Breaking Through by ProbablyIX

                                                                                                                                        Three Years Ago

A heavy thwack sounded through the courtyard as wood hit leather. The sun shone over distant clouds, pushing heat into the dusty ground. Mary huffed from exertion, slick with sweat as she dropped her stance. The dummy before her was thoroughly beaten, its stuffed leather shape decorated by an hour’s worth of blows.

A handful of other humans made themselves busy around her. The small courtyard beside the guardhouse was more of a communal area than a proper training ground. Sure, a couple other aspiring guards had been training beside her. But there was also a carpenter sanding a table, and a blacksmith making horseshoes. Someone had even started a garden over in the corner, which struck Mary as a brazen attempt to push the guards’ patience. Though of course, no reprimand came. This far to the west, outside threats barely concerned the village. So, the guard had licence to be a little relaxed.

Mary planted her wooden training sword into the dirt, wiping her brow as she caught her breath. Trudging over to the shade of a nearby basin, she felt the cool light breeze against her sweat-soaked singlet. She plunged her hands into the cool water, drinking from her palms and splashing her face simultaneously. She stepped back, letting the excess run through her hair and drip down her body, leeching the heat from her skin.

“Mary!” A friendly voice chirped from behind. She turned to look, and saw Amelia. The cheery, leather-clad brunette smiled as she offered a towel. Mary took it gratefully, dabbing at and under her arms as Amelia continued. “You’ve really been working up a sweat, huh?” She cocked an amused eyebrow. “How long have you been out here?”

Mary glanced at the sky, guessing at the time as she dried herself. “An hour, I think? I’ve just been going through drills.” She gestured toward the thoroughly beaten dummy. “The usual. Thanks for the towel, Amy.” She said, passing it back to Amelia, who took it with a smile.

“You’re welcome!” Her expression softened. “I’m glad to help even in just a small way like this. It just feels so wrong that they let me into the guard before you.” She said, shaking her head.

Mary gave a wry smile. They were the same age, and had been training to enter the guard alongside one another. Tn the last year’s round of recruits, the guard had accepted Amelia, but not Mary. Even after all these years, they were still slow to trust the strange, out-of-town, giant-fathered orphan into their ranks. It was bullshit, but Mary could hardly blame Amelia for it.

“I appreciate the help.” She said, offering Amelia a smile which was quickly returned. “And don’t worry about it. I’ll wear them down eventually.” She smirked. “And I don’t mind the extra training much.” She shrugged, feeling the harbinger of an oncoming ache in her muscles as her shoulders rolled.

Amelia’s gaze snapped up from where it’d been lingering on Mary’s exposed shoulders. “Oh! About that actually!” She chirped, eyes bright. “I was talking to the captain this morning, and he seemed like he might finally be coming around to letting you in!”

Mary’s eyebrows raised. “Seriously?” The captain had been a persistent blockade against her since she’d arrived – likely because of some misplaced fear of her father’s kind. If he was finally coming around…

Amelia beamed. “Seriously! Isn’t that great?” Mary smiled with wide eyes. She hadn’t expected it so soon, but she was one step closer to achieving her dream.

“It is.” She said, earning an excited squeal from Amelia.

“Right? Gods I can’t wait! I’ll keep pushing the captain so we can get you some of these,” She thumped her chest, clad in the simple leathers of the guard. “as soon as possible.” She grinned. Mary smiled back.

Before she could say anything else, a distant bell rang. Then again after a pause. Amelia started.

“Oop, that’s the mid-afternoon call.” She said, glancing at the sky. “I’ve got to go swap patrols with David.” A slight bustle picked up around them, various townsfolk having structured their day around the guard’s timekeeping.

Mary glanced over the courtyard wall, toward the edge of the forest. “I should go too. My father wants me home earlier than usual today.” She said, following as Amelia hurried out of the dusty courtyard and into the cobbled street.

“Nothing too serious, I hope?” Amelia asked, glancing toward Mary.

“Nah, he probably just wants my help with some new spell he’s working on.” Mary shrugged.

“Oh, that’s cool. What kind of-“

“Oh- Mary!” An older man’s voice carried over the street, cutting Amelia off. Mary glanced to the side, spotting the elderly Hopkins hobbling over. “I’m sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting.” He apologised, looking between them both. “It’s just that I had a request for your father.”

Mary shrugged. “Sure thing. I was just about to head home anyway. What do you need?”

“Ah! I’m glad I caught you then. I don’t need much it’s just,” Hopkins offered a large flat stone Mary recognised. She took it, feeling its cold surface against her skin. “The hot stone your father made for me has run out of its magic, is all. I was hoping he could, ah, restore it.” Mary nodded. Her father had been getting quite good at making his spells last, though they did always run out eventually.

“I’ll make sure he gives it a look.” She said, tucking the stone under her arm. “Was it working well otherwise?”

Hopkins nodded. “Oh, yes. Sleeping with it under my bedding has done wonders for my back.” He smiled. “Be sure to give my thanks to your father. I’d give them myself, but even just the short trip out of town has become too much for my old bones.” He sighed.

Mary smiled. Her father had been offering his services to the townsfolk for years, though, out of respect for the humans’ peace of mind, he rarely entered the town himself. So, Mary often carried requests to and from their house beyond the edge of town. Old Hopkins was one of the few who would actually go to meet her father in person, and the two had become friendly over the years.

“I will.” Mary nodded. “And if you can’t make it out to us, I’ll ask him to stop by sometime.”

Hopkins smirked. “Well, I’d appreciate that, though I fear the others might take issue with him stomping around town again.”

Amelia blushed, chuckling nervously as Mary struggled to suppress a smile. The last time her father had come to visit, he wanted to test a spell he’d devised that would – in theory – allow a carriage to move on its own. Trouble was, once he’d cast the spell, no one could quite figure out how to make it stop moving on its own. The last Mary had seen, it was upside down, still spinning its wheels in her father’s workshop.

He had apologised profusely to the owner of the cart, and hadn’t been back to town since. He was worried about what the townsfolk might think of him. Most of the humans Mary had spoken with laughed off the incident in hindsight. But there were still holdouts like the captain, who insisted her father’s magic was some kind of foreign danger.

“I’ll tell him not to try out any new spells this time.” Mary said, smiling at Hopkins, who chuckled in return. Readjusting her grip on the stone, Mary slipped it into the leather pouch at her hip. The heavy stone disappeared into its depths as she stepped away. “I should get going. I’ll see you two around.” She said, offering a wave.

“Oh! I should get going too. I’m sure David is wondering where I am.” Amelia chuckled sheepishly. “See you, Mary! I’ll make sure to keep hounding the captain for you!” She slapped a palm on her curled bicep with an exaggerated serious expression. Mary smiled as Amelia chuckled. The guardswoman beamed back at Mary before hurrying off to rotate her shift.

Hopkins offered Mary a gentle wave as she turned toward home. The journey took her past the edge of town, toward the Giant’s Forest. Where, nestled at its edge, was her home.

It was a simple construction, just a handful of essential rooms her father had built himself. And of course, his workshop, which took up about a third of the house. The red wood facade had dulled somewhat over the years. But in the golden afternoon light, it still shone with vibrant colour.

Even after twenty years, walking home still felt a little surreal. From the right distance, it looked human-sized, and gave it the illusion that it wasn’t so far away. Though, a couple hundred meters later the illusion quickly wore off, as the massive structure began to loom.

Mary trudged up the path, adjusting the pouch at her hip. Rough dirt faded into cobbled stone as she approached the human-sized front door, placed just to the right of the giant-sized real one. Mary let herself inside and paused in the entryway, basking in the cooler air of her home. Closing her eyes and cocking her head, she listened for wherever her father was. It was easier than shouting. A faint scratching and scribbling noise drifted into her ears. His room, then.

Mary wandered from the door into the ginormous open space of their combined living room and kitchen, past the massive couch her father barely used. Seeing his bedroom door ajar, she quietly slipped inside, her passing barely disturbing the hundred-foot-tall door.

Her father was seated at his desk like usual, bent over and scribbling out notes. He was clearly deep in the zone, so Mary didn’t bother disturbing him yet. Instead, she wandered over to the side of his desk, where a series of handholds she had notched into the wood as a teenager still remained.

Making sure her pouch was tightly secured, Mary started climbing. Her muscles hadn’t yet realised they were supposed to be exhausted, so she managed the climb as easily as she usually did. Whenever Amelia asked about her strength, Mary always told her that most of her muscle came from the simple ordeal of traversing her house by all by herself. She’d gone through a phase of independence as a teenager, refusing to be carried around by her father and finding her own ways of navigating the giant-sized furniture. She’d built the foundation of her physique from all the climbing involved.

After half a minute, she crested the top, rising to her feet on the wooden surface of the desk. Above, her father was lost in thought, chin in his hand as he squinted down at his old worn spellbook as if a stern look would illuminate the answers he sought within. Fingers scratched over light stubble as he worked, dark eyes scanning over pages Mary couldn’t read from this angle.

Mary glanced around, spotting a clump of kneaded rubber nearby. Quietly, she hefted the pliant boulder overhead and, with a smile, tossed it at her father’s hands.

The eraser hit his writing hand with a smack, startling the giant as he jumped violently.

“AH-“ Hugo exclaimed as Mary broke into a hearty bout of laughter. He sighed, running a hand through scraggly, dust-grey hair. “Gods’ sake, Mary.” He said before breaking into a smile of his own. “You could just say something, you know.”

Mary continued cackling as her father quickly wrote a final line, before closing his book and putting his things away. Finished with his work for now, he glanced down at her with a cocked eyebrow, trying his best to be stern.

“I could, yeah. But scaring you is funnier.” She chuckled, reaching into her pouch. “Here.” She said, offering Hopkins’ stone up toward her father. His expression shifted into curiosity as he carefully pinched it between thumb and forefinger. “It’s the hot stone you made for Hopkins. He says the spell’s worn off.”

Hugo nodded. “Ah, I’d figured that would happen soon.” He mused. He gently set it off to the side. “I’ll make sure to fix that up before you head into town tomorrow. Was there anything else?”

“He also wanted me to deliver a thank you, since he’s too old to make it out here himself anymore. You should come into town sometime. I’m sure he’d like to thank you himself.” She offered.

Hugo let out a half-hearted chuckle. “Maybe. Though I’m not sure how happy they’d be to see me after last time…” He gave a sheepish chuckle. Mary shrugged.

“Anyway. You wanted me home early?” Mary asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes. Your transition is due for maintenance.” Her father explained, grabbing his spellbook.

Mary blinked. Oh, right. It’d been months since last time. She’d nearly forgotten.

“Well, you know the drill.” Her father stood, his chair rumbling against the floor. “Off to the workshop.” He said, offering a hand down toward Mary.

“I can walk there myself.” She protested, frowning with arms crossed.

“You think I want to walk behind you at a snail’s pace? C’mon.” He smirked, waving his fingers impatiently.

Rolling her eyes, Mary clambered on, begrudgingly seating herself in her father’s palm as he stepped away. Mary felt the air rushing past her face as Hugo strode through the house, headed for the workshop. It was convenient, being carried around like this. Even if it made her feel like a child.

Hugo’s footsteps clomped over the wooden floors as he emerged into the dim, cluttered workshop. A large bench dominated the left wall, covered in all manner of tools and parchment. The rest of the space was similarly messy, filled with shelves of discarded and half-finished tests. For all his genius, Mary’s father was not a very organised man.

Flickering shadows kicked up as Hugo tapped a lantern hanging over the bench, igniting a flame within that slowly burned through the spell he’d placed within. In the warm light, Mary could make out some of the work-in-progress projects strewn about. Including the upturned wooden frame of a cart, still furiously spinning its wheels in vain. She smirked.

Her father pulled out his chair while simultaneously lowering his palm to the workbench, allowing Mary to hop off as he sat. Hugo shuffled in his chair, getting comfortable while he searched amid the mess.

“It’s been a few months. Where did I leave it…?” He muttered, before his eyes lit up in recognition. “Aha!”

With a light clatter, he retrieved an old, worn cushion. Its mauve colour was faded, and it puffed dust as he brushed it off with satisfaction. Mary smiled as Hugo ran his fingers over the surface, carefully catching threads of magic as they traced a familiar path. With a final tap, the spell flashed, shrinking the cushion down to near-human size. He set the antique thing down with an exaggerated flourish.

“Your highness.” He intoned, gesturing toward the plush seat with a rolling bow. Mary rolled her eyes, but couldn’t supress a smile.

She tromped over, twirling before collapsing heavily into the shrunken cushion. Though, even at this smaller size, it was more like a small mattress. Mary sighed, letting gravity pull her tired body into the plush surface.

Ever since her father had first let Mary into the workshop, the cushion had served as a beacon of softness for her to lounge upon in the hard, wooden environment. And come her transition, every time she was due for upkeep, it would be her ‘throne’ as she waited for her father to reweave the spell that kept her herself.

Reaching over Mary, Hugo retrieved a pair of thin, rectangular glasses, slipping them on as he spoke. “I’m trying something new this time, had a little breakthrough recently.” Mary – despite the creeping ache in her tired muscles – sat up to listen. “You shouldn’t notice much of a difference. That said, if it works properly, it ought to last a lot longer.”

Mary raised her eyebrows at that. The last spell he cast had already lasted for months, now the next would last even longer? That was definitely a good thing, and her father always had a bit of an obsession with making spells last. But…

Hugo caught her expression, offering a rueful smile. “Bit of a shame we won’t get to do this quite as often, eh?” Mary silently agreed.

She’d never really been interested in learning the intricacies of magic, neither arcane nor the divine human kind. Her physical pursuits had carved a bit of a gap between her and her father’s lives over the years. But, her regular need to have her transition maintained had been a good opportunity for them to catchup outside of mealtimes. It would be a shame to lose those moments.

Seeing Mary’s face, Hugo smiled, ruffling her hair with a finger. He grinned at her frown. “Cheer up. We can always find other things to do together.”

Fixing her hair, Mary offered a slight smile in return. “Yeah…” She said, turning around to present her back as she lifted her singlet off.

Mary heard her father shuffling in his seat as he got closer. Then, a familiar, subtle warmth began to soak into her skin. A series of barely perceptible tugs prickled her as Hugo carefully adjusted the old spell.

Mary could rarely spot the weave, though, when asked, her father had described the spell maintaining her transition as ‘a big, tangled ball of glowing yarn’. She had been quite young at the time, but her father was too dedicated to his craft to just make things up. She assumed it was accurate, if dumbed down for her younger self.

She sighed, lazily holding her chin in her hands as she let the warmth wash over her tired body. She let the next few minutes slip by in silence, content to simply rest. Eventually, her father spoke up.

“Any luck with the guard recently?” He asked. “I hope that captain still isn’t giving you trouble.” Mary could hear the frown in his voice.

“Good news actually, yeah.” Mary answered. “Just today Amy said he might finally be coming around to letting me in.”

“Oh, that’s good! Long overdue, too.” Hugo said, tugging at a stubborn thread. “Maybe once it’s official you can invite Amelia over to celebrate. I feel like it’s been years since she last came by.” He mused.

“I think she might be intimidated by you, actually.” Mary said, thinking back to the blushing nervousness that seemed to come over Amelia lately, whenever Mary mentioned seeing her father.

Hugo grunted indignantly. “She wasn’t when you two were younger. What changed?”

Mary shrugged with a noncommittal noise. “Dunno. Maybe she’s worried about what the captain might think.”

“Maybe.”

A thought occurred to Mary, brining a smile over her features. “If they let me in the guard, will you finally let me have that sword you made for me?” She grinned.

A heavy sigh tumbled out from her father at the mention. Not unlike the ‘magic bag’ she’d asked for in her youth, as a girl filled with dreams of knighthood, Mary had similarly requested a ‘magic sword’. Her father was naturally hesitant toward the prospect of arming a teenage girl with a deadly weapon, though Mary suspected the allure of the novel challenge won him over. As, a few months later, he had provided the gleaming, oddly proportioned blade.

“You mean the one that nearly took my fingers off the first time you swung it?” Hugo asked.

“Yes.”

Hugo chuckled. “I regret ever making that damn thing. It’s wildly dangerous. Not to mention excessive.” He mumbled, shaking his head.

“It’s incredible!” Mary insisted. “I still can’t believe you took it off me so quickly.” She folded her arms defiantly, though the effect was lessened by her not actually facing her father.

Hugo sighed. “…I’ll admit, I am still proud of the tricks I came up with to make it work. But can you imagine if you took that thing into town? Practiced with it? When the blade grows back it’s longer than you are tall! It’s not the kind of thing you can just casually carry around.” He reasoned, continuing to weave his spell.

“It’s not like I’ll use it for training.” Mary said, rolling her eyes. “I’m a grown woman now, I’m not swinging things around like a kid anymore. I can handle it just fine.”

“I just don’t see why a guardswoman would need a sword like that. It’s something you’d use to slay monsters, not keep the peace.”

“What if I have to slay monsters to keep the peace?” Mary asked, tossing her hands up. “It’s not like we don’t see dire wolves and land sharks every now and then. And if monsters never show up, I’d never have a reason to use it, so I’d never use it! It’s perfectly safe!” She argued.

Mary very much wanted the sword, even if just to have and never use. As she got older she was realising that she may well end up travelling away if she stayed her current course. Deep down, she wanted to keep all these little pieces of her father close by, so no matter how far she went, she’d never forget him.

Mary curled her knees up to her chest. She wished she could express all of that properly, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find the words. And so, her feelings remained unsaid, as they often did.

Perhaps sensing she was upset, Hugo finally relented. “Fine.” He sighed. “I’ll need to check the spells, make sure everything is still stable. But after that, I’ll hand it over.” Mary perked up at his words, surprised he had actually been swayed.

“Thank you.” She simply said. Her father returned an exasperated smile.

“Just promise me you’ll only use it in emergencies, like if a monster does show up.” He said. “I think using on other humans would be unethical.” He mused, a crease of concern wrinkling his brow.

Mary smirked. “Promise. Though I can’t promise I won’t use it to show off.” She grinned.

Hugo sighed. “As long as no one gets hurt…”

The next half hour trickled away as they continued chatting about various odds and ends, taking the chance to catch up with each other’s lives. But, eventually, Hugo was finished. The warm glow faded into Mary’s skin as she stood, accepting her father’s lift into the kitchen, where they prepared a simple dinner.

Her father ate light, and Mary’s portions barely cut into the pantry. So, with Mary’s occasional purchases from the nearby townsfolk, they rarely struggled for food. After finishing her food, she quickly bathed, cleansing herself of the day’s sweat, before bidding her father goodnight as he returned to the workshop for the evening.

Mary retreated to her room, a small space tucked into the wall near the couch. She kept it fairly spartan, a simple bed and wardrobe standing out against the unadorned walls. Built into the house’s walls as it was, Mary had a small window facing west. Orange-gold sunlight shone into her room as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Collapsing into bed after a long day, it didn’t take long for exhaustion to drag Mary into a deep sleep. Her eyes closed, and her consciousness drifted away.

Smoke.

Mary jolted awake in darkness. An acrid scent burned her throat, singeing her nostrils. She hurled herself out of bed, coughing as she felt a heat permeating the air. A resounding crack sounded from above. Her heart started pounding as she realised what was going on.

The house was on fire.

Throwing open her door, Mary rushed into the house proper. The eastern wall was partly ablaze, embers and chunks of charred wood tumbling from the roof. Looking around in a panic, something else gave her pause.

Their front door, the hundred-foot tall door, had been smashed in. It hung weakly off of its lower hinge, hot air rushing out into the night. In the black distance, an orange glow painted the sky.

Mary’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t just their house.

She stood in stunned silence, hearing only the roar of the fire before voices carried through the house. Plural. Giant-size. Implications shuddered through her head as she dashed in their direction. Her father didn’t like to speak about the rest of his kind, though Mary had heard the stories.

Feeling the heat swirling through the air, Mary rushed across the floor. There were signs of struggle: scuffed floors, dents in the walls, and broken furniture. Mary felt cold as she ran past a blood splatter the size of her torso.

The voices were coming from the workshop, its door flung open wide. Running between and under shelves, Mary skid to a stop, wide-eyed as she spotted the source.

She was huge. Easily matching her father’s ninety-eight feet of height. Long, blood-red hair sagged past her waist in strands. Her muscled frame was sparsely clad in gleaming metal. Steel plates covered her forearms and lower legs, as well as her neck and shoulders. A chain skirt hung from a brace around her waist, glittering in the roaring firelight. Underneath, she wore simple, dark clothes that clung to her frame. Dark brown eyes glared out of her rough features, her gaze parallel with the shortsword in her hand – both aimed squarely at Mary’s father.

Hugo was bruised, a shallow cut dripping blood from his brow, where he seemed to have been struck. He held the giantess’ gaze, carefully backing away from her with both hands raised. Mary caught the tail end of his words.

“-ath. Please. Stop this here, and I’ll forgive you.” He urged, his nerves showing beneath the calm front he put up. “I promise you don’t have to do this.” He said, pleading the strange woman with his eyes.

The giantess fixed Hugo with a glare so hollow it made Mary shiver. “You think I want your forgiveness?” Her voice was calm, yet laced with venomous anger. “I’m not the one betraying our people. How dare you share the secrets of our magic with those bugs?” She snarled.

Hugo’s expression darkened. “They were asking for my help.” He said, his voice low as he returned a glare of his own. The giantess looked disgusted by his words. “I’m just one of the only giants that actually listens to them.” His hands lowered a touch. His fingers twitched, curling in anticipation.

No…

The air shivered with a rising dread. The giants’ eyes were locked, tension coiling in their body language. Then, in an instant, it released.

Hugo started weaving, his hands in a blur. He wasn’t fast enough. With a single step, the giantess lunged forward, ramming her blade through his chest with deadly accuracy.

“NO!” The cry tore from Mary’s throat before the thought could even register.

Her voice carried over the roaring fire, reaching her father’s ears. Hugo stumbled into the giantess as he spotted Mary below. Time held still a moment. The look in his eyes carried a thousand unsaid words. He was robbed of them as the giantess shoved him away, ripping her sword from his chest with a spray of blood. With nothing but a pained cry, he collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Something inside of Mary shattered, her world shook with the weight of her father’s fall.

Trembling, she took a step forward. Then another, and another, her pace slowly rising until she ran in a full sprint. She snapped a piece of wooden debris loose, feeling the impact jolt through her bones as she bolted toward the giantess. A guttural howl rose from her chest as she charged. Every bone in her body was screaming at her to kill. To brutalise the murderous giantess before her.

The world darkened as the giantess spotted her. She glared down at Mary with that same hollow look, contempt rising in her features as she tracked Mary’s approach.

Then, all of the air left Mary’s lungs. She could just barely spot the shining toe of a steel boot lodged in her abdomen, before she was hurled backward. The air whipped past her as she tumbled, before her head slammed into a wall. Her vision flashed white, then black, and then she was on the ground, wheezing for air.

Darkness closed in around her eyes as she gasped. Her hearing was muffled, though she could just barely make out heavy footfalls. Turning her head, the last thing Mary saw before unconsciousness claimed her was the giantess. Her dark, hollow eyes glaring from behind a curtain of bloody locks, as she stomped away into the darkness.

~~~

A streak of chill water ran down Mary’s features. Then another. A gentle patter of raindrops sounded around her, worming into her unconscious mind. Slowly, she was roused into the waking world, spared from the visions of fiery death swirling through her subconscious.

The ground was wet. The air was cold, and smelled of petrichor and smoke. Mary blinked water from her eyes as consciousness returned. A sharp pain shot through her head. Her whole body ached as she rose to her knees, displacing the blanket of debris that had covered her.

Around her, charred, broken wood was scattered haphazardly. The roof had been broken open, and dim morning light scattered through a thick, grey sky. Ashy scraps of paper drifted in the air, floating between the burnt-out husks of shelves.

And there, on the ground before her, lay her father.

Mary gasped, memory returning to her with a terrible swiftness. Her heart ached; her chest tightened. Hugo was still, his corpse unmoved by the rousing chill of the morning rain. He was still, and…

Mary staggered to her feet, jerking her body forward. Tears vanished into the rain as she stumbled, collapsing to her knees before her father’s hands. The hands that had lifted her from the ditch she had been abandoned in as an infant. The hands that so delicately raised her like their own daughter. The hands that carried her, and weaved her life-saving magic, and…

Mary grasped at his index, squeezing as if she could rouse her father from a deep slumber. His skin was cold, and his pulse wasn’t there, and…

And he was gone.

A howling wail rose from the bottom of Mary’s chest. He was gone. She howled, clutching his finger tight as if letting go would make it all real. Her mind swelled with grief, unable to process the magnitude of her father’s death. As her lungs exhausted, her breathing hitched.

She hadn’t even been able to hear his final words.

Mary’s heart shattered. She broke down completely, losing herself to sorrow. Her senses consumed by her own howling cries and the cold, empty chill that surrounded her. She felt as if she would never feel warmth again.

Kneeling there, she cried and cried and cried. She cried until she couldn’t anymore. Until she ran out of tears, and her throat couldn’t muster another sound. Until she could barely feel anything at all.

Mary kneeled in the rain, numb. In a single night, everything she held dear had been taken from her. She didn’t even know why. What had her father done to deserve this? What had she done? It wasn’t fair.

Among the shattered remains of her broken heart, a spark ignited. Feeding on the shards as kindling, it grew into a flame. Visions of the blood-haired giantess rippled in its haze.

Before the visions could coalesce, a new sound interrupted Mary’s thoughts. Footsteps. Softly they tapped through the rain. She turned.

And, there was a man there.

He was indistinct. Both out of place, and blending into the background at the same time. He was dressed in dark clothes, though Mary couldn’t make out their shape. He wore no mask, yet Mary couldn’t get her eyes to focus on his features. It was as if the lens through which she viewed him had been smudged, made blurry. Before Mary could question if the figure was real, he spoke.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice was sincere, carrying a faint accent that Mary couldn’t place. “Who was he to you?”

Mary turned her gaze toward her father’s corpse. A numb sadness prickled behind her eyes at the sight. “…My father…” She croaked, her throat dry and sore.

“I see.” He said. Mary returned her gaze toward the strange man. He simply accepted the fact, without inquiry. “My condolences.”

Mary just stared, struggling to process the situation. Her overwhelming sorrow faded somewhat, replaced by a growing confusion. The man remained silent under her scrutiny. Though, a… curiosity, slipped through his opaque demeanour. An indignance simmered under Mary’s numbness.

“What do you want?” She asked, wearily.

The man’s head tilted slightly. “I apologise for intruding like this. I was merely passing by, and my curiosity got the better of me.” He said, expression unreadable.

Mary frowned. Travel was rare this far to the west. She squinted. Why couldn’t she make out his face? A knot of unease tightened in her gut. “Who are you?”

“No one important.” The man took a few steps closer. “More important, I think, is: who is responsible for all of this?” He gestured around.

Memories of fire and gleaming steel rippled through her mind’s eye. The flame in Mary’s heart grew fierce. She clung to it, feeling its violent warmth pulse through her limbs, chasing away the cold.

“…I don’t know. She was another giant, some kind of soldier…” She paused. “I think she knew my father.” The realisation fanned the flame in her chest. Her voice was slowly returning to her, fuelled by a rising anger towards the giantess who saw fit to take everything from her.

“Interesting…” The man cocked his head, watching Mary. “If you’ll indulge my curiosity, what are you planning to do next?” He looked up, watching the rain fall through the broken rafters. “I can’t imagine you can stay here anymore…” For just a moment, his voice seemed sombre.

What was she going to do next? Mary’s pulse slowed as she considered the question. What could she do next? Her father was dead. Their house burnt to the ground. The town was surely in ruins.

The visage of the giantess flashed behind her eyes. Rage swelled within her heart. There was only one thing she could do.

“I’m going to find her.” She said, her voice rising. “I’m going to hunt her down, and tear out her heart with my own bare hands .” Mary’s voice trembled with rage. “Even if it costs me my life, I swear I won’t stop until I’ve taken everything from her. Like she did from me.” The vow settled in her heart with an odd stillness. A cold certainty that it would be fulfilled. Mary gripped at her chest, breathing heavily. She felt her heartbeat pounding as she struggled to contain this newfound rage.

The man was silent a moment. “I see.” He simply replied.

He remained silent as Mary rose to her feet, turning away from her father’s body. She couldn’t bear to see him like that anymore. She refused to remember him as a corpse.

The man shifted in place, a gleam of metal catching Mary’s eye. “Well,” He began. “If that’s the case, you might need this.” He said, offering something forward. Mary’s eyes widened.

It was her sword. Its odd proportions were unmistakeable. Its thick grip and pommel. The overly wide crossguard below the thin, double-edged blade. Darker runes ran down its steel construction, matte against the reflective metal.

The man held it before himself, offering it hilt-first. Mary stared. Where had he gotten it? She hadn’t spotted it on his person the entire time they were speaking, and he couldn’t have retrieved it during that time. It was as if he had conjured it out of thin air. Carefully, she took the blade from his hands.

“Where did you find this…?” She asked, glaring at the man apprehensively.

“Found it on my way in.” The man quickly replied, holding his hands up defensively. “At first I thought I’d keep it for myself but…” He lowered his hands, his pose softening. “I suspect it belongs to you.”

Mary looked at the blade, feeling its heft in her palm. Running her fingers along its length, her chest tightened. She held the sword close to her chest, trying to feel her father within its blade.

“…Thank you.” She said. The man half-bowed in acknowledgement.

Mary tightened her grip on the hilt, feeling its leather digging into her palm. A deadly weapon, fit only for slaying monsters… She fanned the flames of her anger. Her nose twitched. The man’s gaze seemed to shift, glancing at the air around her.

He let out a short hum. “Well, good luck to you.” He said, stepping away. “Though, a word of advice, if you’ll take it: Take care with matters of revenge.” He warned. “If you’re not careful, you might not have a life to go back to once the dust settles.” His head tilted an inch. “Just something to consider.”

Mary scowled. “My life is already gone.” She muttered, bitterness coating her voice. “I don’t have anything to lose.”

The man shrugged. “Maybe not right now.” He said. “But you might just find something later, on the journey. And when you do,” He leaned closer, and for just a moment, Mary could see his eyes. “Make sure you don’t lose it.” He said, holding her gaze.

Mary’s frown eased. She looked away. “…Right.”

She couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t feel like she would ever really live again. But there was a certainty in his eyes that demanded otherwise. He smiled.

“Good.” He said, turning away. “Good luck, again. You’ll probably need it.”

Mary glanced downward, spotting her reflection in the blade of her sword. She steeled her expression, thoughts of driving it through the giantess’ heart swam through her mind.

She looked back up to reply, but the man was not there. Mary was alone. The rage and drive building in Mary settled to a simmer, unable to flare in the pattering rain.

She turned, taking in her father’s body once again. A fresh sorrow built behind her eyes. Placing her sword to the side, she stepped close to his hand for the last time. Feeling tears escape her eyes, Mary leaned down, taking his index between her hands. Delicately, she planted a kiss upon his fingertip, before leaning it against her forehead.

Settling to her knees, Mary softly cried as she said goodbye for the final time. When the last of her tears ran out, she rose, taking her sword and trudging away.

In a haze, she wandered through the remains of the house. It was a ruin. What hadn’t been reduced to ashes was charred beyond repair. Though, in a stroke of luck, her room was mostly untouched, too far away from the fire’s source to have been consumed. Mary felt like she was watching her body move from the outside, as she packed what little things she could into her bag. Some clothes, a blanket, and what rations she could salvage from the pantry.

Then, she left.

Exiting through the remains of the house’s entrance, Mary trudged through muddy grass, dragging her sword as the rain pelted her back. The smell of smoke faded from the air as she left the house behind her.

She couldn’t bear to look back.

With her eyes glazed over, she didn’t see the sudden depression in the mud before her. She stumbled, her foot falling through open air. As she recovered, she realised what it was.

A giant’s boot print.

Looking up, Mary could spot more, trailing off into the distance. She followed them. What else could she do?

Eventually, the smell of smoke filled the air once again. A clamour of voices grew louder in Mary’s ears. She looked up, and saw what remained of the town.

Buildings had been shattered and burned. Bloody stains that were once people dotted the ground. Survivors staggered about, calling the names of missing loved ones. What was left of the guard rushed about, desperately clearing rubble to save those trapped inside. The bereaved simply cried.

A familiar voice wailed, spearing Mary’s heart. At the town’s edge, kneeled Amelia’s mother. The older woman was sobbing, wracked by howls of grief as she clutched at her chest. There was no sign of her daughter.

Feeling hollow, Mary stepped forward to say something. Anything. But her foot caught on something in the grass.

It was the upper half of a guard’s leathers, deprived of its owner. Mary reached down, raising it before her eyes. It was beaten and torn, both arms hanging off the chest piece by threads. Ominously, there wasn’t a hint of blood.

It was Amelia’s.

Mary’s heart grew cold. Amelia’s mother let out another howling sob, swallowed by her grief. Mary stepped away without a word. Her fingers dug into the leather chest piece. Rage flared inside of her, obscuring the sorrow welling behind her eyes.

There was only one thing she could do. Mary trudged away from the town, following the giant footprints east. Dragging her sword behind her with one hand, she tore the arms from Amelia’s leathers with her teeth, slinging the impromptu vest around her shoulders. She marched in silence.

Pelted by rain, Mary stoked her rage, letting it build inside of her, chasing away the cold and moving her limbs.

She didn’t look back.

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Translator’s Note:

A few things of note this chapter, along with one note that I initially missed. I apologise for any equine-related confusion my lapse in attention caused. Other than that, I don’t have much to say about this chapter.

• I was remiss to mention this in my notes on the first chapter, but Voeul horses are fairly standard by the standards of most worlds, as is the practice of shoeing.

• Amelia’s use of the term ‘hound’ is mostly accurate as a translation, though technically closer to a more literal form of ‘dog ’. Worth noting though, that due to the influence of dire wolves upon Vratan’s canine population, that the average dog is much larger on average than what I’ve read about most Earth breeds.

• Again, Mary’s transition is referred to in the proper English standard at the time of me writing this. My prior notes still apply, though it’s worth mentioning that Hugo used a more refined form of the same word Eloise used in chapter three.

• The phrase ‘at a snails pace’ is translated more or less directly. I’m told Hugo picked up the term from his relations with humans. Apparently the rare species of giant snail that does exist on Voeul is not present on Vratan.

• The term ‘land shark’ refers to a particularly aggressive species of creature that can be found variously across Voeul. They’re named as such for their ability to burrow through the ground with such efficiency that they appear to ‘swim’. Very intriguing creatures.

• The Spartans we re – to my knowledge – an ancient Earth society, and have no cultural influence upon Voeul culture.

• Again, see chapter one for my note on the use of ‘bugs’ in this translation. 

That’s all for this chapter. If you have any questions about the translation, feel free to reach out via the appropriate channels.Three Years Ago