Titan King: Ascension of the Giant
Chapter 820 - 820: A Hard-Won Peace

Orion met Jorik's gaze, holding it. The dragon did not flinch, but raised his goblet in a gesture of humble respect.

"With the World Tunnels shattered and the Archlords of the great houses returning, the board has been reset," Jorik said, his voice a low rumble. "Barring some unforeseen catastrophe, most wars between the powers of the realm will grind to a halt."

He spoke the truth. With a power like an Archlord anchoring each side, continued conflict would escalate into a war of annihilation, a battle for the very survival of a race. Such gambles were too vast, their consequences too dire. It was far more likely that the Archlords, like Orion and King Neptor, would extinguish the flames of conflict with a few curt words—a pact born of mutual, overwhelming power. In the calculus of kings, old grievances were poor currency.

Besides, who could say what demigod stood behind which Archlord? To risk a war between gods over the squabbles of mortals was unthinkable. Even the divines would not engage in such folly unless their own fundamental interests were threatened.

"The war between the dragons and the sea-races will end," Jorik continued. "From this day forward, my people, like the Stoneheart Horde, will seek stability. We will seek to grow."

Orion fell silent, the pieces clicking into place.

Only now did he fully grasp the sheer, breathtaking scope of the white dragon Frostsire's ambition. With the other Archlords bound in another realm, the ancient wyrm had launched his wars on land and sea, not for total conquest, but to carve out new territory. He had pushed against the borders of Men, Dwarves, Blood Elves, and Giants, but never so far as to make them irreconcilable enemies. In the seas, he had avoided antagonizing the Naga and the Sea-Drakes(Sea-Dragons) who bordered his primary target.

On the grand stage, the dragon race had made only one true enemy: the Reverse Whale race. All other skirmishes were mere feints, distractions.

A cunning old lizard, Orion thought with a grudging respect. He plays a long game.

Frostsire had executed a grandmaster's gambit, expanding his domain to its absolute limit without crossing the one line that would bring true ruin upon his house. And now, just as the demigods and Archlords returned, he had called a halt. The dragons' return to prominence was seamless, a perfectly timed maneuver. They were guided by a master strategist, one whose roots ran as deep and steady as the ocean floor.

"Orion," Jorik said, breaking the silence. "I have come to ensure the pacts of trade between our peoples remain strong. We hope the gates of your cities will remain open to us." He added, "As ours will be to you, of course."

Orion's eyes lit with interest. Continued trade meant continued access to the dragon-forged galleons that, once modified, became his formidable Sea-Devouring Warships.

"You have my word," Orion declared. "The cities of the Stoneheart Horde will be open to all peoples of the continent who come in peace."

They spoke for a long while after that. From Jorik, Orion learned that a true, lasting peace might finally settle over Titanion. With the dragons and the Horde both choosing to consolidate their power, only the human kingdoms possessed the ambition to stir the waters of war. But with the continent's political landscape now so complex, so fraught with returned power, even the most belligerent human king would hesitate to make the first move.

Peace, Orion mused. Hard-won, and all the more precious for it. The Dark Beast Tides, the North-South War, the battles on the high seas, and the secret, two-sided war through the World Tunnels… peace was the quiet dawn that followed a long and bloody night.

Later, in the deep of that night, the castle square was quiet.

The two giant princes, Kronos and Pallas, knelt side-by-side on the cold flagstones, their gazes turned up toward the moon and the endless tapestry of stars.

Elara, by contrast, was quite comfortable. She had summoned a thick vine from the cracks between the stones, weaving it into an elegant swing upon which she sat, gently swaying. She was counting the stars aloud for Pallas, her voice a soft murmur in the night air.

Kronos, for his part, was sullenly munching his way through a pile of exotic fruits Elara had procured from somewhere, watching the other two with a strange mixture of curiosity and alienation.

It was a strange tableau: two princes kneeling in punishment, while their big sister swung happily beside them, the scene a bizarre yet strangely tender portrait of their nascent brotherhood.

From a high balcony above, Orion held Lilith in his arms, the two of them watching their children below.

"Do you think," Lilith murmured, her head resting on his chest, "that when he is grown, Kronos will resent me for this?"

Though her heart was vast, and her methods wise, he was not her-born. A sliver of doubt remained. Making Pallas share the punishment was a masterful stroke; it not only forged a bond of shared hardship between the two brothers, lessening any resentment, it also gave Kronos an honest measure of the siblings he had never known. Should someone whisper poison in his ear years from now, he might remember this night—the two children who knelt with him in the dark—and question whether they were truly deserving of his hatred.

"Never," Orion said, his voice a low rumble. "You are the Hearth-Queen of the Stoneheart Horde. Your word in our halls is law, especially in the raising of my children. If he is to be a true giant, he must learn to respect the Matron of his clan."

His tone hardened. "A son who does not honor you is no son of mine. Such a whelp, I would cast from the clan myself—"

Lilith's fingers gently covered his mouth, silencing him. "Hush, my love. While I am here, they will all be well. Kaelen, too. If he ever finds his way here, I will care for him as my own."

Orion had told her everything upon his return, including the existence of Kaelen, his son trapped on the Chaos Continent.

Lilith had taken the news with quiet grace. The boy was worlds away; for him to reach them, he would first have to cross from the Chaos Continent to Dusk, and then find passage to the Titanion Realm. Without the aid of an Archlord or a demigod, the journey was impossible. More than anything, Lilith simply pitied the boy.

Emerald Dream Realm, The Silvermoon Empire.

With their ruling caste spirited away, the remaining Silver-Eyed people were nothing more than sheep without a shepherd. Their fate was a matter to be decided by a single command from their conquerors.

In the end, mercy was a courtesy they were not afforded. The entire race was enslaved, their future now belonging to Alexander and Leonidas.

"Some of them possess a unique aptitude in their third eye," Alexander noted with cold detachment. "They are suited for the shadows. They will make a fine crucible for a new generation of assassins."

He selected over a hundred of the most promising youths, inducting them into the brutal trials of his Blade Hall.

The rest he gave to Leonidas. They would serve a different purpose. They were no longer a people, but a resource. A breeding stock to be managed.