Long before humans walked the earth, before elves sang their first songs or dwarves delved their first mines, the world belonged to giants.
But they were not alone.
Whispered tales passed down through generations spoke of massive beasts that roamed ancient forests and plains. Creatures so large they could crush trees underfoot, with necks that reached into the clouds and tails that carved valleys with a single sweep. The Ancients called them the Great Wanderers, the First Children, or simply the Titans of Earth.
Most scholars dismissed these accounts as exaggerations or folklore. After all, no fossil record existed of creatures that size. The few ancient cave paintings depicting massive long-necked beasts were attributed to primitive imaginations or symbolic representations of natural forces.
Yet here they were, exactly as described in the oldest texts—creatures from a time when the world itself was young, preserved somehow in this pocket of dense mana where time itself seemed to flow differently.
Adom stood transfixed, watching the long-necked giant lower its head toward him with surprising grace for something so enormous. Its mind touched his again, curiosity flowing between them like a gentle current.
"Stone-Singers," Adom repeated, letting his excitement filter through their mental connection. "You know them? The giants?"
The creature's consciousness rippled with what felt like hesitation, then confirmation.
"They made... this place," came the response, the mental voice slow and deliberate. "Long ago. Before my mothers' mothers. They sang to the stones, and the stones... moved."
"That's incredible," Adom breathed. "I'm looking for their ruins. Their buildings. Do you know where I could find them?"
The creature's head swayed slightly, its enormous eyes blinking.
"Why does small one seek the tall walkers?"
"I'm searching for knowledge," Adom explained. "About magic. About where humans like me came from. The giants might have left records, writings that could help me understand."
"Hmm." The sound resonated directly in Adom's mind. "Curious small one. What is your... name sound?"
"Adom," he replied, then realized he was speaking aloud unnecessarily. He shifted to purely mental communication. "I'm Adom. What should I call you?"
The creature didn't respond with anything Adom recognized as a name. Instead, he received an impression—a complex mental signature that conveyed identity through sensations rather than sounds. It felt like sunlight filtering through high branches, the satisfaction of reaching a particularly succulent leaf, the comfort of walking beside one's herd. If he had to translate it into something pronounceable, the closest approximation might be...
"Skyreacher?" Adom ventured.
The creature's consciousness brightened with something like amusement. "Close enough for your... small mind-sounds."
Skyreacher's neck curved in a more comfortable position, bringing her head lower. Adom could now see the fine details of her skin—the subtle patterns of scaling, the way her nostrils flared slightly with each breath, the intelligence in her deep brown eyes.
"The Stone-Singers' big nests lie beyond the three peaks," she projected, sending along an image of three distinctly shaped mountains rising from the far side of the valley. "Many days' walking for small legs."
"I could fly there," Adom suggested.
"Sky is... dangerous," Skyreacher warned. "Great wind-hunters patrol high places."
The mental image that accompanied this warning showed massive winged creatures with leathery wings and elongated heads, soaring between the peaks.
"Could you guide me there?" Adom asked. "Show me a safe path?"
Skyreacher's mind went quiet for a moment. The other massive creatures continued their grazing in the background, seemingly unconcerned by their herd member's conversation with the strange small being.
"No," she finally responded.
"Why not?" Adom asked, genuinely curious rather than offended.
Skyreacher's mental voice carried a simple certainty. "Because I do not want to."
"Hmm. That's... fair," Adom said.
A pause.
Her mental imagery showed several specific hazards with remarkable clarity—steaming pools surrounded by sulfurous deposits, innocent-looking vines that whipped down with surprising speed to snare anything that passed beneath.
"There is a stretch beyond the singing waterfall where few trees grow. Not enough leaves for us to eat there. You should take some with you."
"Oh, I have my rations," Adom assured her. "Some dried fruits, nuts, and a particularly good meat pie from Old Mari."
Skyreacher went completely still.
"Meat?" she projected. "You eat... meat?"
Adom froze, horror washing over him as he realized his mistake. He'd just casually mentioned eating flesh to a creature that was, itself, essentially walking food for predators.
"I, uh—" His mind raced for an explanation that wouldn't make him sound like a monster. "It's not—I mean, we don't—it's a very complex cultural... thing, and..."
A warm ripple of amusement flowed through their connection, catching Adom off-guard.
"Your face," Skyreacher projected, and Adom could've sworn her enormous mouth curved slightly upward at the corners. "So worried."
"You were... joking?" Adom asked, feeling distinctly off-balance.
"Of course," she replied. "The Sharp-Tooth eats meat. The flying hunters eat meat. It is the way of things."
Adom cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Right. Of course."
"If eating other creatures is in your nature, then so be it," Skyreacher continued. "Though perhaps you should not announce this to everyone you meet. Some might find it... unsettling."
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
"Noted," Adom said, feeling his face grow warm.
Skyreacher lowered her head slightly, bringing one enormous eye level with Adom's face. "The Stone-Singers' valley lies three days' journey from here, for small legs. Beyond the three peaks, through the mist forest. Look for stones arranged in circles, larger than me. That is where their path begins."
[1200/2010]
[1300/2010]
He closed his eye again, focusing inward. What he found there was no longer something he could honestly call a mana core. It was an Axis core—fundamentally different in structure and function.
As the first known human (to himself, at least) with such a feature, he still had little idea what to expect. Biggins could be a model to follow, but he was a dragon. That was the very reason Adom's transformation had diverged from the expected path in the first place—because Biggins had helped him reach Axis in the way a dragon would. Not a human.
He was grateful, no confusion about that. But to be honest, he was also a bit afraid. He'd been sick his whole past life and didn't want to deal with unexpected after-effects, no matter how beneficial the initial change seemed.
[1500/2010]
[1700/2010]
[1900/2010]
[2010/2010]
His pool was replenished now, filled to capacity. Normally, this was where the process stopped. A mage would feel reinvigorated, satisfied—like after eating a good meal. That pleasant fullness that signaled "enough."
But something was strange. Very strange.
Adom didn't feel satisfied. He felt... hungry. Like he'd taken a few bites of the most delicious meal he'd ever tasted, only to have the plate pulled away. There was more to be had. He could sense it.
Instead of opening his eyes and ending his meditation, he pushed deeper, following his instinct. His Axis core responded immediately.
[Mana Pool: 2010/2015]
Oh?
[2015/2020]
Oh!
[2020/2020]
His maximum capacity was increasing alongside his current mana. That shouldn't be possible. Mana pool capacity was something that increased gradually over months or years of maturation. It wasn't something that just... grew because you wanted it to.
And yet...
[Mana Pool: 2025/2025]
It was growing.
[2030/2030]
Again.
[2050/2050]
Adom's awareness narrowed to the process happening within him. He could feel it now—a circular pattern being completed around his core, like a ring slowly being drawn by an invisible hand. Each increment in his numbers corresponded to another fraction of that circle being completed.
Was this... was he forming his first circle? Just like that? Really?
[Mana Pool: 2100/2100]
Huh...
[2200/2200]
Looks like he was.
[2300/2300]
The sensation was exhilarating. Adom felt like he was simultaneously being filled and expanded. As if someone were pouring water into a cup that grew larger with each drop, never quite reaching fullness.
His awareness of the outside world had completely faded. There was only the core, the growing circle, and the numbers that reflected his transformation.
[Mana Pool: 2500/2500]
[2700/2700]
[2900/2900]
He pushed further, driven by a hunger he couldn't explain. The idea of having more—of seeing how far this could go—was irresistible. The circle was nearly complete now, he could feel it, a band of pure energy wrapping around his core like a ring around a planet.
[Mana Pool: 3000/3000]
Ah!
[3050/3050]
More? Seriously?!
[3065/3065]
Don't mind if I do!
[3067/3067]
And then, resistance. Like hitting a wall. He pushed and pushed, but the numbers refused to increase further. The circle was complete—perfectly formed, stable—but this appeared to be its natural limit. At least, for now.
Adom opened his eyes.
He was drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The horizon had changed dramatically—the bright daylight replaced by the deep purple of early evening. The valley below was cast in long shadows, and the first stars were appearing overhead.
How long had he been sitting here?
He fumbled for his pocket watch, his fingers clumsy from prolonged stillness. The timepiece felt unusually heavy in his hand.
Fifteen hours. He'd been meditating for fifteen hours straight.
Adom almost slurred a curse, but the words died in his throat as he felt something shift in his core—a settling, a solidification of the change that had occurred. A notification appeared:
[First Circle Formed: Axis Core Stabilized]
[Classification Updated: First Circle Mage]
[Mana Regeneration Rate: +300%]
[Spell Efficiency: +25%]
[Mana Control: +30%]
Adom stared at the notification, completely stupefied.
First Circle Mage. Just like that.
The analytical part of his mind kicked in, trying to make sense of what had just happened. This wasn't just good fortune or talent—there had to be a logical explanation.
"The Axis core," he murmured, examining the phenomenon from first principles. "It must process ambient mana differently than a standard core."
Traditional mana cores worked like filters—drawing in raw mana from the environment, processing it through the mage's personal magical signature, and storing the result. The process was inefficient by nature, with significant energy lost during conversion. Most mages only retained about 20% of the mana they absorbed, which explained why growth was so painfully slow.
But Axis was structured differently. More orderly. More efficient.
If his hypothesis was correct, his Axis core wasn't just filtering mana—it was actively restructuring it, aligning the chaotic energy into perfect patterns that could be absorbed without loss. In theory, that meant he could potentially convert 100% of ambient mana into usable energy.
And here in the Highlands, where mana density was off the charts...
"It's like giving a starving man access to an unlimited buffet," Adom said to himself.
This explained why a normal mage would go mad here rather than grow stronger. Their cores would try to process the overwhelming ambient mana using standard methods, resulting in overflow, contamination, and eventually, damage.
His Axis core didn't just protect him from the negative effects—it thrived on the conditions.
"The question is," Adom murmured, looking down at his hands, "what's the upper limit?"
*****
Meanwhile...
The moon cast silver streaks across the dark water as the group settled into their impromptu camp.
Hours had passed since they'd first spotted the leviathan, and the creature had developed a pattern—disappearing beneath the depths only to resurface every forty minutes or so, its massive silhouette breaking the moonlit surface before diving again.
"It's looking for something," Mia said, braiding strands of local reeds into what looked like the beginning of a basket, her work illuminated by the small light ball hovering above their camp. "Or someone."
Sam sat cross-legged on a flat rock, his notebook open but largely ignored as he bribed Zuni with candied berries. The quillick chittered excitedly, stuffing each treat into its cheek pouches before performing elaborate acrobatics around Sam's shoulders.
"That's it, show me that jump again," Sam encouraged, holding out another berry. "For science."
Zuni launched into a backflip that no creature with such stubby legs should have been able to manage, landing precisely on Sam's outstretched palm.
Eren snorted from where he was skipping stones into the water, the ripples glinting like scattered coins. "Some 'scientific observation' you're doing there."
"Positive reinforcement is a legitimate research methodology," Sam replied primly, though his grin betrayed him.
Naia sat a few yards away, her eyes closed in meditation. A small globe of water hovered between her palms, shifting shapes in response to her breathing, reflecting the moonlight like a miniature star. Luna, Gus's shimmerscale, had coiled herself beside Naia, apparently entranced by the water manipulation.
Gus himself was busy adjusting the makeshift shelter he'd built using driftwood and the tarp from his pack. "Wind's picking up," he said to no one in particular. "Might get chilly tonight."
Karion paced near the water's edge, occasionally glancing toward the blue lanterns that marked the boundary of the "safe zone." In the darkness, the lanterns' glow seemed more ominous than reassuring, and Karion's restless energy had only grown more pronounced as the night deepened.
Damus sat apart from the others, back straight, face impassive as he stared out at the water. He hadn't spoken in hours, barely acknowledging the food Sam had offered earlier. The moonlight cast half his face in shadow, making his expression even more unreadable than usual.
"Tch."
A sudden movement caught everyone's attention.
Damus stood up, brushed sand from his clothes, and began walking—not toward the camp, but in the direction of the unmarked territory beyond the lanterns.
All conversation ceased. Even Zuni froze mid-chitter.
"Where are you going?" Karion called out.
Damus didn't break stride or turn around. "None of your business."
Karion's eyes narrowed. He jogged forward, circling around to plant himself directly in Damus's path. "Actually, it is."
Damus stopped, his expression unreadable in the half-light.
"Look," Karion said, spreading his hands in a gesture that might have been conciliatory if not for the tension in his shoulders, "I'd like to go there too. Have some real adventures instead of sitting on this beach waiting for... what exactly? Permission? While Adom is out there probably making some groundbreaking discovery or fighting something awesome."
"Move," Damus said, his voice flat.
"We could work together, you know," Karion continued, placing a hand on Damus's chest to halt his advance. "Since we both want the same thing."
"We don't want the same thing," Damus replied. "I doubt you know what you want beyond attention. Remove your hand."
Sam, sensing the rising tension, closed his notebook and set Zuni aside. Everyone was watching now, conversations abandoned, the leviathan temporarily forgotten.
"Hey there," Karion said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Let's be friendly, yeah? We're all classmates here."
"Classmates," Damus repeated, his tone making the word sound meaningless. "Is that why you insist on this juvenile 'rivalry' with Adom? A pathetic attempt to elevate yourself by association?"
Karion's smile hardened. "You know what? I actually like to fight. It's honest. Simple." His hand was still on Damus's chest. "I've fought most people I thought could handle themselves. Never got around to you, though."
"Guys," Sam said, standing up and approaching cautiously. "Maybe don't do this here? The fisherman said to keep a low profile, remember?"
Karion ignored him, eyes fixed on Damus. "How about it? Want to have a go? Might make you feel better. You've been brooding since we got here."
Damus looked Karion up and down with cool assessment. "I don't feel like fighting."
"Afraid I'll mess up that perfect face?" Karion's grin widened. "Or afraid your monotone act will crack if someone actually lands a hit?"
The air between them practically crackled. Naia's water sphere collapsed as her concentration broke. Gus stopped adjusting the shelter. Eren's stone dropped from his hand before he could throw it.
"I'm not afraid," Damus said, his voice still maddeningly calm. "I just find it pointless. Like most things you do."
"Say that again," Karion said, his friendly facade dropping entirely. His hand moved from Damus's chest to grip his collar.
Damus's eyes narrowed a fraction—the most emotion anyone had seen from him all day.
"Okay, STOP!" Sam shouted, just as Karion's free hand curled into a fist and Damus's fingers began to trace what looked suspiciously like the beginning of a spell pattern.