“The King watched me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
The historian accepted the anger.
“When I returned, the baker and his wife were dead.”
“And me?”
“Gone.”
Aren looked away.
“I was downstairs.”
“What?”
“There’s a cellar.”
Oren closed his eyes.
“I searched the upper rooms.”
For twelve years, Aren had believed nobody searched.
Learning that someone had done it badly did not feel much better.
“I thought you died.”
Aren’s voice hardened.
“You were wrong.”
“Yes.”
The wagon rolled beneath the stars.
Finally Oren said, “I am sorry.”
Aren did not answer.
They reached the Abbey of Silent Bells two days later.
It sat between cliffs far from the royal road.
The monks admitted Oren without question.
They stared at Aren more carefully.
Not suspicious.
Afraid.
One ancient monk touched Aren’s palm.
Golden light appeared.
He immediately stepped back.
“So it begins.”
Aren hated how adults kept saying things like that.
“What begins?”
The monk looked toward Mount Vaelor, the highest peak in Eldoria.
“The giants are waking.”
By sunset, everyone in the Abbey knew the reports.
A Stone Giant remained outside the capital, unmoving but watching the palace.
Two more had emerged near the western mines.
One rose from beneath an abandoned fortress and simply walked north.
Another appeared near a fishing village and stood waist-deep in the sea.
None attacked.
Yet.
King Aldric issued a proclamation.
The giants had been awakened by forbidden sorcery.
The orphan Aren was named traitor.
Anyone aiding him would be executed.
Oren read the proclamation.
Then laughed.
“What?”
Aren asked.
“The Crown called you both an insignificant street child and a threat to the kingdom in the same paragraph.”
Aren almost smiled.
The Abbey’s keeper brought them into a sealed archive.
There, Oren found the text he had been looking for.
The Covenant of Stone.
Written before modern Eldorian.
He translated aloud.
“When blood of the First House returns to the Key, the Sleeping Hosts shall wake.”
Aren looked toward the mountains.
“So I woke them.”
“Yes.”
“What happens next?”
Oren continued.
“They shall await the Heir’s Choice.”
Aren frowned.
“What choice?”
The next line had been damaged.
Only fragments remained.
CROWN.
STONE.
SHADOW.
SACRIFICE.
The Abbey keeper whispered, “Wonderful.”
Aren stared.
“What?”
“Prophecies become much more useful when the important part rots away.”
Oren almost smiled.
Then bells rang outside.
Not monastery bells.
Warning bells.
A rider arrived before dark.
Prince Corvin.
Alone.
Almost.
Three royal guards rode behind him.
Every monk reached for a weapon.