Episode 1: The Eldian Empire
The banners of the Iron Cross flapped defiantly in the bitter wind, their black sigil stitched onto white, standing tall against the smog-filled sky. Within the walls of Karhold, a small kingdom on the western edge of Agaran, men busied themselves with their weapons. Commander Darius Hadrian, a scarred man of fifty winters, stood atop the crumbling battlements, watching the distant horizon where the mist swirled and twisted like the breath of some forgotten monster. They had fought hard to seize this city, once a minor garrison of Agaran, and now the Iron Cross, the last hope for humanity, prepared to defend it with every ounce of strength they had left.
In the early days of the rebellion, they had called themselves The Last Bastion, a grand title for an army of ragged non-Eldian men from all corners of the continent, unified only by their hatred of the Eldian Empire. They had toppled cities, burned fortresses, and spilled the blood of Eldian soldiers in a defiant stand. But now, at Karhold, he commanded one of their legions, faced against something far worse than any man they had ever fought.
The Titans were coming.
"Do you think it's true, sir?" asked Lieutenant Corvin Hale, a young man barely out of his teens. His hands trembled while holding his musket to his chest, his breath visible in the cold air.
"Does it matter?" Darius growled, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "We'll fight them, true or not."
Corvin swallowed hard and looked away, but the unease spread like wildfire through the ranks. The artillery crews readied their cannons, hands shaking as they loaded black powder into iron barrels. Men stood in the trenches below, muskets equipped with bayonets braced, and the cavalry huddled near the rear gates, their horses already agitated, as if sensing the horror to come.
Then, a low rumble echoed through the air, growing louder with each passing second. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and Darius finally saw them—shadows moving in the distance, taller than any man, shrouded in the mist. Titans.
"They're here," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
The first of the Titans appeared out of the haze, a towering giant, its grotesque face stretched in a mindless grin, its eyes vacant but hungry. And then another, and another. Dozens of them, hundreds maybe, all marching toward the walls of Karhold.
"Ready the cannons!" Darius shouted. "We bring them down one at a time!"
The Iron Cross had faced Eldian soldiers before, even defeated them in battle. But this—this was something beyond any man's reckoning. Still, they would fight. They had to fight. This city was their last stand, humanity's last hope, and there would be no retreat.
"Fire!" the general commanded, swinging his arm out, and the roar of cannons filled the air. Iron balls shot through the sky, slamming into the lead titans, some finding their mark. A titan's head exploded in a shower of blood and bone, and another toppled as its knee was shattered by a direct hit. The soldiers cheered, but the cheers died almost as quickly as they had begun.
The titans regenerated. Flesh that had been torn apart knitted itself back together from steam emitted by their wounds, bones reformed, and soon, the same titans that had fallen were marching again, grins across their abnormal faces, undeterred.
"Reload!" Darius ordered, his voice rising in pitch. Panic flickered in his men's eyes, though they moved to obey. The next volley was less coordinated, the cannons fired in a desperate frenzy. Some balls went wide, missing entirely, others barely slowed the titans down.
The titans reached the walls.
The first impact came like thunder, as a massive hand slammed into the wall with terrifying force. Stones crumbled under the weight, and the battlements shook. Darius staggered back, barely catching himself as the titan's head rose over the edge, its eyes hollow and fixed in a nightmarish grin.
"Hold formation!" Darius roared, forcing himself to stand firm as he unsheathed his sword. "Focus your muskets! Aim for the eyes, the neck—anywhere soft!"
The soldiers rallied, firing their muskets into the titan's face and arms. But the shots were like pricks of thorns against a raging beast. A massive hand swiped down, knocking men aside like scattered leaves. One soldier, caught in the titan's grip, screamed as he was lifted, his legs kicking wildly, before he was bitten in half. Blood sprayed across the wall, spattering the men below in warm, sticky droplets.
"Bring up the flame launchers!" Darius shouted, desperately signaling to his left. "Get those flames on the wall, now!"
A group of soldiers ran forward with crude flamethrowers that they had replicated from Eldian technology, aiming jets of fire at the titan's face. The creature reared back, its flesh charring and peeling, but only for a moment. A low growl emanated from its throat as its skin began to steam and knit back together before their very eyes.
"Again!" Darius commanded, his voice straining. "Don't let up! Hit it harder—force it back!"
Below, the eastern gate shook as another titan breached the trench line, stepping over the defensive ditch like it was nothing. Darius spotted the new threat and cursed under his breath. "Muskets! Target the legs of the ones at the gate! Keep them slowed!"
The soldiers unleashed a rain of gunfire, some finding their marks, but the titans advanced unfazed. In the trench below, men fired and thrust their musket's bayonets at the titan's ankles, attempting to hack at the Achilles' tendon. For a brief, hopeful second, the titan's step faltered, and Darius thought maybe—just maybe—they could delay it.
But then it lunged down, scooping up three men in one sweep. Its massive jaws tore into one soldier, ripping him apart in an instant. The remaining two screamed in terror, helpless as they were devoured alive. The sight of their comrades being eaten sent a ripple of horror through the trench.
"They can't die!" a voice screamed, breaking through the clamor. "T-they just keep coming back!"
Darius knew the panic was spreading, but he wasn't done yet. "Artillery, fire again! Hit them in clusters! Do not relent!" His words rang out across the battlefield, barely holding the thin threads of order together.
The cannons roared, iron balls slamming into the titans with brutal impact, toppling one of the creatures as it lost a leg. But as quickly as they fell, they rose again, steam emitting from their limbs reknitting, faces contorting back into their terrible smiling expressions.
"Close ranks! Cavalry, prepare for the flank!" Darius called, rallying the last of his trained men for a desperate push.
The cavalry launched forward, galloping to the titans' sides, lances poised. The initial attack struck true, piercing into the titan's ribs, blood gushing over the soldiers. But before they could pull back, the titans turned on them, enormous hands swatting men from their saddles, tossing their broken bodies into waiting mouths. The horses reared, screaming, and bucked their riders, panicked by the smell of blood and the presence of giants.
The frontline wavered as Darius watched his forces crumble. He could see the horror on every face—men staring at the titans as they regenerated again and again, their hope draining with every blow that failed to kill.
"Hold the line! Stand your ground! For humanity!" Darius bellowed, but his words began to lose their meaning. The soldiers were retreating, pulled back by sheer terror as the titans surged through the city's defenses.
The titans marched through the breach like a storm through paper, their feet crushing men beneath them, their hands tearing down walls as if they were nothing but sand. Darius watched, helpless, as his men scrambled back toward the city's inner walls, tripping over themselves in desperate attempts to flee.
Chaos reigned now. Soldiers tried to rally but could only watch as the titans destroyed everything in their path. The cannons fired sporadically, barely denting the tide. Even the mighty flame launchers had run out of fuel, their operators retreating in terror as the titans closed in.
Darius looked out over the scene of slaughter, feeling his own resolve begin to crack. Men were screaming, retreating, falling into utter disarray. A younger soldier, covered in blood and shaking with fear, stumbled toward him.
"W-we can't win, sir… they—they're monsters."
Darius met the young man's gaze, and in his eyes, he saw the depth of despair that gripped every man on that wall. He had seen terror before, but never like this. This was terror that left men shattered, minds broken.
"We fight to the last man," Darius murmured, gripping the soldier's shoulder in a final show of defiance. "We fight because we have no choice."
But even as he spoke, he knew the truth.
The sun hung low in the sky, a blood-orange orb casting long shadows over the battlefield below. King Alaric Fritz stood on the crest of a hill, watching the chaos unfold with a weariness that settled deep in his bones. The sounds of war echoed like distant thunder, punctuated by the occasional roar of a titan as it laid waste to the last bastion of the rebel humans. But to Alaric, the spectacle was as dull as watching the tides ebb and flow—a display of power that had lost its luster.
Beside him stood Sebastian Kinsley, the newly appointed holder of the Armored Titan, his youthful features a mask of determination. Kinsley's gaze was fixed on the fray, a fire burning in his eyes. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady despite the carnage before them. "Our forces could have quelled this uprising without the titans' aid. The rebel humans are not as formidable as they believe. They are but moths drawn to flame, and I could have snuffed them out with the strength of our men."
Alaric turned to Kinsley, his exphression inscrutable. "Forgive me, Sebastian. I know how much the people of Agaran relish the dance of war, how they savor each clash as if it were a grand feast. But I find myself… tired." He swept a hand toward the battlefield, where titans surged forward, their massive forms a grotesque parody of humanity. "I sought to amuse myself with the thrill of combat, to witness a worthy struggle. Instead, I see only slaughter."
As they stood watching the massacre below over the hill, Kinsley felt the urgency of the moment. He knew that to secure Agaran's future, he needed to forge a closer alliance with King Fritz, to sway his favor and gain the King's support during the kingdom's conflicts with other nations. With the specter of war looming over their borders, every ounce of strength counted.
"Your Majesty," Kinsley began, his voice steady, "if I may be so bold, I wish to discuss the prospect of a more fortified alliance between Eldia and Agaran. With the tensions escalating among the titan families, your backing could turn the tides in our favor. The strength of the Armored Titan in tandem with your influence could ensure our dominion over these lands."
King Fritz glanced sideways at him, an eyebrow slightly raised, but his expression remained inscrutable. "Your ambition is commendable, Sebastian," he replied, his tone measured. "The Armored Titan indeed commands respect, and it is a formidable asset to your kingdom. But know this—I have little interest in the skirmishes that consume the titan families over land and riches. The relentless bickering for power has lost its appeal to me."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Kinsley's features, but he quickly masked it. "I understand, Your Majesty. But the nature of politics is such that alliances often shift like the winds. The Kingdom of Eldia has long been a bastion of strength among the families. Your support could lend us the stability we need to navigate these turbulent waters."
Fritz's gaze hardened slightly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Kinsley with a blend of respect and distance. "Respect for the Armored Titan and its legacy will always be present," he said, his voice low and steady. "Your kingdom has potential, but I do not chase after every conflict that arises. Each kingdom must learn to fend for itself, even the well-guarded House of Agaran. If I offered my support, it would not be out of concern for your political struggles, but rather a respect for the titan you wield."
Kinsley felt the sting of the King's indirect refusal but pressed on. "Perhaps, but in this world, even the most powerful need allies. A united front against our common enemies could ensure a lasting peace, not just for Agaran but for Eldia as well."
Fritz stopped and turned fully to face him, the weight of centuries of history resting on his shoulders. "Sebastian, the landscape of power is ever-changing. Alliances formed out of desperation often crumble under their own weight. The titan families will always seek their own advantage. While I respect your aspirations, understand that my focus lies beyond the petty squabbles of nations."
A silence hung between them, charged with an unspoken understanding. Kinsley sensed the mutual respect that existed, but also the stark reality that Fritz remained anchored to his own priorities.
The young lord shifted uncomfortably, the weight of King Fritz's words settling upon him like a lead cloak. "I only wish to serve you and my people, my King." he replied, glancing back toward his men, who stood by the hill, watching the Titans of King Fritz as they made their latest push. "To make certain the legacy of my brother and my father before him remains intact. They had the mind for this… all of this."
"Yes," Alaric mused, his tone softening. "Your brother was a formidable lord. Your brother's death was a blow to Agaran, and I know you feel the weight of his absence keenly. But you are not him, Sebastian. You must forge your own path, not live in the shadow of his accomplishments."
Kinsley nodded, but doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. Memories flooded his mind—the tense negotiations, the delicate alliances, the precarious balance of power that had once been his brother's domain. He recalled the tales of the Great Titan War, how alliances had been forged and shattered with each passing day. The titan families, each ruling their kingdoms with varying degrees of cruelty and honor, were bound by a fragile peace that could snap at any moment. The memory of the stories his brother had shared echoed in his mind, of the Titan War and the strife between the families—each seeking dominance, each willing to spill blood for the right to claim the land and the riches.
"It is not easy to fill such shoes, my King," Kinsley finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I will not falter. I must protect our interests, and the border disputes with the Colossal Titan's people require delicate handling. They control the trade routes vital to our supply lines."
"Indeed," Alaric replied, his eyes narrowing as he focused back on the battlefield, where the titans continued their relentless assault. "And remember, a king's greatest strength lies not just in war but in the art of diplomacy. Cultivate allies, Sebastian, even among those who would see you divided. The day may come when you must rely on them."
The tumult of the battlefield drew closer, and with it, the King's thoughts turned toward the fate of the rebels below. The Iron Cross soldiers were struggling now, men caving into despair as titans wreaked havoc upon them. Yet a pang of disinterest lingered in Alaric's chest. He felt no thrill at their defeat, no joy in the sight of their crumbling walls. It was as if the very fabric of war had begun to unravel, leaving him unsatisfied.
"I will be taking my leave then," Alaric announced dryly, turning away from the horror below. "This fight will end soon enough, and I would rather not linger to watch the final act of this grim tragedy."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Kinsley replied, though a flicker of concern crossed his brow. "I will return to my men and prepare them to extinguish whatever comes next with these non-Eldian rebels."
As Alaric made his way back down to his encampment, Kinsley felt the heavy burden of leadership settle back on his shoulders as he took a glance back down at the battlefield, watching the titans devour the last circle of rebels in the city. The fate of Agaran now rested in his hands, and he could feel the eyes of history watching him. Would he be the one to carry forth his brother's legacy? Or would he become just another name in the annals of Eldian history, lost to time?
King Alaric Fritz made his way down from the hill overlooking the battlefield, the cold morning breeze tugging at his cloak as he headed back toward the encampment. Around him, soldiers scrambled to ready their supplies, tents already being dismantled, and the ironclad banners of Eldia packed away. The last remnants of another swift victory, yet to Alaric, it felt hollow. This was merely another battle, another show of Eldian supremacy, but none of it stirred him. It was as if his time on the throne had dulled the thrill of conquest he'd once imagined would define his reign.
As he approached his tent, he saw his general, Lucian Ackerman, standing beside it. Broad-shouldered and silent as ever, Lucian's piercing gaze met Alaric's with the intensity of a man born and bred for war. Lucian was a formidable warrior in his own right, his bloodline altered generations ago by the Eldian kings and the Tybur family to create soldiers with abilities that rivaled the power of Titans. His unwavering loyalty made him more than a mere general; he was the right hand of Eldia's king, and one of the few Alaric trusted absolutely.
Lucian inclined his head in deference. "Your Majesty, the battalions are ready to begin the journey back to the capital," he reported, voice as steady and clear as steel. "Though I'd suggest we delay until morning—the men are weary from the campaign, and some scouts have yet to return."
Alaric gave a brief nod. "As you see fit, General. We'll stay another night." He glanced at the troops, already withdrawing from the battlefield's edge, weary but composed, as if they'd merely executed an exercise rather than crushed a rebellion. "I suppose even they feel it," he murmured, more to himself.
Lucian raised an eyebrow, sensing the weight in Alaric's tone. "Your Majesty?"
Alaric shook his head. "Nothing, Lucian. Just the musings of an old king." But he found himself lingering on his thoughts, the same ones that had plagued him for months now—the awareness of his looming end, of the cursed thirteen years that gnawed at his life with each passing day. He'd ruled for eleven years, two remaining. Soon, he would have to pass the Founding Titan to his son, Karl Fritz, and with it, the burden of the Eldian throne.
"Has the Founding's curse been weighing on you more than usual, sire?" Lucian asked, carefully choosing his words. He, too, knew the toll it took on the Eldian royal family, a burden known only to those who bore Ymir's blood and wielded her Titan power. Lucian's own loyalty was bound to them because of it, his family's loyalty carved into his very blood, and yet he'd never asked Alaric directly about the cost. But he had served kings before Alaric, and he knew the signs.
Alaric's face betrayed little, but he let out a faint sigh. "It's not merely the curse, Lucian. It's this… stagnation. I have ruled over a world already conquered. My ancestors spread Eldia's reach across continents, yet I stand here merely preserving what they built. I am the guardian of a legacy that is not my own."
Lucian gave him a sidelong glance. "But there is value in preserving peace, Your Majesty. The empire flourishes, its lands stable. You have maintained Eldia's prosperity."
Alaric's expression remained hard. "Perhaps. But peace without purpose is as empty as conquest without reason." He paused, watching the soldiers clear the last of the encampment. "Tell me, Lucian," he continued, voice quiet, "what news have you from our scouts on our borders?"
Lucian straightened, shifting into the familiar routine of military matters. "The territories along the northern frontier remain secure. The Colossal Titan's family reports stability in their western holdings, though tensions over ocean border rights with the Armored Titan's people continue. They sent word that trade routes may need to be adjusted if things worsen."
Alaric frowned. Another border dispute—a reflection of the growing restlessness among the titan families. Since he'd taken the throne, these skirmishes had flared often, not true wars but clashes between the great families, each jostling for position and resources. He knew Lucian brought these matters forward deliberately, pressing him to see the conflicts not as distractions but as real threats.
"The Colossal and Armored Titans' realms…" Alaric mused. "Our empire spans the known world, yet even within our own bloodlines, we cannot achieve true unity."
Lucian nodded. "The Armored Titan's kingdom in Agaran values its independence, as does every family wielding a Titan. Even the Tybur family, for all their loyalty, remain separate. It's not just the power they possess—it's their belief in their own right to rule."
Alaric's gaze lingered on Lucian, his loyal general, whose bloodline had been sculpted generations ago to be Eldia's eternal protectors. The Ackermans were more than soldiers; they were guardians, created to embody a loyalty that bordered on reverence for the royal line. Lucian himself possessed neither Titan power nor desire for conquest, but his very presence reminded Alaric of the iron will that had once united the empire—a force of will that now seemed to waver.
Finally, Alaric spoke, his tone carrying the weight of the throne's duty. "You understand, Lucian, that I cannot favor any one Titan family over another in these petty feuds. My purpose is to keep the peace, to ensure the empire endures. This throne was meant to serve something greater than mere land disputes."
Lucian's brow furrowed slightly. "Of course, Your Majesty. But with the new lord of Agaran so young and untested, the other families may see this as an opportunity to test his strength—and your patience. The families will watch, ready to press for advantage if he falters."
Alaric's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the lands of Eldia stretched as far as the eye could see. The new lord of Agaran, Sebastian Kinsley, wore the mantle of the Armored Titan yet had only recently inherited his realm's burdens. It was inevitable, Alaric knew, that some families would seize this moment to provoke or even undermine Agaran's sovereignty. But only through the trials ahead could Kinsley prove his worth—a crucible each lord must face.
"Then let him be tested," Alaric said softly. "If he is to rule, he must learn to bear the weight alone. I won't interfere with family matters. Such quarrels are beneath the Founding Titan's attention. I have no interest in indulging them."
Lucian hesitated. "Of course, Your Majesty." He bowed his head, but there was a trace of something else in his expression—a respect, yes, but also the faintest glimmer of frustration. Eldia had grown vast and prosperous, but the struggles between its great families had only increased. And though Alaric was the undisputed king, Lucian knew he saw himself as a symbol, a figurehead propped upon a throne forged by the blood of his ancestors.
Alaric glanced down, observing Lucian for a moment before finally nodding. "Rest, General. The camp will break at dawn."
Lucian bowed and departed, leaving Alaric to stare into the distance. He watched the soldiers gather around the fires, their laughter drifting faintly through the air. The Ackermans, the Tyburs, the Armored and Colossal Titan families—all were his to rule, and yet they felt as distant to him as the stars in the night sky.
Why do I sit here while my empire frays? he thought. He wondered if Karl would feel the same when it was his turn, if he, too, would be bound to an empire that seemed both vast and insubstantial. Perhaps Karl would feel no burden, would take to the throne as easily as breathing.
For now, though, it was his burden alone, his legacy to uphold. He turned his back on the battlefield and walked toward his tent, the weight of an empire on his shoulders, and the knowledge that in two short years, that weight would be passed on.
Sebastian Kinsley, newly appointed Lord of Agaran and bearer of the Armored Titan, rode into the capital of Aedros with his soldiers flanking him. His armored horse, a magnificent black steed named Varyn, trotted beneath the stone archway that marked the entrance to the city. Soldiers and citizens alike paused to salute their young lord as he passed, admiring the stoic figure who carried both their loyalty and their hopes upon his shoulders.
Aedros was a city forged by war and sculpted from mountain stone, each tower and wall rising proudly against the landscape. The structures bore intricate carvings depicting past battles, and scarlet banners of Agaran hung from every parapet—a stark reminder of the Armored Titan's legacy. This city was the heart of Agaran's power, a proud fortress that had withstood countless sieges.
As Kinsley approached the main square, he caught sight of a group of noble children engaged in a sparring session. They wielded wooden practice swords, their young faces a mix of excitement and concentration as they clashed in the dust. One child upon noticing the arrival of Kinsley and evidently braver than the others, stepped forward and bowed respectfully, his eyes wide with awe.
"My Lord Kinsley," the boy called, voice cracking slightly. "Would you... would you show us a move?"
At this, the other children gasped, horrified that he'd dared interrupt their lord. One of the older children, a girl, elbowed him in the side, muttering, "You can't ask him that! He's the Armored Titan! He's got more serious matters to attend to-"
Kinsley chuckled, raising a hand to signal that it was fine. He dismounted, handing his reins to a nearby soldier, and approached the group with an easy smile. "There's no harm in learning, is there?" He took up a wooden practice sword and turned to the children, adopting a combat stance.
The boy's eyes lit up with pride and determination as he took his own stance opposite Kinsley. The other children watched in silence, their awe palpable as Kinsley deftly parried and countered the boy's strikes, guiding him with subtle nudges and corrections.
"Now, remember," Kinsley said, his voice steady and encouraging. "Your stance is the foundation of your balance. Keep your feet shoulder-width apart and stay light on your toes. If you shift your weight properly, it'll give you the speed to react."
The boy nodded, adjusting his footing as Kinsley attacked, his wooden sword clashing against the boy's. Kinsley withdrew and launched another series of strikes, each one fluid and controlled. "Try to anticipate my moves," he advised, watching as the boy focused intently. "You're not just defending; you're looking for an opening to counterattack. Feel the rhythm of the fight."
The boy attempted to replicate Kinsley's movements, feinting and then attempting a strike of his own. Kinsley parried and quickly stepped aside, guiding the boy's wooden sword away. "Good! But when you strike, commit to it! If you hesitate, your opponent will seize the moment."
The boy took a deep breath, clearly striving to follow Kinsley's instructions. He lunged forward again, this time putting more weight behind his attack. Kinsley nodded in approval, blocking the strike with ease. "Much better! See how you've found your footing? Confidence is key, young one. Trust in your training."
"Right!" the boy exclaimed, a spark of excitement in his voice as he resumed his stance.
"Now, let's try again. Watch my movements." Kinsley displayed a series of fluid strikes, blending offense and defense, demonstrating how to flow from one action to another without losing momentum. "Your goal is to stay unpredictable. Think of it like a dance; every move has a purpose, but it must also be spontaneous."
With a mix of determination and enthusiasm, the boy mirrored Kinsley's movements. He stumbled slightly, losing his balance. "I—I'm trying!" he replied, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.
Kinsley smiled reassuringly. "You're doing great! Each misstep is just part of the learning process. Get back up and keep going."
As the boy regained his footing, Kinsley stepped back and gestured to the other children watching eagerly. "You all have the potential to be great warriors one day. It's not about strength alone; it's about strategy, skill, and heart. Learn from each other, challenge one another, and most importantly, support each other."
He turned back to the boy, who was now ready for another attempt. "Alright, let's finish strong! Remember everything we discussed—stay focused, and don't be afraid to improvise. It's in those moments of creativity that true fighters shine."
With that, Kinsley engaged the boy again, this time with a mix of playful aggression and encouragement. They danced around the practice area, wooden swords clashing, the boy's confidence growing with each exchange. Kinsley offered praise after every successful maneuver, his enthusiasm infectious.
"Excellent! You've got it now! That's the spirit!"
After several more exchanges, Kinsley finally stepped back, giving the boy a moment to catch his breath. The other children erupted into cheers, clapping and shouting encouragement.
Kinsley raised his hands for silence, allowing the noise to die down before speaking again. "Listen closely, all of you," he said, his voice firm yet warm. "Being a warrior isn't just about fighting. It's about protecting those of ours who cannot protect themselves. It's about honor, duty, and the strength to stand against those who oppose those who you hold dear. That's what the power of the Armored Titan stands for!"
The children nodded, their expressions serious, the gravity of his words sinking in.
"I expect you to practice what you've learned here today," he continued. "And remember, even the mightiest warriors began as students. Today you wield wooden swords; tomorrow, it may be steel. Train hard, support each other, and never shy away from asking for help. Together, you will become the protectors of Agaran."
With a final nod, Kinsley turned to leave, a sense of fulfilment washing over him. As he mounted Varyn again, he looked back at the children, now buzzing with energy and excitement.
Behind him, General Alistair Voss, a veteran soldier who had served the Armored Titan's line for decades, observed the scene. Alistair was a grizzled warrior, his beard streaked with gray and his eyes sharp as a hawk's. The seasoned general was as much an advisor to Kinsley as Marcus Helston, though his loyalty was rooted in a lifetime of service to Agaran's military.
As Kinsley moved his horse forward, Alistair moved his horse right up next his, his gruff voice softened by a hint of admiration. "You handled yourself well, milord. I served your brothers, your father before them—and you, Lord Kinsley, surpass them all in combat. A true Armored Titan in every sense."
Kinsley inclined his head in acknowledgment, meeting Alistair's eyes with a look of respect. "You give high praise, General Voss. I hope to live up to the legacy that you helped build."
Alistair nodded, his gaze growing serious. "If I may, milord… your brother's absence is still fresh, and the other Titan families see your youth as a weakness. Already, the Beast Titan's forces have begun moving their convoys into our western trade routes. They test us, see if you'll hold your ground."
Kinsley's jaw tightened as he listened, his eyes flickering with determination. "Then let them test me. They'll find I am not so easily swayed. Send more forces to patrol the area to chase off non-licensed merchants, and increase the control over active trade routes by our borders."
"Yes milord," General Voss responded, nodding in response, taking mental note of the young lord's orders.
As the group continued on through Aedros, Marcus Helston fell into step beside them, adding in a low voice, "The other families—The Female Titan and even those aligned with the Colossal Titan—have held back thus far, but it's a delicate balance. If Agaran is to stand strong, we'll need more than just a show of might, milord. You must lead with caution and wisdom."
Kinsley considered this as they reached the gates of his estate, a sprawling compound overlooking the city, where pillars and statues honored generations of the Armored Titan's lineage. The architecture was austere, a testament to the strength of Agaran's people, with intricate carvings of past battles and legends covering the walls. Inside, soldiers and servants awaited him, each ready to carry out the young lord's command.
In his private hall, Kinsley dismissed his retinue, keeping only Alistair and Marcus at his side. He listened as Marcus reported the disputes brewing on the borders, particularly with the Beast and Colossal Titan territories. Each issue seemed to chip away at his resolve, revealing the challenges of rulership he hadn't fully anticipated.
"These disputes," Marcus continued, "are more than mere territory. They question the strength of Agaran with a new lord upon the throne of the Armored. Your brother had managed these affairs well, and the eyes of the realm are on you, milord. Each choice you make will either prove or test your worth."
General Alistair interjected, his tone a blend of respect and urgency. "I've seen you fight, Lord Kinsley, and I would follow you into any battle. But a ruler's strength is not measured in battle alone. You must endure this with patience and wit, lest our enemies take advantage."
Kinsley gazed out through the tall windows of his hall, looking out over the city he'd sworn to protect. "Agaran is strong, not because of me but because of every soldier, every officer, and every citizen who believes in the power of the Armored Titan. I will not let that belief falter under my rule."
Both advisors inclined their heads, their confidence in him palpable, though Kinsley felt the weight of their words settle heavily upon his shoulders.
Kinsley dismissed his subordinates with a quiet nod, then turned and strode through the long stone corridors of the estate, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The estate was a fortress as much as it was a home, built to guard its inhabitants as well as its legacy, and its shadowed halls were lined with relics from the battles of his father and grandfathers. His gaze flickered over each one, taking in the weight of history, of duty, that seemed to press upon him with every step.
As he reached a crossing hall, he nearly collided with his sister, Elara. She stood poised, her posture elegant, every bit the lady and yet unmistakably a warrior in bearing. Her pale blonde hair glimmered a regal gold under the sun's rays, though her narrowed eyes betrayed a steely determination. There was a glimmer of pride in her gaze, the same fierce light he'd often seen in their father's eyes before the Armored Titan had passed to him.
"Sebastian," she greeted him formally, inclining her head. "You've returned. I heard you fought alongside the King himself."
Kinsley gave a short nod, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, King Fritz fought with us on the field—though, I suspect he came more to see me than to sway the battle." He paused, considering his sister's perceptive gaze. "We spoke briefly after the fighting. I am not certain yet what he thinks of me… but he made it clear enough he has no intention of aligning with Agaran's cause."
Elara's eyes softened, but she masked it quickly, a flicker of frustration hidden behind her composed mask. "It is often the way with kings," she replied, voice low. "To watch, to measure, to decide where their favor falls. But perhaps the King is testing you, seeing if you are worthy of the name you bear. Even he must recognize the strength of Agaran and its new Armored Titan."
As Kinsley considered her words, Elara took a step closer, her voice earnest. "You bear so much alone, Sebastian, and I know what waits at your door each day—expectations, demands, alliances… I'm no stranger to our people's pride and ambition. Let me aid you. There's more I can do than train and spar. Our family is strong together, and I have trained all my life to serve Agaran. Please, let me help you bear this."
Kinsley looked at her, a wry smile touching his lips. "Perhaps, though the throne's games hold little appeal for me. I will serve Agaran, with or without his favor." He placed a hand on her shoulder, the familiar gesture somehow reassuring. "But your offer to help—Elara, you're young yet. You'd serve Agaran better at the training grounds than in politics."
Elara's face was a study in carefully restrained displeasure, though she inclined her head with regal calm. "As you wish, brother." She tilted her head, regarding him with a steady gaze. "Mother's in the garden, if you wish to speak to her. She's spent most of her days there since your departure."
He inclined his head, murmuring his thanks, and left her to continue down the corridor.
The gardens lay deep within the estate walls, hidden from the world outside, a quiet sanctuary of lilacs and laurel. There, amid the bloom-laden branches, he found his mother. She knelt beside a bed of flowers, hands working through the soil with an absent-minded precision. Even in her plain attire, she held herself with the grace of a queen, her every motion measured, as if the weight of the past pressed heavily upon her shoulders.
"Mother," Kinsley greeted her, his voice low.
She looked up, her expression composed but distant, as though her thoughts were far beyond the garden walls. "Sebastian." She rose, brushing soil from her hands, and regarded him with a look that was both proud and weary. "You returned sooner than expected. I trust the battle was… favorable."
Kinsley nodded. "It was a one sided victory, King Fritz had brought in a horde of titans. The rebels were no match under their might." He hesitated, then added, "But I think the King had come wanting to see the new lord of Agaran for himself."
His mother's gaze grew sharper, but her tone remained steady. "And? What did the King make of you?"
"I don't know." Kinsley met her eyes, feeling the weight of his father's legacy settle upon him. "He didn't say as much, but I suspect he was gauging me, judging if I could wield the Armored Titan as my father and brothers once did. He offered no alliance, though—he has no interest in Agaran's quarrels."
A faint, wistful smile flickered across her face. "Kings rarely involve themselves in the battles of others, Sebastian. They sit upon their thrones, watching, waiting for the tide of conflict to resolve itself. The throne commands loyalty, but it does not give freely."
She turned back to her flowers, her hands brushing through the delicate petals. "Your brother was much the same. He fought fiercely, yes, but he understood that his true strength lay in Agaran itself, not in the approval of others."
Kinsley's chest tightened. He saw the distance in her gaze, the quiet burden she bore from watching her husband and sons sacrifice themselves for Agaran. It was as if she had grown accustomed to loss, and now stood apart, watching as one might a ceremony long repeated.
"Mother," he said quietly, "I mean to protect Agaran as they did, to uphold our legacy. But sometimes, I feel as though I'm merely keeping their memories alive, not forging my own path."
She looked at him, her expression softening, though a trace of that distance remained. "You are the lord of Agaran now. It is not your father's or your brothers' path you walk—it is yours alone. Agaran stands with you, Sebastian. But remember… it is your burden to carry."
The words resonated in him, settling deep into the core of who he was. Bowing his head, he took his leave, making his way back through the corridors of his estate, his heart a complex mix of pride, duty, and sorrow.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over Marley, the capital of Eldia, a city steeped in history and grandeur. Its towering spires reached towards the heavens, their stone faces intricately carved with the faces of ancient kings and ancient titans, each figure a testament to the power of the Eldian Empire and the legacy of the Founding Titan, Ymir. The streets below were bustling with life—merchants hawking their wares, children darting through the throngs, and the rhythmic clang of blacksmiths forging weapons for the army echoed like a heartbeat through the air.
Perched atop the stone battlements, the guard surveyed the horizon, where verdant hills rolled gently into the distance, their slopes adorned with thick forests that whispered tales of old. Beyond the walls, the land stretched towards the coastline, where the waves crashed upon the shores, sending sprays of salt into the air. Eldia's ports were alive with activity, ships from distant lands docking to exchange goods, ideas, and sometimes, stories of conflict.
"Do you think the King will ever tire of the relative peace we've had for awhile now?" one guard joked, leaning against the cool stone. He cast a sidelong glance at his companion, who was adjusting the leather straps of his armor.
"Best not speak too loud, or you might find yourself at the wrong end of a sentinel's spear," the other replied with a chuckle, though his gaze remained fixed on the bustling marketplace below. "Though, the whispers of rebellion from the non-blooded Eldians concern me more. Heard there's been armies… small but concerning given the amount I hear that have been recently popping around."
The first guard nodded, but his thoughts turned bittersweet as his minded drifted towards his family. "I've been thinking about my daughter a lot lately. She's growing too fast, and I fear I'm missing too much. I wish I could—"
Before he could finish, the ground beneath them shuddered violently, a deep, resonating rumble that reverberated through the stone walls and sent the birds scattering from their perches. The guards exchanged alarmed glances, the chatter of the market fading to an eerie silence, replaced by the sound of the earth itself protesting.
"What in Ymir's name was that?" the first guard gasped, gripping the stone parapet for stability as another tremor shook the wall.
"It's the forest!" The other guard pointed in horror as he watched, transfixed, the lush greenery beside the capital begin to collapse, uprooted trees falling as if struck by a terrible force. With a deafening roar, the earth split open, creating a yawning chasm that descended deep into the ground, an unnatural tunnel leading into darkness.
The guards stood frozen, their hearts pounding in their chests, caught between disbelief and terror. "This can't be the work of the King," the first guard murmured, shaking his head. "He would never destroy the forest. It's sacred… cherished by the people for generations."
"Then what has happened?" the second guard whispered, his eyes wide with fear. "What force could do this other than the Founding?"
After a moment of shared silence, the first guard broke from his stupor. "We must alert the Kingdom! Sound the alarm! If there is a threat to Eldia, we need to know!"
He hurried to the nearest signal horn, his heart racing, knowing that whatever lay beneath the surface, it was far more significant than mere geological misfortune. As he raised the horn to his lips, a deep, rumbling silence hung in the air, a prelude to the chaos that might soon follow.
The Eldian fleet cut through the mist, tall sails bearing the royal crest as they loomed toward the capital's harbor. King Alaric Fritz stood at the prow, his gaze cast ahead with the weight of centuries pressing upon his shoulders. The fleet was a sight to behold: massive, wooden ships groaning under the weight of their cargo. Caged within were the titans, towering beasts hidden beneath thick canvas veils, chained and passive, their shadows darkening the decks below. Each ship was a vessel of Eldia's might, a reminder to the world—and perhaps to the king himself—that power lay both in flesh and stone.
At the harbor, a host of officers and soldiers gathered in tight formation, their armor glinting under the gray sky. King Fritz's gaze narrowed, his mind veering to questions unspoken but keenly felt. Ackerman stood at his side, as still and silent as a shadow.
"What could demand this urgency?" murmured Fritz, a rare flicker of concern in his voice.
Ackerman's eyes were steady, his expression inscrutable as always. "Something worthy enough to pull officers from their posts. We shall soon know."
The ships docked with a heavy groan, wood scraping against stone, and as Fritz disembarked onto the worn stones of the port, he saw the anxiety etched in the faces of his gathered officers. One of them, a man of grizzled years with streaks of silver lining his hair, stepped forward and immediately knelt, head bowed in respect.
"My king," the officer began, his voice measured, yet laced with an undercurrent of tension. "There have been... strange happenings in your absence."
Fritz motioned for him to rise, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Speak."
The officer looked up, a soldier of loyalty and respect, yet the week's events had clearly unsettled him. "While you were away, a rumbling shook the capital—a great section of the northern forest collapsed in on itself, vanishing into the earth. A vast tunnel had appeared, winding downward into what seemed an endless darkness. We thought it some act of nature, yet it... defies all we know."
Fritz felt his chest tighten as he processed the words. Ackerman's gaze flitted to him, a silent exchange between them.
"Why was I not informed sooner?" Fritz asked, his voice calm but steely.
"We had sent word, my lord, but your fleet was beyond reach. In your absence, Prince Karl and the Generals present ordered scouts to explore this chasm," the officer continued. "They reported that the passage stretches deep, connecting to a complex of winding caverns and corridors. Some among the scouts speak of strange creatures within, creatures unlike any beast or titan, things of bone and claw, scaled and winged, lurking in the shadows."
Another officer stepped forward, his expression grim. ""They spoke of dragons, my king. Not mere creatures of wing and fire, but monstrosities with scales as thick as iron. They breathe fire that melts steel, and their rage is like nothing our men have ever seen. Several scouts perished, their armor turned to slag, their bones ash. Those who returned do so only by miracle."
A ripple of stillness passed over the assembled men. Ackerman shifted subtly at Fritz's side, his gaze never leaving the king's face. The officers before him dared not speak, waiting for the king's reaction to tales of beasts that held the fury of fire itself.
"Dragons," Fritz repeated, almost savoring the word, his voice a mix of awe and curiosity. He alone in this moment sensed something deeper, a whisper of fate beckoning from the shadows.
The officer cleared his throat. "We have since secured the tunnel, raising defenses in case any creature emerges. But none have crossed that threshold. It is as if they remain within by some force we do not comprehend." He paused, his voice lowering. "The people are terrified, your grace. They wonder if it is Ymir's wrath—or some curse of the old world."
Fritz lifted his head to the fog-cloaked horizon, where gray clouds twisted like ghosts. "Karl was wise to seal it." His voice was low, contemplative. "Have word spread among the troops that Eldia shall fear nothing born of this earth—or any other realm." He straightened, addressing his officers with an authority that resonated deep within their ranks. "You did well. But I shall take it from here."
The officer lowered his head. "My king, Prince Karl and the Generals also request the Founding Titan. They await your orders. They believe… they believe it is your power alone that could tame what lies within."
For a moment, silence lingered between them, heavy and electric. Fritz kept his face stern, but beneath the cool restraint, a thrill simmered. Dragons—creatures of old legend, beasts that defied reason and fought with ferocity beyond mortal ken. And now, a tunnel had been opened that led deep into a world where such creatures existed.
He gestured for his officers to rise. "Ready yourselves. We shall take the full strength of Eldia to this place and see what lies in those depths. And if Ymir wills it, we shall lay claim to its might."
Turning to Ackerman, his voice lowered. "They ask for the power of the Founding Titan. They may get it—and perhaps even more."
The King's party descended from the wooden docks and onto the cobbled roads. They moved slowly through the city's winding streets, the steady march of boots and clinking armor announcing their arrival. Eldian banners, deep crimson and edged in gold, hung from wrought-iron balconies and stately pillars, their shadows stretching over the cobbled road like silent sentinels. As they passed, townsfolk peeked from behind oil-lit lampposts, flames flickering in the cool dusk. Eldia's capital, all soaring arches and high stone walls, held an air of ancient pride, its towers built from weathered stone that had seen countless generations.
Karl Fritz kept his gaze steady as they made their way. In the distance behind them on the docks, the titans were led in slow, lumbering lines off the ships. They moved like creatures half-remembered from an ancient age, tethered and shackled, eyes vacant accompanied by mindless expressions as they stumbled forward. Soldiers tugged on chains that clinked heavily against the ground, each link glinting with oil and wear. The titans followed, mindlessly obedient to each sharp pull.
From windows above, citizens called to their king, their faces lit with reverence and fear alike. An older man in a narrow doorway lifted his voice, crying, "Our King returns—may the Founding Titan protect us!" Further along, a woman clutching her child and called, "Give us your strength, my King! Eldia needs it!"
Fritz lifted his hand, offering a regal wave. His face was calm, yet within, his mind swirled with darker and more magnificent visions. "Fear not, my people," he replied, his voice a steady anchor. "Eldia stands strong as ever. All is within our reach."
Their words kindled a fire within him, one that had smoldered for years. A tremor of excitement sparked in his heart at the thought of the tunnel, the reports of dragons, of a world beneath the land that he had never known existed. *If dragons could live within, what else might lie hidden? A world within the world* he thought, the whisper of the idea seductive. Perhaps it was not just some barren maze of stone; perhaps this tunnel held paths to new lands, new realms teeming with mysteries he had not yet imagined. *Might it be another frontier, ready for Eldia's conquest?*
As they passed under wrought iron gates leading into the heart of the city, Fritz allowed himself a small smile. Eldia had conquered every land that could be seen by the eye, but what of that which lay hidden, the kingdoms of stone and shadow below? He could not ignore it now, not with tales of dragons roaming within. *I must see one myself* he resolved, already imagining the blazing fury and scale of such a beast.
At last, they reached the looming gates of the castle, where Fritz's most trusted generals waited. They stood at attention, dark cloaks gathered around their shoulders, eyes fixed on their king with grim respect. Their presence was like that of ancient oaks, immovable and deeply rooted in the soil of Eldia. As Fritz dismounted, they bowed low, a single, disciplined motion that rippled through them like a wave.
"Welcome back, my king," one of them intoned, voice thick with deference and tempered steel.
Fritz nodded, his gaze skimming over the men who had served him with unfailing loyalty, warriors hardened by battles he himself had rarely seen. Though his blood carried the weight of Eldian might and its terrible legacy, the thrill of conquest had lived mostly as a quiet ember within him, stoked only in his mind. He was no warrior in the flesh, but here—here, standing among those who would bring his commands to life—he could almost feel the ancient fires rekindling.
"Eldia's strength shall be tested once more, but the situation will be dealt with now that I am here," he said, letting his voice carry the calm conviction they needed to hear. There was power in knowing how to stand at the center of a storm, in the unyielding expectation that he would bend the world to his will as his forebears had done. He looked to his generals, their faces lined and unwavering, and with a faint nod, he followed them through the shadowed corridors of the castle and up the winding staircases to the walls.
As they climbed, the torches flickering against cold stone, Prince Karl joined them, falling into step beside his father. The young man had a soldier's stride and bore himself with a discipline Fritz admired, but he also carried the eagerness of one ready to test his mettle.
"Father," Karl began, inclining his head in respect before he spoke more plainly. "While you were away, I ordered a perimeter raised and sent a handful of scouts down the tunnel. They reported... creatures, but I held further actions, awaiting your return."
Fritz gave a brief, approving nod, a rare warmth in his eyes. "You've shown restraint, Karl. This is good judgment—actions taken without wisdom behind them are empty." He allowed himself a small smile. "I had a son who would wait for his king's wisdom before seeking glory, rather than charging ahead like a young bull. Eldia is stronger for it."
Karl bowed his head, his expression softening under his father's praise. Together, they crested the stairway and stepped out onto the high walls of the castle. The vista before them stretched into twilight, the land painted in muted shades of dusk, an ancient beauty marred now by the unnatural scar cut into the forest. From this vantage, Fritz could see the full extent of the tunnel, an open maw that yawned beneath the canopy, its mouth wide and dark as if it sought to devour the light itself.
Beyond it, the encampment sprawled like a lattice of fire and steel—rows of tents, the scattered flickers of torches, and banners flapping in the cooling wind. The soldiers rested in shifts, alert and ready, their movements measured but charged with apprehension. And there, looming over the field, stood the titans, silent and mindless. A few dozen in number, they stood like trees of flesh, swaying slightly in the breeze, chained to the earth yet powerful enough to shatter it. The sight of them—a force held at bay, a reminder of Eldia's ancient power—stirred something deep within him.
He looked down at the tunnel, feeling its weight, its darkness calling to him in a way that only something untamed, unknown, could. A small thrill sparked through him. What world, what kingdom could exist below, to give rise to something so extraordinary as dragons? His thoughts drifted to the reports, the scouts speaking of creatures far beyond Eldia's understanding, their whispered descriptions filling him with a curiosity tinged with hunger. *Perhaps this was not only a threat* he thought, a fire kindling in his chest, *but an opportunity.*
He rested his hands on the cool stone, his gaze hardening as he took it all in. A new world within the earth itself—its own kingdom, perhaps even empires yet unclaimed. Eldia had touched the lands above, taken them by storm and by steel, but here lay something more, something primal and untouched.
"We will press forward," he murmured, almost to himself, his eyes still fixed on the tunnel. The fires within it flickered like beacons, whispering of conquest and secrets unbound, and Fritz knew he would answer.
As King Fritz stood atop the battlements, his gaze transfixed on the dark maw of the tunnel, he turned to the generals at his side, his eyes keen with a sharp, inquisitive gleam. "Tell me," he asked, his voice barely louder than the rustle of wind against stone. "What do we truly know of these dragons? And how did our scouts fare against them?"
The eldest general, a grizzled veteran whose steel gaze had weathered countless campaigns, cleared his throat. "My King, the creatures are… formidable, in ways even we did not expect. Scouts who attempted to engage reported that their muskets, despite close range, barely grazed the dragons' hide, as if the scales were forged of iron itself. Our steel did nothing but anger them."
"Anger?" Fritz's mouth twitched, a shadow of a smile. "Then they have the temperament of our own titans."
"Aye, my King, perhaps even fiercer," the general replied, unflinching. "They strike from afar. Their flames are not like the fire of mere torches or even siege weapons; no, it is more precise. Their blasts meet their mark like arrows loosed from the finest bow, striking at distances that far exceed our own reach."
Fritz's fingers tapped idly on the stone parapet, his mind weaving through old lessons, memories of strategies he'd once studied but never applied. Siege warfare, calculated retreats, even desperate measures. His mind raced with the thrill of considering each tactic in turn, the fire within him kindling at the thought of testing himself—and his people—against creatures bred from legend itself.
"General," he began slowly, his words deliberate, as if weighing their worth, "how do you think our titans would fare against these dragons? A true clash of titans, in every sense."
The general hesitated, his jaw working over the words, before answering. "My lord, the path leading into the tunnels... it is tight, narrow. The way winds and narrows, barely large enough for a man to pass shoulder to shoulder, let alone the bulk of one of our titans." He paused, recalling the scouts' descriptions. "Perhaps seven, ten feet at most, like the halls of some ancient tomb. But a half hour's march deeper, the tunnels open to vast caverns, spaces where these dragons nest or hunt, and in these places…" He cast a glance at his fellow generals, receiving nods of silent agreement. "Yes, our titans could likely overpower them there."
Fritz pondered, his brow furrowing. The thought of unleashing the titans on such strange, fierce creatures ignited something within him. The creatures that had guarded Eldia's borders for so long now served as his tools of dominion, and yet, here in the tunnels lay something altogether different—a clash that would test them, and him. He envisioned the strategies, almost tasting the clash to come, the thrill of watching his men and his titans descend into that chasm to conquer what lay below.
"Tomorrow then," he said, his voice laced with finality. "By midday, we attack. Gather a legion of prisoners, conscripts who might yet prove their loyalty to Eldia in the fires of combat." His gaze settled on the general with a glint of anticipation. "Send them in, guarded and armed, with a squad of soldiers. Upon encountering these dragons, I am to give them the order to transform—each one to bring the fury of Eldia against these beasts. Perhaps they may or may not be enough to overpower them alone, but they will do what they must to weaken their numbers, soften them for our main assault."
The generals exchanged quick glances, nodding in understanding, and then they fell into swift action, preparing for the orders Fritz had given. He watched them go, his heart quickening in his chest with a thrill long dormant. As he descended from the battlements, he strode through the corridors of his castle, winding his way toward his study.
There, under flickering candlelight and the aged, musty smell of old parchment, he unrolled maps and battle notes, recalling the stratagems of those who had conquered before him. Tonight, he would reacquaint himself with the subtleties of war, prepare his mind for the battles to come. This was no mere skirmish; this was fate's way of testing Eldia's might. And he—he would be ready.
The encampment buzzed with anticipation and dread, as King Fritz stood atop a weathered watchtower, his silhouette sharp against the azure expanse underneath the bright sun that hung above, and his voice rang out, echoing across the assembled ranks of Eldian soldiers. Below him, men and women stood at attention, their faces a mix of steely determination and palpable anxiety, as they awaited their King's words.
"To my brave warriors of Eldia," Fritz began, his tone resolute, "today we stand on the brink of destiny. Below us lies the great tunnel, a gaping maw that leads into the unknown—a realm that challenges our strength, our courage, and our will to protect our empire. In this darkness, we shall confront a new enemy, one that bears wings and fire, one that seeks to test us in ways we have yet to fathom."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle upon his audience. At the far corner of the encampment stood several legions of prisoners and conscripts huddled together, their expressions a tapestry of emotions. Among them were those who had broken severe laws of Eldia, such as raping, robbing and killing another citizen. The Empire had deemed execution too swift a punishment; instead, these individuals would atone for their sins by transforming into titans, a sacrifice that might redeem their transgressions and pay back Eldia with their loyalty.
Flanking them were those who were drafted for titanization—men and women from poor backgrounds or indentured conscripts who had struck deals with the Empire long ago. They had pledged their lives to tjhis cause, believing that the Empire would offer their families land or wealth in return for their service. And then there were the die-hard fanatics, those who held unwavering loyalty to the Kingdom, ready to fight and die for their homeland.
"Many of you will be transformed into titans today," Fritz continued, his gaze sweeping across the sea of faces. "You are not merely conscripts; you are the strength of our nation. Remember that as you descend into the depths. Trust in the might of your brethren, and know that your sacrifice is for the greater good of our empire. Each of you carries the legacy of our forebears, and it is your turn to honor that legacy."
He laid out his battle strategy that he had reviewed with his generals that morning, words flowing with the practiced ease of a leader well-versed in the art of war. "Once we breach the tunnel, those drafted will advance first, they are to be given orders to transform into Titans, upon getting within blasting range of the transformation, in hopes of inflicting severe damage onto them for the rest of the titans to finish up. Then Eldian soldiers will follow closely behind, to support the titans from a distance and tasked with ensuring that information flows back to us should the titans falter. We will not lose this battle. We shall push deeper, drawing the dragons into a fight they will not forget!"
A roar of approval rose from the soldiers below, a tide of unity washing over them. King Fritz nodded, his heart swelling with pride. Yet, his gaze shifted to the corner of the camp where the prisoners stood, trembling. He descended the tower, his footsteps echoing on the wooden stairs, and approached the wavering souls who awaited their fate.
Some were whimpering, their eyes wide with fear as he neared. With gentleness that belied the iron resolve of a king, he spoke to them. "Fear not, for you are not alone. We are Eldia, and together we shall carve our names into the annals of history. Have faith in the strength of our people. In this moment, you will be transformed into titans of great power. You will embody the will of our empire, and your courage will echo through the ages."
His voice was calm, yet imbued with an intensity that resonated with those around him. As he raised his hands, a warm glow enveloped him, the power of the Founding Titan coursing through him, bridging the gap between past and future. Memories shifted and morphed within the minds of the prisoners as he invoked his gift, weaving threads of unwavering loyalty and courage into their very essence. They would no longer be merely prisoners; they would rise as titans, eager to sacrifice themselves for the greater good of Eldia.
"Now, go!" he commanded, lowering his arms as his command resonated within their minds. "March into the tunnel, side by side with our soldiers. Make Eldia proud!"
With a thunderous cheer, the newly empowered Eldians stepped forward in unison, as if in a trance, the fear in their hearts replaced with a fervent will to fight. The Eldian soldiers flanked them, muskets at hand and eyes sharp, ready to assist carry out the will of the Founder.
As they descended into the dark tunnel, the echoes of their march faded into the depths below, leaving King Fritz standing at the entrance, heart pounding with anticipation and a rekindled spirit for conquest. Today was only the beginning; there were dragons to slay, and for the first time in many years, the thrill of war felt almost alive within him once more.
The army moved forward in silence, a steady beat of footsteps and whispered breaths echoing down the length of the tunnel. At the head marched General Werner, his weathered face illuminated by torchlight as he led his men deeper into the unknown. Two commanders flanked him on either side, grim and watchful, while the Eldian soldiers and their hypnotic charges followed in formation behind. They moved as a single body, their torchlight swallowed by the shadows pressing in from all sides, the sun's reach long left behind.
It took only minutes of marching before the tunnel gave way to an expanse, an open cave that stretched wide like a great crater beneath the earth. Strange vines crept along the cavern walls, their pale tendrils winding upward toward glistening stones embedded in the rock above. These stones pulsed with a dim, otherworldly light, casting a pale blue glow across the cavern floor. As the soldiers looked around, they saw several passageways yawning like dark mouths in the cavern walls, each leading to another mystery within the deep. Some were narrow, barely enough to let a single soldier through, while others were wide and foreboding.
But it was the passage marked by two unlit torches that drew General Werner's eye. It was wider than the others, a foreboding tunnel that could fit two men walking side by side. The darkness beyond seemed thick, almost tangible, a place that beckoned them forward and warned them in equal measure. Werner paused, raising a hand to silence his troops, his voice calm but carrying an edge that betrayed the tension beneath.
"We go by waves," he said, addressing the gathered soldiers. "First half to enter, the rest of you follow only if we need reinforcement. Scouts spotted what they believed were one to three dragons—but there may be more. Stay alert. Any sign of trouble, you fall back."
His words echoed across the ranks, and each soldier felt the weight of his warning. The first wave of a hundred soldiers stepped forward, taking their places in preparation. At a nod from Werner, one of the commanders barked an order, motioning to the hypnotized draftees to form up. The prisoners and conscripts, memories altered by the power of the Founding Titan, moved without hesitation, falling into tight formation. They were to go first—twenty at a time—followed by a squad of Eldian soldiers in measured intervals.
The first group of hypnotized draftees stepped into the marked passageway, their eyes vacant and unblinking, faces impassive. Yet here and there, some among them wore faint, unsettling smiles as they marched forward, heedless of any danger that awaited. They were lambs who felt no fear of the slaughter. The soldiers, however, were tense, muskets at the ready, torches raised to push back the encroaching dark. Their footsteps were cautious, every scrape and crunch against the stone floor magnified in the silence of the passageway. The usual banter and shared glances were gone, replaced by an unspoken pact of vigilance.
The eerie stillness hung over them like a shroud as they continued their march, the faint flickering of torches casting long shadows that stretched ahead. The hypnotized draftees remained unfazed, their eyes forward, their march a steady, unbroken rhythm. But for the soldiers behind them, every breath, every step, felt weighted with the knowledge of the dragons that lay ahead. The tales told of fire-breathing beasts who could scorch entire ranks with a single breath lingered in their minds, and as they pressed on, each man steeled himself, silently repeating the orders drilled into him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of marching, they saw the passage begin to open. The narrow walls fell away, and in the torchlight, they glimpsed a vast cavern beyond, an enormous hollow space where the greenish glow was replaced by shadows as deep as night.
The soldiers filed out of the passageway, eyes darting to take in the cavern that stretched vast and shadowed before them. The glowing stones above barely lit the sprawling space, casting an eerie greenish pallor over the cavern floor. Veins of glowing mineral traced the walls, winding upward to illuminate the jagged ceiling, where stalactites loomed like fangs in a maw.
The first wave of hypnotized draftees stood still, awaiting orders in perfect stillness. Commander Vogt, his face a mask of resolve, surveyed the chamber. He noticed crumbling pillars scattered like the bones of giants, remnants of some long-forgotten world. Just as he raised his hand to signal a deeper advance, a low, guttural growl echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the walls and stirring something primal in the soldiers' hearts.
A flicker of flame danced in the distant dark, faint at first, before growing into a menacing blaze. Commander Vogt's eyes widened. "Spread out!" he bellowed. "Take cover! Now!"
But it was too late for some. A blinding torrent of fire roared from the depths, a burning serpent that slashed through the first ranks. Flames washed over the hypnotized draftees, consuming half of them in an instant. The soldiers who had been caught in the blast screamed, their voices lost beneath the crackling roar of the fire. Many among the hypnotized were oblivious to the inferno that seared their flesh, their altered minds too clouded to feel fear or pain. Some stood still, their faces passive as the fire turned them to ash.
"Charge! Transform!" Vogt's voice cut through the chaos, forcing his hypnotized soldiers back to attention. He ordered them forward, while the remaining Eldian soldiers scattered, huddling behind rocks and broken pillars, their muskets at the ready.
Another growl rumbled from the shadows, followed by two more pairs of gleaming eyes as more dragons emerged from the darkness. Their scales shimmered like polished metal, each a deadly force of nature unto itself. The first dragon inhaled deeply, its chest expanding as the other two took up flanking positions, tails whipping with a sickening thud against the cavern floor.
The hypnotized draftees surged forward in groups of twenty, faces still blank, unwavering under the monstrous creatures before them. Flames shot out again, scorching several more, reducing them to charred silhouettes that fell to the ground, smoldering and lifeless. But the rest pushed on undeterred, a relentless wave, and soon a handful had gotten close enough to the dragons to transform.
A brilliant yellow light blazed forth from each draftee's core, searing through the cavern with a sudden intensity that blinded dragon and soldier alike. The ground shuddered as streaks of lightning tore through the earth, striking down from unseen heavens above and splitting the air with a deafening crack. The dragons recoiled, disoriented, as the blazing light gave way to towering figures that emerged from the haze of energy: Titans, hulking and monstrous, muscles rippling as they took shape, steam billowing from their freshly forged forms.
The largest Titan—nearly seventeen meters tall—lunged at the closest dragon, grappling the beast in a vice grip. The dragon snarled, its claws scrabbling against the Titan's flesh, tearing long, bloody furrows into its arms. But the Titan held firm, driving the dragon backward, pinning it to the ground with raw, brutal strength.
"Fire!" Vogt yelled, rallying his men to support. Muskets rang out in a ragged volley, the shots peppering the dragons' scales but bouncing off harmlessly. Despite the soldiers' efforts, it was the Titans who seized the dragons' attention. A massive tail swept through the cavern, slamming into a pair of Titans and sending them crashing into a rock wall. The Titans barely staggered, their wounds hissing as steam rose from their charred flesh, healing as fast as the damage could be done. They lurched back to their feet, stalking toward the dragons, hunger for the kill blazing in their eyes.
The other dragons roared in defiance, unleashing another jet of fire that engulfed several Titans, their heads and torsos exploding in plumes of charred flesh and bone. But as the fire died down, the steam hissed through the cavern, and the Titans' dismembered forms began to reform, sinews knitting back together as they rose, relentless and undeterred.
Titan after Titan threw itself upon the dragons, a primal fury surging through their bodies as they clawed and grappled, their teeth snapping inches from dragon scales. Yet the dragons' hides were nearly impervious, an armor that no amount of clawing or biting seemed able to breach. Flames spewed in all directions, incinerating the Titans in flashes of heat, but the Titans pressed on, a wave that knew no end.
Commander Vogt watched from his cover, his sharp gaze taking in the battle, noting how the dragons' scales seemed almost enchanted, resistant to the Titans' savagery. He cursed under his breath, understanding now why their weapons had failed. It was as if the dragons bore some kind of unnatural protection, a shield against any weapon Eldia could throw at them.
"Send for reinforcements!" Vogt ordered a nearby soldier. "Tell them we need more Titans—every man we can muster!"
As the soldier sprinted back down the tunnel, the dragons continued to struggle, swiping their massive tails, crushing Titans beneath them or sending them sprawling across the cavern. Yet with every Titan thrown down, another took its place, climbing atop the beasts, latching onto scales with hands that blistered and burned, and tearing at the dragons' eyes and mouths with teeth and claws.
A tail lashed out, striking a Titan from behind, sending it sprawling into the fray where it scrambled back to its feet, rejoining the relentless assault. The dragons were beginning to slow, their breaths growing labored, their flames sputtering as their strength waned under the sheer weight of the Titans' assault.
Commander Vogt clenched his fists, feeling the tide of battle teeter on a knife's edge. His gaze hardened, and he shouted to his men, "Have faith! This is Eldia's strength!"
And in the distance, the dragons fought on, encircled by Titans whose lifeless faces hid an insatiable hunger, their jaws snapping and claws digging, an army that could not be halted until the last dragon lay still.
The Eldian soldiers watched in a mix of horror and fascination, their breaths shallow as the battle between Titans and dragons stretched on, a brutal dance of fire and flesh in the shadowed depths of the cavern. They clutched their muskets tightly, torches casting flickering, ghostly light across their pale faces. Time dragged with a painful slowness, each second drawn out as the scene unfolded in grotesque detail before them.
About a dozen Titans piled atop each dragon, limbs straining, muscles bulging as they pinned down their foes. The dragons, once fierce and unyielding, began to falter, their fire extinguished, breaths ragged as they struggled under the relentless, unyielding weight of the Titans. The ground quaked beneath them, dust drifting from the cavern ceiling with each sickening crash of claw on scale, bone on flesh.
But as the minutes passed, the dragons' once-mighty thrashes grew weaker, their limbs pinned and immobilized. One dragon, its scales cracked and charred, let out a desperate, shrill cry as two Titans wrenched open its jaw, heaving together in brutal unison. The shriek echoed off the stone, filling the cavern with a sound that was more than pain—it was the shattering of defiance, the breaking of something wild and untamed. As the dragon's cry faded, the eerie, flickering glow of its magical defenses dulled, the scales that had once resisted muskets and teeth now seeming to lose their luster, their protection waning under the Titans' siege.
It was then that the reinforcements arrived, led by General Vogt, their torches illuminating the twisted tableau ahead. Soldiers froze, eyes wide with disbelief, as they took in the sight of the cavern littered with mangled bodies—some of the charred, crumpled forms of fallen allies, but most were the remains of two dragons, their bodies broken, limbs ripped from their sockets, their bones splintered and twisted at unnatural angles. A few Titans chewed methodically on what remained, their eyes glazed and lifeless as they tore through scales and sinew, blood and muscle spilling across the cavern floor in thick, steaming pools.
The last dragon, pinned and defeated, could do little but watch as the rest of the Titans closed in, their relentless forms drawing ever nearer, eyes empty of reason, driven by nothing but a primal urge to kill. Its breaths came in ragged gasps, its once-proud wings sagging at its sides, scales cracked and bleeding. The soldiers, transfixed, felt something stir within them—fear, awe, a primal recognition of the power that their King wielded. Here, before them, was the embodiment of Eldia's strength: Titans, beings of terrifying, unyielding ferocity, capable of overpowering even the mythical creatures that had inspired legends.
The Titans surged forward, and a dozen more latched onto the dragon's limbs, others tearing at its neck. One clawed at its jaw, pulling back until with a sickening, wet crack, it wrenched the creature's lower jaw free, casting it aside as the dragon's agonized scream echoed once more, then faded into a tortured gurgle. It thrashed weakly, a wing half-rising, only to be shredded by another Titan's jagged teeth.
With a final surge, the Titans tore into the dragon's body, pulling and ripping until the last ember of life faded from the creature's eyes. The soldiers, watching in silence, could hardly breathe, captivated by the raw power, the horror, the sight of the Titans standing victorious over the ruin of their foes. Mangled bodies of dragons lay strewn across the cavern floor, blood pooling beneath the steaming remains, scales shattered, and bones exposed.
General Vogt's gaze lingered on the destruction, his face solemn, yet alive with a newfound understanding. Here, in the depths of the earth, he saw firsthand what it meant to stand with Eldia—and what it would mean for anyone who dared to stand against them. The power of the Titans, bound to the will of the Founding Titan, was a force that could lay waste to gods, dragons, and empires alike.
Word of victory reached the capital with the swiftness of wildfire. Messengers, covered in the dust of the road, entered the throne room, their faces alight with the triumph of the news they bore. King Fritz sat upon his ancient throne, the weight of Eldia's crown settled upon his brow. As the scouts' words filled the great hall, a slow, quiet smile crept onto his face—a smile that grew, flickering like the flame of a long-forgotten dream rekindled.
He stood, his voice a low command that filled the chamber as he turned to his advisors. "Send word to the families of Titans, to each and every bloodline. They are to convene at Eldia's call. For the first time in centuries, we will hold a summit, uniting the Titan families under one purpose."
The advisors nodded, their own expressions reflecting a mixture of awe and trepidation. Each knew the significance of his command. Summoning the Titan families, bringing them together in one place, was a gesture as ancient as Eldia itself, one only wielded when there was war to be waged, conquest to be achieved. It had not been done in lifetimes, and yet here, in this moment, King Fritz dared it. The messengers departed, spreading the decree that would bring the powers of the Eldian Empire back together, and with it, the promise of resurgence.
King Fritz remained alone in his hall, his gaze drawn to the vast windows, where the sky stretched out, boundless and open. Clouds drifted like the wings of titanic creatures in slumber, and beyond them lay the lands he would soon claim. His heart pulsed with a renewed sense of vigor, the thrill of the unknown stirring within him like a half-remembered melody, a call to a life he had never truly lived—a life as conqueror.
Finally, he thought, the Empire would march forward once more, the might of Titans unleashed to shake the earth and reclaim their destiny. Finally, after so long, Eldia would conquer again.
And as the King stood, the horizon before him a promise of dominion and glory, his smile grew ever so slightly. For in his heart, he knew—this was only the beginning.