After stepping out of the priest's tent, Jarius turned his back on the King's Court encampment and set off toward the place where his clansmen awaited.
The war had been won, yet victory offered no immediate freedom—they couldn't leave just yet.
As he departed the King's Court base, a warrior clad in the garb of the Eagle People approached him.
"If you can't abandon your tribe," the warrior said with a knowing glint in his eye, "go back to them for now."
His tone carried an unshakable confidence, as if he were certain—beyond any doubt—that Jarius' path would inevitably lead him back to the King's Court.
And it wasn't just him; every soul in the Eagle People's King's Court seemed to share that same smug assurance.
Then, almost as an afterthought, the warrior added, "Three days from now, there's a grand celebration for the Thunder Titan Yatri.
All the races are preparing it, and you're expected to be there. Everyone will raise their voices in praise of the great Thunder Titan!"
When Jarius finally reunited with his clansmen, they made their way back to the camp where the tribal Eagle People had first settled.
It was there, amid the scattered remnants of their once-proud numbers, that the grim truth struck him like a blade to the chest. Of all the tribal Eagle People who had filled the camp, fewer than one in ten remained. The survivors were hollow shells—tears streaked their faces, and their lifeless gazes mirrored the walking dead.
This war had bled dry the tribes of the Great Wilderness, sapping their strength and spirit alike.
Yet the King's Court loomed above it all, untouchable and aloof, its authority unchallenged by any who still drew breath.
It was only then that Jarius sought answers about his people's fate.
Soren, voice heavy with grief, recounted their ordeal. "After you drew off that two-headed wyvern," he began, "a squad of King's Court Eagle warriors swooped in. They conscripted us on the spot, shoving us into the front lines as cannon fodder to face the griffin swarms loyal to the dragons."The words spilled out like a wound reopened.
"More than a dozen of us fell in moments. If not for the bronze armor shielding us—and the war ending when the Titan giant ripped the Blue Dragon King apart—we'd have lost even more."
Soren's voice grew bitter. "The King's Court warriors? They always hang back, safe at the rear, barking orders while we tribal Eagle People bleed and die.
That's why their losses are so light, war after war, while we're left with barely a handful of survivors!"
The revelation stoked the flames of Jarius' rage toward the Eagle People's King's Court until they roared within him.
He made up his mind then and there: once they returned, he'd turn his back on the King's Court and its commands for good.
As for their foothold in Gaoman Mountain, the moment they found a better place to call home, they'd leave without a second glance.
After all, in a mere year.
The Titans and Dragons would clash in their ultimate showdown—a battle so cataclysmic that the King's Court's very survival hung in doubt.
On the third day.
Jarius sat with his clansmen in the stillness of their camp, waiting in hushed anticipation for the Titan giant's arrival.
The sun blazed at its peak, scorching the earth below.
When a deep, resonant rumble rolled in from the distance—footsteps that shook the ground like the heartbeat of a god.
A Titan giant, towering over two hundred meters, strode into the heart of the assembled camps with deliberate, earth-shattering steps.
Thunder crackled around him, a storm given form, and atop his head sat a grotesque helm forged from a dragon's skull.
Its surface still stained with the reek of ancient blood.
Yatri stood like a colossus, his silhouette piercing the clouds, a monument of raw power.
His gaze drifted downward, surveying the teeming masses of intelligent beings scurrying at his feet—mere ants in his eyes. A flicker of indifference crossed his face, tinged with boredom.
Were it not for the Titan King's cryptic claim that these pitiful creatures harbored the secret to godhood, Yatri wouldn't spare them a thought, let alone their lives.
His voice erupted, a thunderclap that split the sky.
"My servants! Cheer for your master!" he bellowed.
"The great Titans will one day rule all of Felander!"
The sound crashed through the heavens and earth, a tidal wave of oppressive might that swept across the sprawling Vast Sea Forest.
Every living soul buckled under its weight—hearts shuddered, bodies collapsed, forced to the ground by the sheer force of his presence.
This was the might of a Titan giant.
Each one emerged into the world a legend, their power a birthright.
And Yatri? He was no mere Titan but a demigod, a force of nature clad in flesh and thunder.
Jarius felt that crushing aura press him down, driving him to one knee.
But the blood of Titans and Dragons surged through his veins, a legacy of power that snapped him back to clarity in an instant. He lifted his eyes, staring up at the towering figure enthroned among the clouds—a being who stood as though he held the world itself in his grasp. Defiance sparked in Jarius' chest, mingling with a searing ambition that burned brighter than ever.
"I can take his place," he vowed silently, the words a quiet rebellion against the titan above.