just make the best of it. Either way, you've saved our hides and we'll get you safe to the end."
Connor returned the smile. He realized he'd come to trust Sela implicitly—a trust forged in fire and danger. Having an ally like her made all the difference.
The horn signal came that the scouts had returned. Brynna jogged up the road toward them, armor clanking lightly. "Captain! The path ahead… it's partially blocked. Looks like a recent rockslide in the pass. We can clear it, but it'll take time, and we'll be funnelled in tight."
Sela frowned. "Any sign of instability or more slides?"
"Hard to say. The area's geothermally active—steam vents and such around. Could be naturally caused, but…" Brynna lowered her voice, "the scouts felt watched. Like something big was in the vicinity. No visual, but tracks of smashed trees along one slope."
Connor felt a prickle. Stone-back Titan, came to mind from Yara's mentions. He saw Sela and Brynna exchange a knowing look.
"Alright," Sela said. "Double the perimeter guard. Keep our artillery ready at the rear where they can angle shots up. We'll clear the slide quickly but carefully. If something comes… form circle and hold until it's down."
Brynna nodded and went to relay orders.
Connor's mouth had gone dry. "This… something big. You think it's the Titan, don't you?"
Sela grimly checked her sword's edge. "Possibly. There's been reports of a Titan in these highlands, yes. Pray it's moved on. If not… we'll manage."
He knew their plan: circle wagons, use alchemic artillery and rune-lances to bring it down, if possible. Titans were rare giant beasts with rocky armored hides—some said born of earth elementals. Difficult to kill, extremely strong.
Connor swallowed. Part of him wanted to volunteer help, but what could he really do against a mountain that walks? And he remembered his promise to focus on surviving and not be a reckless hero.
The convoy proceeded into the pass. It was a narrow defile between towering cliffs. Loose stones crunched underwheel, evidence of the slide. Sure enough, not far in, they came upon a massive pile of rubble blocking half the road—boulders and debris that had tumbled from above.
Work crews, mostly the strong shield-maidens and mercs, began prying and shifting the smaller rocks, setting up winch-pulleys to drag larger ones aside. It was arduous but doable. Connor, standing by the wagon, found himself unconsciously attuning his senses, scanning the heights.
He felt it before he heard or saw it—a deep thrumming in the aether, like a low electric hum pressing on his ears. His breath caught.
Then a shout: "Movement up top!"
All eyes snapped upward. On the clifftop silhouetted against the overcast sky, a shape loomed. It was gargantuan—at least five times the height of a person. At first it could be mistaken for part of the mountain itself, a craggy outcrop. But then it moved, stepping forward with a grinding of stone.
Connor's heart thundered. The Titan was a monstrous humanoid figure seemingly carved from the mountain—its skin rough granite, its back covered in jagged protrusions like a shell of boulders (hence stone-back). Two glowing ember-like eyes set in a head without a neck. It opened a maw and bellowed a sound that was half roar, half avalanche.
"Titan! Form up!" Sela roared.
The convoy exploded into action. Wagons were pulled tight, forming a makeshift circle in the widest part of the pass they could manage. Knights and guards raised weapons. The artillery crew cranked their field cannon, aiming it upward.
The Titan, spurred by either territorial rage or hunger, began its descent. It didn't climb so much as step off the edge of the cliff—sliding down the slope with thunderous impacts as it used its weight to break its fall, each step shaking the ground.
It reached the base of the cliffs with alarming speed, now only a hundred yards from the convoy. Up close, it was even more terrifying—four arms, each ending in a massive stony club-like fist, and a barrel chest that glowed faintly with cracks of inner heat. It roared again, the force of it like a gale that sent dust flying.
"Hold... hold…" Brynna ordered her archers, waiting for optimum range.
The Titan lumbered forward, surprisingly fast for something so huge, each footstep quaking. When it was fifty yards out, Sela gave the command: "Loose!"
The alchemists fired the cannon with a boom, launching a volatile sphere that struck the Titan's shoulder and exploded in a brilliant flash. Simultaneously, archers fired bolts inscribed with shatter runes that detonated on impact, and knights braced spears crackling with energy.
The valley echoed with blasts and the Titan's enraged bellows. Chunks of stone chipped off its body where hits landed, but it barely slowed. It swung one mighty arm and hurled a boulder—likely a piece of itself or the ground—straight at the convoy.
"Look out!" someone screamed. The boulder sailed in a high arc. Most scattered, but one young squire—a girl of maybe sixteen carrying a quiver to an archer—froze in its path, eyes wide.
Connor's heart lurched. In that instant, time seemed to slow. The boulder, the size of a barrel, tumbled end over end. The squire, petrified, was directly beneath where it would land. Others were too far to grab her in time.
Without thinking, Connor moved. He flung out his hand and reached with his power toward the falling mass. Unlike the lamia, this was even larger, heavier—an entire weight of rock. But something in him, some reserve he didn't know he had, surged. Perhaps it was the mathematical clarity of its trajectory, his mind perceiving angles and vectors instinctively. Perhaps sheer adrenaline. He visualized catching the boulder in a giant invisible hand and pushing its course aside.
His muscles tensed, his teeth bared in effort. At the last possible second, the boulder's path curved—just a little, but enough that instead of crushing the squire, it crashed into an empty wagon behind her. The wagon exploded in splinters.
Connor gasped, dropping to one knee as a wave of vertigo punched him. Warm wetness trickled from his nose—he wiped and saw blood. The world tilted, but through blurred vision he saw the squire unharmed, scrambling away in shock.
Then he heard Zara's voice near him, astonished: "He deflected it… Saints alive."
There was no time to reflect. The Titan was still advancing, though now with one arm hanging oddly from the cannon blast. It slammed into the ring of wagons, swatting one aside like a toy. Screams rang out.
But as it breached the circle, the convoy fought back fiercely. Brynna led a trio of knights who dashed under the Titan's swing to slice at its legs with rune-blades, leaving glowing cracks. Zara fired bolt after bolt at its eye sockets. Sela donned a gauntlet with an etched sigil and from it shot a focused beam of white-hot energy that lanced into the creature's chest, causing it to recoil.
The Titan tried to smash downward with both upper fists, but one fist met a shimmering magical shield—Zara had thrown a barrier sigil in its path—and the other glanced off a wagon's reinforced frame (the wagon Connor had been in, ironically, warded to resist attack).
Staggered by the combined assault, the Titan gave one last groan of pain. It teetered, its rocky knees buckling as the runic energy from the knights' blades ate away at its joints. With a thunderous crash, the giant fell backward, collapsing onto the slope from which it came. The ground rumbled with aftershocks.
"Don't let up!" Sela yelled. The artillery crew fired a second shot directly into the downed Titan's midsection. An explosion spouted flame and debris. When the smoke cleared, the Titan lay still, a gaping molten crack in its torso oozing magma-like ichor.
Silence fell save for the ragged panting of the survivors and the crackle of a small brush fire from the blasts (quickly being doused by a few quick-thinkers with dirt and water).
They had done it. The Titan was slain.
Connor, head still spinning, felt strong arms help him up—It was the young squire he'd saved, her face streaked with dust and tears. "S-sir, are you alright? You saved me, I think, you—"
He managed a nod, though he felt like he might faint. "I'm okay. You?"
She let out a half-sob, half-laugh. "Yes… thanks to you." Impulsively, she hugged him, then remembered herself and stepped back, bowing deeply. "I owe you my life. A-all of us do," she stammered, as others began to gather around.
Connor became aware that many were looking at him. Not just checking on him, but looking at him with a kind of awe. He'd been at the center of two miracles today: the warning of the lamias days before, and now visibly diverting a boulder mid-air. It was getting harder to downplay his role as mere luck.
Sela pushed through the crowd, relief evident in her eyes when she saw him standing. "Connor." She clasped his shoulders. "That was…" She shook her head as if in disbelief, then simply pulled him into a brief, fierce embrace. "Thank you," she whispered near his ear.
He felt heat rise to his cheeks but patted her back. "I couldn't let her die."
Sela released him, nodding. By now Brynna and others were assessing the aftermath. Miraculously, no one had been killed. A few broken bones, several bruises and cuts, one wagon destroyed and two damaged, but all lives intact.
As medics attended the injured, a cheer suddenly rose from a cluster of mercenaries and squires. "Three cheers for Sir Connor, the Titan-tumbler!" one hollered.
Connor cringed at the moniker, but the cheer took on life. People were elated and needed to celebrate something. The cry was picked up around: "Titan-tumbler! Omen's luck! Hurrah!"
He wanted to protest that it was everyone's victory, not his alone, but his voice would be lost in the adulation. Sela gave him a sympathetic half-smile. "Just smile and wave," she teased quietly.
So he managed a faint wave, and the crowd whooped. It was absurd, really—he'd barely done anything, just nudged a rock. The women had felled the beast. But he understood; symbolism sometimes mattered more than facts. In their eyes, his presence truly had brought fortune: no casualties against a Titan was no small feat.
As the adrenaline faded, Connor's nosebleed stopped, but a pounding headache set in. He slumped on a rock while others cleared what remained of the slide (ironically, the Titan's fall had also knocked aside much of the rubble, inadvertently clearing the road).
Zara passed by and placed something heavy and cool in his hands. It was one of the Titan's smaller stone scales from its back—a grey fragment the size of a plate. "For you," she said with a rare grin. "Trophy. Proof that we fought a mountain and lived."
He managed a smile. "Thanks. I'll treasure it." It was ridiculously heavy; he set it down beside him, doubting he'd carry it all the way, but touched by the gesture.
By late afternoon, they were moving again, limping out of the pass and down into the final valley before Asterholt. Connor rode atop a wagon next to Thea for fresh air, swaddled in a blanket as he recovered. Thea was bubbling over with recounting the sight of the Titan fight—she had watched from a safe distance, thankfully. He mostly just listened and nodded.
Finally, as the sun dipped low, the walls of Asterholt came into view. Tall and made of black stone, they encircled a city perched against the mountains, with towers at intervals flying royal banners. Connor's heart quickened at the sight of destination. Smoke rose from chimneys within, and even from here he heard the faint clang of an evening bell.
A small delegation rode out to greet them on the road—a unit of Asterholt's city guard, all women of course, led by a silver-haired officer. Upon seeing the convoy and learning of its trials (word spread ahead via communication crystals, perhaps), she personally welcomed Connor: "It is our honor to receive you, Sir Connor. Asterholt stands ready to protect you."
As the gates opened and he passed under the portcullis, Connor felt a flood of emotions: relief, triumph, fatigue, anxiety for what lay ahead. The fortress-city was smaller than Aurelia but bustling. Cobblestone streets paved the way, lined with sturdy timber-and-stone houses. People paused and stared as the convoy entered—news had clearly preceded him here as well. Whispers of "the man from the capital" and "male mage?" swirled. Some cheered (likely stories of the Titan fight already embellished). Connor only half-registered the fanfare.
They brought him to Asterholt's keep where quarters were prepared. In a grand torch-lit hall, after brief formalities, he was finally left in relative peace with Sela, Yara, and Marisela—who to his surprise was present, having arrived by an earlier airship once the city was deemed safe.
Marisela's warm hug nearly brought him to tears; he hadn't realized how desperately he missed her comforting presence. She fussed over him, scolding softly about how thin he'd gotten, how pale. He endured it with a grateful grin.
As night fell, Connor settled onto a real bed in the keep's guest wing—a luxury after days of cots and wagon floors. Clean linen, a mattress that didn't sway with every bump. He exhaled, staring at the stone ceiling engraved with protective sigils.
He was alive. The journey was over, but in truth, a larger journey lay ahead—life in Asterholt, forging his path further, uncovering more of his magic, navigating the politics anew. But he felt more prepared now. Hardened, if gently, by the road of iron petals that he had traveled.
He thought of Thea and Zara and even that young squire—all who had now gravitated toward him in friendship after starting as strangers or even foes. That gave him hope. He thought of Sela's unwavering support and Marisela's love. That gave him strength.
In the quiet of his room, he took out his journal by lamplight and wrote a few lines, summarizing the journey for himself: Ten days, two ambushes, one betrayal, one Titan, countless lessons. I have seen what this world truly is beyond the city: beautiful, perilous, and alive. I have been a pawn, a cargo, a lucky charm… and perhaps a friend, even a hero to some. But I remain myself, Connor. And I won't waste this chance fate gave me.
He underlined that last sentence. Then closed the journal.
As he blew out the lamp and lay back, he felt the faint tingle of Asterholt's protective wards hum through the stone walls—a comforting, thrumming lullaby of security. Outside, the night watch called the all's-well.
Connor closed his eyes. In his mind, he didn't see lamia fangs or Titan fists in that moment, but rather the faces of those he had come to care for on this journey. And he knew they would face whatever came next together.
He drifted to sleep, a quiet blade being sharpened for the trials to come, not yet swung—but no longer merely an echo in a foreign world. He was finding his voice, step by step, on the road of iron petals that had led him here.