That night, the village was full. The Elves slept in the guest houses, fascinated by the wooden architecture.

  But the Giants were too big for any roof. Cian, who had ridden over from the East, had an idea.

  “The Old Mine,” Cian suggested. “We don’t dig there anymore, but the Luminous Moss has taken over.”

  They led Halin and his scouts to the abandoned cavern. Inside, it wasn't dark. Thousands of bioluminescent plants glowed in soft blues and greens, illuminating the massive cavern walls.

  “It’s beautiful,” Halin whispered, his voice echoing.

  The Giants laid out their bedrolls on the smooth stone floor, surrounded by the galaxy of earth-stars, resting for the long journey into the unknown.

  The morning sun glinted off the polished steel of the Western Expedition force. Dorian stood by the lead wagon, checking the axle grease. His men were armed with the West’s latest invention: Flintlock Rifles with bayonets attached.

  The Elven Guides stared at the wooden stocks and iron barrels with confusion.

  “Why do your spears look like that?” one Elf asked, tilting his head. “They are heavy and blunt. How do you throw them?”

  “It’s not a spear,” Dorian smiled. He signaled a soldier. “Demonstrate. Target that pumpkin on the fence.”

  The soldier raised the rifle. The Giants covered their ears instinctively, though they didn't know why.

  CRACK-BOOM.

  A cloud of white smoke erupted from the barrel. The pumpkin fifty yards away exploded into orange mist.

  The Elves jumped, their hands flying to their own weapons. Halin blinked, looking from the gun to the destroyed pumpkin.

  “So, it is a small cannon?” Halin asked, impressed.

  “Something like that,” Dorian answered, taking the rifle to reload it. The smell of sulfur and burnt saltpeter filled the crisp morning air—a smell of industry.

  “Is that necessary?” Halin asked, gesturing to the peaceful morning.

  “Better to have it and not need it,” Dorian replied, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “Let’s move.”

  The expedition set off. The Magic Compass that Arin gave them hummed, its needle swinging firmly North, ignoring the established trade roads to the East.

  “It points straight through the wild lands,” Dorian noted. “The shortest path.”

  They crossed the Endless Grasslands, where the wind rippled the grass like a green ocean. But soon, the green faded to brown, and then to a blinding white.

  The Endless Sands stretched before them.

  The horses balked, their hooves sinking deep into the shifting dunes. The heavy supply wagons groaned and stuck fast.

  “We have to stop,” Dorian shouted over the wind, wiping grit from his face. “The wheels are sinking. And we are burning through our water.”

  One of the Elven Guides stepped forward. He didn't look worried. He pulled a glowing crystal—a shard of the Tree of Life—from his pack. He whispered a melodic incantation and touched the lead wagon.

  Hummmm.

  The heavy timber wagon shuddered, then lifted six inches off the sand. It hovered there, defying gravity.

  Dorian stared, his mouth falling open. He crawled under the wagon, waving his hand in the empty space between the wheel and the sand. “Frictionless movement? But... the displacement... the energy source...”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Halin chuckled, patting the shocked human on the back. “Magic doesn't care about your physics, Dorian.”

  With the wagons floating like boats, the expedition crossed the desert in record time. Far to the East, they saw the faint outline of a sandstone village (The Haven), but the compass urged them onward, so they did not stop.

  Days later, the dry heat vanished, replaced by a wall of humidity. They had reached the Jungle Edge.

  They set up camp near the tree line. Dorian was cleaning his rifle, exhausted. But as the first light of dawn touched the canopy, the Elven Guides woke everyone with urgent whispers.

  “We must leave. Now.”

  The Elf held up the Bio-Map. The hologram was terrifying. A swarm of Red Dots was encircling their camp.

  “Predators?” Dorian asked, grabbing his gear.

  “Too organized,” the Elf whispered. “We are being hunted.”

  Panic ensued. “Move! Get to the Sanctuary!” Halin roared, lifting a stuck wagon with his bare hands to get it moving.

  The team sprinted into the dense brush. In the chaos, a supply wagon hit a massive tree root. A crate toppled off. A Flintlock Rifle and a pouch of powder slid into the tall ferns.

  “Leave it!” Dorian shouted to a soldier trying to go back. “Run!”

  They disappeared into the trees just as the pursuers arrived.

  Moments later, the brush parted. It wasn't a lizard. It was a woman with wings like stained glass.

  Juna, the Fairy Queen, stepped into the clearing. The "Red Dots" were her wolves and bears, hiding in the shadows. She watched the strangers fleeing toward the Elf City.

  She looked down. Lying in the ferns was the dropped rifle.

  She picked it up. It was heavy, cold, and smelled of death (gunpowder). She didn't know what it was, but she felt the latent violence in the mechanism.

  “Iron and fire,” Juna whispered, examining the trigger. “The outsiders bring new toys.”

  She slung the rifle over her shoulder and vanished back into the shadows.

  Safe within the Crystal City, the expedition caught their breath. The iron bars of the intake tower slammed shut behind them.

  Arin descended from the canopy on his floating disk. He landed in front of the group.

  “You made it,” Arin said, looking at the diverse group: A Giant covered in snow-gear, a Human covered in desert dust, and his own Elves.

  “Arin,” Halin said, stepping forward. “I have brought him. This is Dorian, King of the West.”

  Dorian stepped forward. He was tired, thirsty, and awestruck by the glowing city. He performed a clumsy but respectful bow.

  “Your city is... impossible,” Dorian breathed. “But magnificent.”

  Arin smiled. “And your journey was perilous. Come. Let us sit.”

  For the first time in history, the three leaders—Giant, Human, and Elf—sat around the silver table.

  “We have strength,” Halin said. “We have magic,” Arin said. “And we have a problem,” Dorian finished, pointing to the red dots on the map. “So... let’s get to work.”

  While the alliances in the mortal world were forging new bonds, the atmosphere in the Divine Living Room was thick with suspicion.

  Isolde and Amara walked down the stairs together, refreshed. They stopped at the bottom, scanning the room. The hologram table was off. The chair was empty.

  “Where is Valerius?” Isolde asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Nara,” Amara turned to her sister, who was sitting on the sofa staring intensely at the ceiling. “Did you see him last night? You were the only one awake.”

  “I... I just...” Nara’s mouth trembled. She avoided eye contact, fixing her gaze on a speck of dust on the chandelier. “I just came down for some snacks.”

  “Oh really?” Isolde crossed her arms, tilting her head with a detective’s sharpness. “And how were the snacks?”

  “It’s... good. Very yogurt-y,” Nara answered, her voice squeaking slightly.

  “Okay, so did you see him?” Amara pressed, stepping closer.

  Nara looked left, then right. There was no escape. She sighed, her shoulders slumping.

  “Okay, fine. I saw him,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And... I might have been a little too aggressive with him.”

  Her face turned a shade of pink that matched her pajamas.

  “What did you do?” Isolde asked, raising an eyebrow high enough to hit her hairline.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “I... I boxed him in against the fridge and...” Nara paused, biting her lip.

  “And?” Isolde and Amara asked in perfect unison.

  “That should be enough! I know you all understand!” Nara shouted, turning away to hide her burning red face. “I just... seized the moment!”

  “I’m not judging,” Amara laughed, touching Nara’s shoulder gently. “I just wanted to know why he disappeared. He usually says goodnight.”

  “I don’t know,” Nara mumbled into a pillow. “He just vanished into thin air. I think I broke him.”

  “Did someone file a missing person report?”

  A familiar voice boomed from the front door.

  “Valerius!” The goddesses shouted together.

  They rushed to him. Isolde got there first, hugging him tightly, followed by the others.

  “Where have you been?” Isolde asked, pulling back to inspect him for damage.

  “You can’t live without me for an hour?” Valerius chuckled, patting her head.

  “We can,” Amara said, leaning back to look at his face, checking for lipstick marks. “But at least tell us where you’re going. Nara thought she scared you off to another dimension.”

  “I didn't run away,” Valerius explained. “I went to find something to do. Nara mentioned missing concerts yesterday.”

  He jerked his thumb toward the glass doors. “So, I made one.”

  They walked out onto the Endless Grassland.

  It had transformed. Valerius had constructed a massive stage with towering speakers, a flashing disco floor, and four floating microphones.

  “I think... something is still missing,” Amara hummed, looking at the setup.

  “Food. I know,” Valerius said. “My processor is good at building structures, not flavors.”

  “Exactly.” Amara turned to Isolde.

  “I can’t help with that,” Valerius shrugged. “But someone around here is the best cook in the universe.”

  Isolde beamed. “Sure! I will prepare it. Give me five minutes!” She rushed back to the kitchen, her earlier interrogation forgotten.

  Nara lingered behind, holding Valerius’s arm.

  “Hey, we’re not done yet,” she whispered, eyes narrowing playfully. “You still owe me a conversation.”

  “I think you really scared him,” Amara whispered to Nara from the other side.

  “Don’t worry,” Nara said, tightening her grip on his bicep. “I won’t let you out of my sight again.”

  Then, Amara slipped her hand into Valerius’s other hand. “I’m not letting go either.”

  “Hey! Which side are you on?” Nara yelled, betrayed.

  “I am on my own side,” Amara chuckled, leaning her head on his shoulder.

  Valerius looked at his two sisters clinging to him and laughed—a genuine, human sound. “Okay, enough debate. Let’s just have fun.”

  “The food is here!” Isolde called out, floating a massive platter of golden roasted meats and fruits out to the lawn.

  For an hour, the pocket dimension echoed with music. They didn't act like gods; they acted like teenagers. They sang songs from their stored memories of Earth, they danced badly on the light-floor, and they ate until they collapsed on the soft grass, breathless and happy.

  "We wished to be together forever," Isolde whispered, looking up at the artificial stars Valerius had programmed.

  "And it came true," Amara smiled, tracing a constellation with her finger. "It’s a blessing, not a curse."

  Valerius smiled, finally at peace. His internal fans slowed down. "As long as we are together, it is the best."

  Suddenly.

  FLASH.

  A blinding white light erupted in the deep space of the simulation—not from Valerius’s program, but from outside the boundaries of their pocket dimension. The ground shook violently.

  “Did two stars collide?” Nara asked, sitting up and shielding her eyes.

  “No,” Isolde said, her voice trembling. She clutched her chest. “That felt different. I felt... death. And life. Screaming together.”

  Valerius sprang into action. The relaxed brother was gone; the Admin was back.

  He raised his hand. “System Override.”

  He conjured a sleek, silver Satellite Rocket from the grass. With a wave of his hand, the engines ignited.

  BOOM.

  The rocket shot into the sky, tearing through the artificial atmosphere to investigate the source of the flash.

  “Something is coming,” Valerius whispered, watching the trail of smoke. “Something that isn't part of the code.”

  High in Frosthold, the air in the Chieftain’s Hall was colder than the glacier outside. Gorak, the High Chief, sat on his throne of black basalt. He had waited three weeks.

  Halin had not reported in.

  “Umber!” Gorak roared. The sound shook the icicles from the ceiling.

  Umber, a younger giant and Halin’s friend, rushed in, bowing low. “Sir!”

  “Where is your little friend now?” Gorak stood up, grabbing his massive double-headed battle axe. “He bypasses my city? He brings Elves to my borders? And now he vanishes?”

  “I... I am not sure, sir,” Umber stammered, looking at the floor.

  “Is there anyone who knows?!” Gorak bellowed to the silent hall.

  From the shadows, a patrol guard stepped forward. “My Lord... I saw tracks. Halin traveled Southwest. To the Human Lands. He did not stop to rest.”

  Gorak’s eyes narrowed. “He runs to his pets. Prepare the Warband. I will go to the Human Land myself. Tomorrow.”

  As Gorak stormed out to sharpen his axe, Umber walked to the city gates. He looked South, the wind biting his face.

  “Hope everything is alright, Halin,” Umber whispered. “Because the avalanche is coming.”

  The next morning, the ground shook in the Western Village.

  “Giants approaching!” The watchtower bell rang frantically.

  The village guards rushed to the main gate. “Open the gates! Slowly!” the Captain ordered, assuming it was Halin returning for trade.

  But the gates didn't open fast enough.

  CRASH.

  Massive hands gripped the top of the timber doors. Wood splintered and iron hinges screamed as Gorak simply shoved the gates inward, snapping the locking bar like a twig.

  The villagers screamed and scattered. This was not the polite Diplomat. This was a monster.

  “WHERE IS HALIN?!” Gorak roared. His voice shattered windows in the nearby houses.

  The Captain of the Guard rallied his men. “Hold the line!”

  Fifty soldiers aimed their Flintlock Rifles at the towering intruder. But Gorak ignored them. He marched toward the Town Hall.

  “I am Gorak of the North!” he announced, swinging his axe to rest on his shoulder. “I am here to find the traitor Halin!”

  “He is not here.”

  The voice was small but steady. Serena stepped out of the Town Hall. She wore a simple dress, but her posture was rigid.

  “He headed North with our King,” she said, looking up—way up—at the giant.

  The Captain turned pale. “Madam! Get back!”

  It was too late. Gorak sneered. He reached down and snatched Serena up in one hand, lifting her twenty feet into the air.

  “NO!” The Captain screamed. Every rifle hammer clicked back. On the rooftops, the concealed Cannons rotated, aiming directly at Gorak’s chest.

  Gorak brought Serena close to his face. Her legs dangled in the air. She was trembling, but her eyes were fierce.

  “Who are you?” Gorak growled, his breath smelling of raw meat. “How dare you speak to a King, little thing?”

  “I am the Queen of the West,” Serena said, her voice shaking but audible. “Put me down. or none of you will leave this village alive.”

  Behind her back, her fingers were white-knuckled around the grip of a Flintlock Pistol.

  Gorak paused. He looked around. He saw the rifles. He saw the cannons on the roofs. He saw the Captain holding a Flare Gun, ready to signal Cian’s army in the East.

  One of Gorak’s lieutenants stepped close to his leg. “Chief... we cannot resist their firepower. Look at the roofs. They have the Thunder-Tubes.”

  Gorak ground his teeth. He wasn't afraid of dying, but he wouldn't throw his army away for nothing.

  He lowered his hand and dropped Serena. She landed gracefully, stumbling only slightly.

  “Are you alright?” The Captain rushed to her side, shielding her.

  “I’m okay,” Serena whispered, sliding the pistol back into her dress pocket. She looked at Gorak. “Dorian has to know this.”

  “He will,” the Captain promised.

  Gorak spat on the ground. “If he is North... then I will drag him out of the snow myself.”

  He turned his army around and marched out of the shattered gate.

  Driven by paranoia and rage, Gorak forced his troops to march North, past the mountains, aiming for the "Jungle" the scout had mentioned.

  But to get there directly, they had to cross the edge of the Great Desert.

  They marched until the snow ended. Then the grass ended. And then... the heat hit them.

  It was a physical wall. The Giants, evolved for deep frost with thick layers of fat and insulating skin, began to suffer immediately. Steam rose from their bodies. Their skin blistered under the relentless sun.

  Gorak stopped. He looked at the endless shimmering dunes. His breathing was heavy, his lungs burning.

  “Water...” a soldier gasped, collapsing to his knees.

  Gorak looked at the horizon. He knew that without magic or preparation, his army would cook in their own skin within a day.

  “Turn back,” Gorak growled, frustrated, slamming the butt of his axe into the sand.

  “But Sir... Halin?”

  “If Halin went this way,” Gorak said, looking at the lethal desert, “then he is dead. The sun has claimed him.”

  They turned around, taking the long road back to the frozen North, leaving the mystery of the Jungle for another day.

  Back in the humidity of the Crystal City, Arin gathered the alliance around the silver table. He waved his hand, and the map shimmered with new data.

  “This is the latest calibration,” Arin explained. “We tuned the sensors to identify biological structures, not just life force.”

  He zoomed in on a cluster of dots near the Southern Jungle border. The hologram resolved into a wireframe shape: A humanoid figure, but with four distinct, fluttering appendages on its back.

  “From what we have seen,” the Elven Geographer noted, “there are two more species that look like us. One is the Winged Kin.”

  Halin sat on a smooth white stone bench, leaning in. “Fairies? Like in the children’s stories?”

  “It seems they are real,” Arin nodded. “And they are organized.”

  “Let’s go find them,” Dorian said, standing up with renewed energy. “If they are intelligent, they can be allies.”

  “We can do this,” Arin agreed. “My scouts can—”

  The sound of heavy boots sprinting on the wooden walkway interrupted them. A Human Messenger, covered in sweat and mud, burst into the council chamber.

  “My Lord!” the messenger gasped, dropping to one knee. “There is trouble in the West.”

  Dorian spun around. “What happened?”

  “A Giant,” the messenger wheezed. “Named Gorak. He attacked the village. He broke the gate... he threatened Lady Serena.”

  The room went deadly silent. Dorian’s face went pale, then red. He turned slowly to Halin.

  “My messenger reports that your Giant attacked my village,” Dorian said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “He threatened my wife. What happened exactly, Halin?”

  Halin stood up, shock written all over his face. “I... I have no idea. Gorak is the High Chief. He should be in Frosthold. Why would he...”

  “He said he was looking for you,” the messenger added.

  “Gorak...” Halin mumbled, the realization hitting him. “He thinks I betrayed him.”

  Dorian gripped the hilt of his sword. “I guess I have a problem, too.”

  Arin stepped between them.

  “Alright,” the Elf Lord said firmly. “We cannot hunt Fairies while your homes are burning.”

  He looked at Dorian, then Halin. “I think it is time for you to deal with your own lands.”

  Arin bowed low. “Thank you for helping me identify the threat here. I can handle the perimeter for now. Go. Save your people.”

  “As soon as I finish my job,” Arin added, a small smile touching his lips, “you can call for our support. The Elves do not forget their friends.”

  Dorian and Halin exchanged a look. The anger faded, replaced by urgency. They nodded.

  “Let’s go,” Dorian commanded.

  The journey back to Frosthold was brutal. They pushed the magic wagons to their limit, bypassing the desert and climbing straight into the icy peaks.

  But as they ascended, the temperature plummeted.

  By the time they reached Halin’s home, Dorian was shivering violently. His lips were blue, and his movements were sluggish.

  Halin rushed to the Chief’s Cave, only to find it empty.

  “Where is he?” Halin muttered.

  Umber walked in, looking relieved to see Halin, but worried about the shaking human.

  “Halin! You’re alive!” Umber exclaimed. “Gorak... he went to find you. He marched on the Human Lands weeks ago.”

  “He made chaos there,” Halin explained quickly. “He threatened the Queen.”

  Just then, Dorian stumbled. He collapsed against the cold stone wall, clutching his chest.

  “My Lord!” The Human Medic rushed to him. “His heart rate is dropping. The air is too thin up here, and the cold is shutting down his organs.”

  “I... I am okay,” Dorian whispered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. “I need to go back... Serena...”

  “You are not okay,” Halin said gently, kneeling down. “Your body isn't built for this, Dorian. If you go back out into the snow now, you will die before you reach the gate.”

  “Your medic is right,” Umber agreed. “He needs warmth and thick air.”

  Dorian tried to stand, but his legs gave out. Halin caught him with one massive hand.

  “Don’t worry,” Halin said, his voice firm. “I will go for you.”

  He looked Dorian in the eye. “I will go to the Human Lands. I will ensure your Serena is safe. And I will find Gorak and end this madness.”

  “But...” Dorian wheezed.

  “Rest, my friend,” Halin ordered. He turned to Umber. “Umber, take him to my house—it has the best insulation. Keep the fire roaring. Treat him like a King.”

  “Don’t worry,” Umber nodded, lifting Dorian easily into his arms like a child. “Halin is my friend, so you are my friend. You are safe here.”

  Halin didn't wait. He grabbed his heavy travel cloak and his crossbow. He looked at Dorian one last time—a fragile human in a world of monsters—and then turned to face the storm.

  He marched South, leaving the King behind to save the King’s home.