Land of the Giants Chapter 3 (By Nomad3315)

After that last intense experience, Jack is sent to a place where, surprisingly, he finds out humans are not extinct, at least not all of them, surviving in a small handmade village Jack discovers how they survived the forest and more about the queen's lore

Story by Nomad3315

Horse lady belongs to anonymous

Hope you enjoye it! :D

CHAPTER 3

-

 THE SUNKEN VILLAGE

The tiny human dangled sideways from the jaws of the very creature he feared the most. His ribs pressed between two walls of ivory that rose like pale cliffs on either side of him. The fox’s jaws were half-shut, enough to pin him without piercing. The heat inside was suffocating, thick with a meaty, copper tang that stung his nose.

The tongue beneath him was a living floor. Slick, muscular, shifting with every breath. Its texture was rough like wet leather. Saliva pooled around him in warm streams, gluing his shirt to his chest, matting his hair, running down his neck. He tried not to choke on the reek of it, the sour, animal heaviness that seemed to cling to his skin as much as the wetness itself.

Every exhale from the beast came as a deep, rushing wind that filled the cavern of its mouth. The sound was so close, so constant, it rattled through his bones. With each inhalation, he felt his chest tighten, as though the fox’s lungs were drawing the very air from his own. His pulse thundered in his ears louder than the beast’s breathing.

Jack didn’t dare move. The smallest twitch, a push against a tooth or a kick against the tongue, and those titanic jaws could close even more. His mind screamed at him to struggle, to claw his way out, but instinct and terror held him still.

The fox’s throat flexed near him, a subtle, rolling contraction that sent a cold shiver crawling down his spine. It wasn’t swallowing, but it could. He knew that the only thing separating him from being dragged into that furnace of a gullet was the Queen’s command.

The world outside shifted with every stride. Jack swayed helplessly in the fox’s maw, his body swinging with the rhythm of its gait. Each step landed with a heavy thud, sending shivers through its skull and into his bones. The tongue beneath him flexed like a living cushion, rising and falling, leaving him drenched in the warm wash of saliva that clung to him like a second skin.

Trees loomed like towers, their trunks thicker than city walls, their crowns majestic. The mist cleared completely, allowing Jack to see their beauty. Branches quivered as flocks of birds, larger than houses, burst into flight at the fox’s approach, their cries filling the forest.

He could hear other things, too. The crash of something massive moving in the underbrush reached his ears. The distant bellow of a beast whose voice carried like thunder over the trees. Even smaller sounds, the whine of insects, the skitter of armored legs, seemed magnified in this world of giants. Everything was alive, awake, and watching.

And still, he dangled helplessly between the fox’s teeth, forced to witness it all from the maw of a predator that bore him deeper into the unknown.

At first, he saw only the endless pillars of the forest. Trunks wide as city blocks, their bark knotted like the flesh of giants. But then the fox’s gait changed, slowing into a predator’s prowl. Its chest rose and fell more deliberately, and its nostrils flared, tasting the air.

Jack caught sight of something strange on the forest floor. At first, he thought it a trick of the light, patches of geometry where only chaos should be. As they drew closer, his heart lurched.

Houses.

Tiny, wooden houses.

They stood clustered in a small clearing like a child’s playset abandoned in the roots of the trees. Roofs of thatch and timber, crooked chimneys coughing wisps of smoke, and narrow dirt lanes traced between them like veins. They were absurdly small against the enormity of their surroundings. Like someone had set toy cottages beneath cathedral columns. The forest dwarfed them utterly, the grass alone rising like walls around them.

Jack’s pulse quickened. They weren’t ruins. They were alive. He saw movement. A figure darting across one of the lanes, a flash of cloth strung between cottages, the suggestion of faces peering from doorways. A village of humans who had remained here, somehow, living in the shadow of the beasts.

The fox lowered its muzzle, nosing toward the village. Its breath swept over the tiny homes in a gale, stirring the thatch, sending laundry snapping loose from lines. Jack saw villagers scatter. Tiny figures scrambling like ants across the dirt lanes. Some stopped and stood where they saw the fox coming. Others fled, streaks of color vanishing into doorways, far too small to offer real shelter.

He felt the vibration of a chuckle ripple through the fox’s chest. Its tongue shifted beneath him, pressing him against a fang, as though reminding him how easily it could end him if not for the Queen’s command.

The muzzle dipped lower still, until Jack could make out every detail of the village from his impossible vantage point.

The fox’s jaws shifted, For a heartbeat he dangled there, balanced precariously between fangs longer than spears. Then the beast opened its jaws wider. The world lurched.

Jack fell.

The air rushed past him in a blur of heat and spit, his stomach wrenching into his throat. For one terrible instant he thought the fox would snap its teeth shut and end him mid-drop, a morsel crushed between ivory blades. But the teeth only gleamed around him as he plummeted, glistening with the saliva that still clung to his clothes.

He hit the ground hard. He rolled once, pain searing through his side, before coming to a stop in the churned soil of the clearing. He lay gasping, chest heaving, every inch of him slick with spit and trembling with shock.

Above, the fox’s head loomed vast, its muzzle lowering until its nose hovered just above him. Each exhale burst over him in humid waves, hot enough to sting his eyes, flattening the dust into muddy streaks around his sprawled form.

Jack dragged himself up to his elbows, coughing against the thick air. He tried to stand, but his legs shook too violently, refusing to obey. He could feel their stares, dozens of them, burning into him, mingled with terror and disbelief.

"Stand. Let them see you. Let them wonder why you, of all their kind, were chosen."

It commanded softly, though the word carried the gravity of thunder. The fox’s hot voice reverberated around him, words rolling like distant thunder. The villagers reacted to its speech with a collective flinch.

"Look at them. The prey who stayed. Still clinging to their huts, hiding like mice in the undergrowth."

The fox inhaled sharply. Jack was almost pulled deeper into its throat, the suction dragging against his body. Then the exhale came, a blast of furnace-hot wind.

"And you. Our Queen still have some plans with you. That’s why you’re still alive. Stay near the village. I’ll come for you soon."

Then, with a low rumble deep in its chest, the fox drew back.

Its eyes, those molten embers of cunning, fixed on him one last time, a silent reminder of how fragile he was. The beast’s lips curled faintly, not quite a smile, not quite a snarl, and then it turned away.

The ground trembled with every step. Its tail, long as a ship’s mast, swept low, cutting furrows in the soil as it vanished between the towering trunks. The fox was gone, swallowed by the forest’s endless columns.

In its absence, the silence was deafening. Only the smell of it remained. Hot breath, wet musk, the clinging rankness of its saliva that coated Jack like another skin. He stood unsteadily, coughing against the damp air, the fox’s command still echoing in his head.

The villagers edged closer now, emboldened by the monster’s retreat. Some whispered prayers, others clutched their children tighter, all eyes fixed on the stranger the beast had brought. The people were gathering now, not fleeing but forming a hesitant cluster around Jack. Some clutched tools, others children, and their eyes were wide not just with terror but with something else.

Recognition.

One voice rose from the crowd, thin but clear.

"A man."

The village gasped as one.

Jack staggered to his feet, still dripping with the beast’s saliva, his clothes clinging to him like a second skin. His chest heaved, lungs raw from the fox’s furnace breath. All around, the villagers crept closer. First a handful, then dozens, until he was hemmed in by wide, suspicious eyes. The questions came all at once, a hundred voices overlapping in a storm of desperation.

"Is the world outside still alive?"

"Did they send you to rescue us?"

"What happened to the soldiers?"

"Do cities still exist beyond the trees?"

"Why did the beast spare you?"

Their voices rose in a frantic chorus, the questions tripping over one another, every word hot with both fear and fragile hope. Hands clutched at his sleeves, tugged at his arms. Faces leaned in, pale and desperate, searching his eyes for answers.

Jack tried to speak, but his words broke apart under the weight of their need. The noise swelled louder, frantic, pressing in like the forest itself.

"Silence!"

The single word cracked through the crowd like a whip. The villagers froze, the noise dying in their throats. A figure pushed through them with measured steps, tall and severe in posture. The crowd parted instantly and the leader of the village came forward. His voice low now but threaded with authority.

"We have a guest here. And guests are not to be hounded like cattle. He will speak when he can. Until then, you will give him some air."

The circle loosened at once, villagers shuffling back, their excitement and fear retreating beneath the command. Yet their stares still burned into Jack. Some curious, some fearful, some hopeful as though every soul in the village waited for the words he might speak next.

"Please forgive these people their curiosity. We haven’t seen anyone come here in a long while."

Dozens of eyes still watched Jack, not with reverence but with the wary hunger of people starved for news. The man glanced around, and with the faintest gesture of his hand, the villagers drew back, giving Jack space at last. Then his gaze returned, measuring the new one.

"You’re far from home, soldier. And the fact you're still breathing tells me you're lucky that horse wanted you alive. Come. You’ll have food, a place to sit. Then you can tell us what became of the world beyond these trees."

The villagers parted as the leader guided him toward one of the sturdier houses at the edge of the clearing. Inside, the air was warmer, quieter, lit by the glow of a hearth. The sudden stillness made Jack’s ears ring after the chaos outside.

A young woman was already there, setting down a clay pitcher and a wooden bowl of stew on the rough-hewn table. She moved quickly, but her hands were steady. Her hair was tied back, her face flushed from the heat of the fire. She couldn’t have been more than a year or two younger than Jack.

"I'm Charles, the new leader of this village. She's mine daughter, Enid."

Enid slid the bowl toward Jack and poured water into a cup, her eyes flicking over him with quiet curiosity but no fear.

"Eat. You look like you haven’t in days."

She said softly.

"I’m Jack. Thank you."

Hands trembling as he reached for the cup. The water was cool, blessedly clean. He drank greedily, the liquid washing away the dryness of the fox’s breath still clinging to his throat.

Charles watched him for a moment, arms crossed. His voice when he spoke was steady, but heavy with memory.

"My wife should have been the one to serve our guest. But she isn’t here anymore."

He said quietly. Jack looked up, uncertain if he should speak. Charles’s gaze was distant, though his jaw tightened as he went on.

"She was taken on the first day this forest appeared around us. Just… out of nothing. One night it wasn’t here, and the next, the trees came down like walls, crushing homes as if they were nothing. Many died before they could even wake. The rest of us fled into what shelter we could find. That was when the fox came, and other beasts."

Enid’s hands paused in her work. She kept her eyes on the table, lips pressed together. Charles laid a hand on her shoulder, grounding her before looking back at Jack.

"We’ve lived with that ever since. No faith. No gods. Just survival."

The words hung in the air, raw and unvarnished. For the first time since the battlefield, Jack felt the enormity of it press on him again. Not just the size of the beasts, but the crushing weight of lives uprooted, trapped, and gnawed down to scraps of hope.

Charles sat across from him, arms folded on the table. He studied Jack with the patience of a man who had weathered storms before, but his gaze was sharp, weighing every word.

"So, tell me of the outside. Tell me what’s left of it."

Jack hesitated, lowering his cup.

"It’s bad. There’s a wasteland around this forest now. It’s growing, every day. The army tried to attack and burn this place to ground. But we didn't even knew about the horse back then. She walked through us like we were nothing. I don’t think there’s much left to send."

"So there is still a world outside?"

Enid shifted in her seat, her brow furrowing.

"Yes, but it’s struggling. People are scared. Crops are failing. It feels like the giants are everywhere at once."

"What about us? Do they speak of the ones trapped here?"

Charles asked. Jack shook his head.

"No. People outside think anyone caught in this … just gone. Erased."

Enid’s lips parted, her eyes widening as though she had always feared that truth but never heard it spoken aloud. Charles leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. He rubbed a hand across his face, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening.

"So we’re ghosts to them. Already dead."

Jack forced himself to meet his gaze.

"But you're not. Why not leaving?"

Charles’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, though it carried no humor.

"Maybe. Or maybe the Queen allowed us to live for her own reasons. Giants don’t waste their time with mercy."

The words hung heavy in the small room. Jack found himself staring at the floorboards, listening to the faint crackle of the hearth.

Jack set down the cup, fingers tightening around the rough clay. His voice came out low, uncertain.

"What happened that the Queen granted you folks mercy?"

Before Charles could answer, Enid leaned forward, her eyes bright despite the shadow of the firelight.

"She might be terrifying. But deep inside, she’s gentle and kind."

Jack blinked at her, startled. Enid’s voice steadied as she went on.

"Without her, we would all be eaten. The fox, the birds, the things that crawl in the night, none of them would have spared us. But she keeps them in check."

"The same Queen that slaughtered an army? My friend?"

Charles spoke up.

"Don’t mistake survival for kindness, Jack. We’re alive because she finds us useful, or amusing. Mercy has nothing to do with it."

Enid’s jaw tightened. She didn’t look at her father but kept her gaze fixed on Jack, as though daring him to believe her version instead.

"You didn’t see it. You don’t know how many times she could have wiped us out, but didn’t. We live because she allows it. That has to mean something."

Charles exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

"What it means, daughter, is that we live in her shadow. And shadows don’t love what they cover."

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the gulf between belief and fear yawning wide across the table.

That night, when the hearth had gone cold and the village lay in uneasy silence, Jack lay awake on the straw mat Enid had prepared for him.

-

Every time Jack closed his eyes, he was back on the field.

That wretched, cursed field.

At first it was just faint echoes. He pressed his palms against his ears. The darkness beneath his eyelids shifted into shapes, and soon he was no longer in the village.

The thunder of hooves. The snap of rifles breaking in useless hands. The wet crunch of men flattened into the earth. Faces he had known, faces he hadn’t, all vanishing under a shadow and a sound. He had watched Ryan disappear beneath her hoof, his life cut short like a candle snuffed out. He had smelled the blood steaming on the ground where others had been.

The Queen loomed above it all, taller than any building Jack had ever seen. Her mane a storm, her jewelry gleaming like a king’s ransom scattered across the sky. She stepped, and the world shook apart.

The hoof descended, blotting out the sun.

Jack’s breath hitched, and he jolted upright on the mat, sweat pouring down his face. His heart thundered. His eyes fixed on the shadows crawling across the walls, and they twisted, forming the vast curve of a muzzle, a flare of nostrils, white teeth gleaming in the half-dark.

The mare breathed.

And now, Enid’s words rang in his ears.

"She might be terrifying. But deep inside, she’s gentle and kind."

-

Jack’s fists tightened in the blanket. Gentle? Kind? What kind of mercy was that, when his comrades had been crushed like insects? When the Queen devoured them?

He wanted to tell Enid she was wrong. That there was no kindness in a monster that could wipe away hundreds with a single step. But then, he remembered the moment when the Queen’s shadow had fallen over him, her gaze upon him, sparing him.

Only for questioning him?

Or was Charles right. That they were only alive because the Queen found them convenient, or amusing in some cruel way? That there was no mercy, only just later use?

Jack groaned and lay back on the mat, staring at the ceiling once more. His body was exhausted, but his mind refused to rest. His thoughts swung like a pendulum between Enid’s hope and Charles’s bitter certainty, each memory of the Queen’s massacre weighing heavier on one side, each memory of her sparing him dragging it back again.

Outside, the forest sang with unnatural life. Something massive moved through the trees, breaking branches like twigs. A bird’s shriek cut across the night sky. Jack shut his eyes tighter, but the sound only dragged him deeper into memory.

He saw Ryan’s hand reaching, saw it vanish beneath the hoof.

Jack rolled onto his side, curling in on himself like a child, trembling. Sleep finally came, but it was no comfort. It came in fragments, broken by phantom hoofbeats and the hot wash of breath against his skin.

When dawn broke over the village, Jack’s eyes were open, bloodshot, staring at the wall. He hadn’t truly slept at all. But Enid’s words still clung to him, impossible to shake.

Gentle.

Kind.

He wanted to hate the words. He wanted to spit them out, reject them, call them lies. But against his will, against all reason, he found himself holding on to them, because the alternative was too much to bear.

Jack woke to the creak of wood and the muted murmur of voices outside. His body felt heavy, his sleep had been shallow. He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly, straw sticking to his damp skin.

Light filtered through the cracks in the shutters. It wasn’t the light of the open plains he knew, but green-tinted, fractured by leaves so high above the village. The door creaked open.

"You’re awake."

Enid said, her voice soft as a good pillow. She stepped in carrying a small clay bowl of water and a cloth. Her sleeves were rolled back, her hands stained with earth.

"Here. Wash before you come out. You're sweaty."

Jack accepted the bowl with a nod, rinsing his face. The water was cool and clean, it was like it came from the heavens.

When he stepped outside, the air was heavy with damp green. The village was awake, its narrow paths busy. Huts made from salvaged timber and woven leaves leaned against one another like tired old men. Roofs were patched with bark, vines, even slabs of stone hauled from the forest floor.

But what struck Jack most was what he didn’t see.

No livestock.

No carcasses hung to bleed.

"No livestock. Where are those?"

"A lot of them were eaten by the giants. And what’s left, we already ate them. To be honest, it wasn't much to begin with. We carve out pieces of mushrooms or fallen fruits."

Food was gathered, not hunted. Fallen and cut fruits sizes of baskets. A boy carried an armful of moss as though it were treasure. People moved with care, their hands skilled but their steps cautious, as though noise itself might offend the forest.

"And the animals leaving you alone?"

"They leave us alone and we do the same. They won’t touch us. Not while she watches."

"And if she ever stops?"

Jack’s throat tightened.

"Then we’re already dead"

Enid’s answer was quiet.

Charles found them near the central path. His stride was steady, his voice carrying just enough for nearby workers to hear.

"I see you’ve met our way of life, soldier. Strange, isn’t it? To live in the shadow of beasts and yet not be torn apart?"

"I’ve seen what they can do."

Charles’s jaw tightened, but his eyes softened just a little.

"Don’t worry. Just keep you distance and it should be fine. Come, we have a lot to do."

"Where are we going."

"To gather food and water."

"But the fox said I should stay here."

"Don’t worry about that. We stay near the village."

Jack followed Enid out of the village alongside the others. Beyond, the forest pressed close, each trunk a gigantic tower. They didn’t go far, Charles had insisted he stay within earshot of the village, but even a hundred paces away, the huts were swallowed by green. The air here was thicker, damp with the smell of moss and earth.

Charles led him toward a cluster of mushrooms rising from the base of a tree that dwarfed cathedrals. Jack had seen mushrooms before, but never like these. Their stalks were as thick as barrels, the caps broad as tents.

"Careful of the spores. Breathe too much in and you’ll be sick for days."

Enid warned. She pressed a cloth over her mouth and nose before stepping closer.Jack mimicked her, pulling up his sleeve to cover his face. He drew out his bayonet. Its edge dulled by use, and pressed it against the spongy stalk. To his surprise, the flesh resisted at first, then gave way with a wet squeak, releasing a puff of fine powder that clung to his skin. The piece he carved away was larger than a loaf of bread. He hefted it, staring.

"This alone could feed three men."

Enid smiled faintly.

"It will. Once it’s boiled long enough to burn out the bitterness. It’s not meat, but it keeps us alive."

She slid her own knife cleanly along another stalk, letting the cut wedge fall into her basket. The young soldier crouched, cutting another chunk free. The powdery scent of spores filled the air, earthy and sour. For a moment, the work steadied him, it was simple, almost peaceful.

But then the forest shifted.

A low groan rolling through the trunks. Dust shook loose from the canopy. Somewhere far off, wood cracked like thunder, and the ground trembled beneath Jack’s boots. He froze, hand tightening on the tool meant to take life.

Enid didn’t look up. She only kept cutting, her face steady beneath her cloth mask.

"Don’t worry. That’s not for us."

She murmured.

Jack swallowed hard, staring into the endless green. Somewhere out there, something titanic had moved. Something that reminded him of the battlefield, of Ryan’s scream, of breath hot enough to smother.

The forest might not touch them, but it never let them forget how small they were.

Jack shifted the weight of the mushroom wedge in his arms. The path back to the huts was narrow, hemmed in by roots thicker than city walls. He glanced at Enid, then at Charles, who had come to meet them with two other men carrying baskets.

After a long silence, Jack asked the question that had been gnawing at him.

"How many of you are here?"

Charles adjusted the strap of his basket and let out a breath through his nose. His eyes stayed forward.

"Not as many as there should be."

"I meant a number."

Charles gave him a sidelong look. His face was unreadable for a moment, then he answered flatly.

"We were near three hundred when the forest swallowed us. Whole families. Men, women, children. When the trees came down, we lost half in a night. Crushed in their sleep."

He paused, shifting the basket higher onto his shoulder.

"Another hundred in the first month. The fox took some. The birds and bugs took most. The weak fell sick. Now? Barely fifty remain."

Jack’s throat tightened. He looked around at the worn faces of the villagers moving quietly through their routines. A hundreds of lives, and only from one village.

Enid, glanced back.

"But we’re stil here. And that’s what matters."

She said softly, almost stubbornly.

Light filtered through the canopy in thin shafts, pale gold cut into green by the endless ceiling of leaves. The forest was alive with its sounds. Distant bird calls, the rustle of unseen bodies pushing through foliage, the constant sigh of branches shifting high above. Yet the villagers itself moved with a hushed calm. THe people stirring to their routines as though the world outside their clearings did not belong to them at all.Jack straightened slowly, his gaze drifting to the shadow that cut across the clearing.

And there it was.

The praying mantis.

It stood no more than five strides from the villagers, its long body swaying gently on stalk-thin legs. Its forelimbs were folded in that eerie posture of prayer, their bladed edges glinting faintly in the morning light. Its triangular head tilted with impossible stillness, compound eyes like polished jade fixed on nothing in particular. It was bright green, as though carved from the leaves themselves. The ridges along its thorax gleamed with dew. Its antennae twitched faintly, but otherwise it was motionless, a living statue taller than any man there. Jack froze, heart thundering in his chest.

"Gods."

He started, but Charles’s hand was on his arm at once.

"Do not move suddenly. Do not raise your voice."

Jack glanced at the villagers. To his shock, they continued their work but slowly. A few cast it brief, wary looks, but none fled. None screamed. Children walked past within its shadow, carrying baskets of fungi, their laughter hushed.

"You’re just going to ignore that?"

Jack hissed.

"It ignores us. That’s enough."

Jack swallowed hard, sweat prickling his neck. The mantis turned its head, the joints of its limbs creaking faintly, then returned to stillness. Its presence pressed against Jack’s nerves like a weight. He could feel its size, its alien calm. If it wanted, it could cut them to ribbons. He had seen men die more easily.

But it didn’t.

It simply stood, vast and green, beside the people, as if it were part of the tall grass. Moments stretched like hours. Jack bent again to his work, every movement stiff, his eyes flicking constantly toward the towering insect. His pulse refused to slow. Every scrape of bark, every shift of leaves seemed too loud in the silence.

Then came the fly.

It buzzed in circles near his head, darting and weaving, wings shrilling against his ears. Jack flinched, swatting at it, but the insect only dodged and returned, relentless. He cursed under his breath, shaking his head, waving his hand. The fly darted past his eye, then back again, dancing in mocking loops. His irritation built with every pass, his nerves already raw from the mantis looming just beyond. Finally he snapped. He slapped at the air, swearing, and the sudden motion startled the fly into a sharp, panicked arc. Straight toward the mantis.

Jack’s breath caught. The fly streaked across the space, buzzing high, directly into the range of those folded forelegs. For a heartbeat, the mantis remained perfectly still, as though it hadn’t noticed. Jack almost believed it wouldn’t move.

It struck like lightning.

The forelegs unfolded with a speed that seemed unreal, faster than Jack’s eye could follow. Blades snapped shut around the fly with a sound like a trap slamming. The insect vanished, pinned between spined limbs. The mantis bent its head slowly, methodically, and its jaws worked with delicate precision. The fly crumpled, reduced to nothing in seconds, its wings fluttering once before silence reclaimed them. Jack stumbled back a step, stomach twisting. The motion earned him a glance from Charles. Steady, unamused. And a faint smile from Enid.

"See? We’re not its prey."

But Jack couldn’t shake the image. The speed. The silence. The absolute finality of that strike. He had seen soldiers swallowed whole by the Queen, crushed under hooves, scattered by breath. And here was the same truth on a smaller scale, as sharp and merciless as ever. The mantis chewed once more, then raised its head again, forelegs folding neatly into place. Its posture returned to prayer, serene, unbroken. Its compound eyes gleamed in the light.

The villagers went on with their work. Children carried baskets. Adults lifted bits of fruit. And beside them, a giant insect stood motionless. Even if its hunger weren’t satisfied, it still lett he humans pass. Jack’s hands trembled around the basket he held. He forced himself to breathe, to mimic the calm of those around him, but inside, the question gnawed.

Was the mantis as smart as humans to understand humans were under the protection of the queen? Or it just blindly followed commands?

Either way, their lives depended on the whim of a giant horse.

The following of the day was quite calm compared of the incident the earlier day.

Jack sat on a mossy root, his back pressed against bark broader than a city gate. The ground was still warm from the day, holding the heat like a hearthstone. For the first time since the battlefield, there was no shouting, no thunder of hooves, no screams. Only the forest.

It breathed.

The air rose and fell in slow, invisible tides. Leaves rustled not in gusts but in steady pulses, like lungs inhaling. Branches bowed slightly, releasing faint showers of dew that drifted like silver dust in the moonlight. Every movement of the forest seemed alive, deliberate, as though the trees themselves kept time with the world’s heartbeat.

From high above, a bird the size of a house glided silently, wings catching the starlight as if woven with threads of glass. It did not cry. It simply drifted, a shadow moving against the pale shimmer of the canopy. In the underbrush, a rabbit the size of a pony stretched in the tall grass and lay down, ears flicking as it exhaled in long, even sighs.

His own lungs slowed, matching the forest’s pace without him meaning to. For once, his heartbeat did not thunder with terror but kept time with the gentle inhale and exhale of the world around him. The air was damp, carrying the scents of pine and rain-soaked soil, tinged faintly with sweetness from some unseen bloom.

For a few breaths, he forgot the Queen’s crushing hooves.

He had found peace.

"Are you relaxed?"

Enid’s gentle voice nearly startled him.

"I’m just …"

"No need for excuses … I’m here to enjoy it too."

"All of you days are like this?"

"Mostly."

"Could you share the story of what happened in those days?"

"You don’t believe me, do you?"

"No.. Yes, I do believe it! I just can’t wrap my head around how it happened."

"You have no idea how good it feels to hear this from someone. No one believes me, not even my father."

TWO MONTHS AGO

Enid’s lungs burned as she ran, her bare feet slipping on the moss-slick ground. The earth shook in tiny bursts behind her. Rapid, rhythmic, and relentless.

Ants.

Dozens of them. Each one stood as tall as her chest, black bodies gleaming like armor, mandibles clicking with a sound that cut sharper than steel. They had found her when she was gathering berries along the roots. She had been careless. The ground had erupted with their bodies. She had seen them drag a bug into their tunnels once, tearing it apart piece by piece. She knew what would happen if they caught her.

"Not like this! Not like this! HELP!"

The clearing ahead was open, too open. No place to hide. She hesitated, but the swarm poured after her, their antennae twitching, their bodies shining wet with hunger. She had no choice.

She fell.

The ants fanned out as they entered the clearing, legs stabbing into the soil like black spears. Their mandibles opened wide, dripping with froth, eager to bite and drag. Enid’s hands shaking as she lifted the little knife she carried. It was laughable, a scrap of metal against an army.

One of the ants lunged. The human screamed and slashed wildly. The blade rang against its mandible, useless. The force of the strike knocked her weapon out of her hand, down into the dirt. She scrambled backward, hands tearing at the soil, the insect looming above her.

Then the ground itself trembled.

A shadow fell across the clearing, vast and dark, swallowing her and the ants alike. The swarm froze, their antennae twitching wildly, mandibles clacking in sudden uncertainty. Enid dared a glance upward and saw it.

A horse.

Colossal and terrible, stepping out between the trees like a moving mountain. Gold gleamed at her chest, chains chimed against her legs. Her eyes swept the clearing, cold and commanding. The ants shrieked. An alien, collective screech that rattled through the ground.

Enid lay frozen in the dirt, her chest heaving, staring up at the impossible sight of the horse towering above her. For the first time in days, maybe a month, she felt the crushing weight of fear ease from her shoulders. It turned into wonder. She had been one heartbeat from being dragged underground, torn apart in the dark.

Her hooves sank into the moss. Her dark mane spilled down her neck like a storm cloud, gold ornaments gleaming in the dim light. Steam burst from her nostrils, washing across the clearing like a hot fog. Her eyes, vast and intelligent, swept across the ants. And then, the air changed. She spoke.

"I know you are tirelessly working to feed your Queen below the surface … but I ask you to leave this human. I have question."

Their mandibles clattered and they left the scene. Finding another food source wasn't a hard thing for the insects. Enid was left trembling in the dirt, her knife lying useless a few feet away. She stared upward at the mare, her breath catching in her throat. She had expected death by these creatures, and now she was stunned by the very presence of a gigantic horse.

The equid lowered her massive head until her muzzle hovered above the girl. Warm breath rolled over her, hot and damp, carrying the faint scent of crushed grass. The enormous eyes studied her. Not with hunger, not with disdain, but with something she couldn’t name. For a long moment, Enid couldn’t move. She simply knelt there, her heart racing, staring up at the giant who had spoken for her.

"You are small, far too small for a normal human. What happened to you?"

Enid couldn’t answer. Her throat locked, her hands trembling. She could only stare up at the enormous face above her, eyes wide with awe and disbelief.

The horse tilted her head, one ear flicking, her voice rumbling softer, though still vast.

"You are afraid. Yet I did not come to harm you. Tell me, human .. why are you so small in my forest?"

Enid’s throat worked, but her words refused to rise. She had no answer, no way to explain what even she did not understand that she had not shrunk, but that she and all the creatures of this forest and the trees that gained size. Where was plains one day, there was a gigantic forest on the other day.

The forest, the beasts, everything had grown monstrous around them when they arrived.

The mare’s breath rolled over her again, warmer now, calmer, steady. It ruffled her hair and sent a shiver down her arms. Her saviour waited for an answer.

Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, though she couldn’t say why. Relief, terror, awe. It all blended together. But one thought clung to her, clear as the morning light breaking through the canopy.

The mare pulled her massive head back slowly, as though careful not to crush the girl with her breath or her presence.

"Perhaps you're incapable to speak. I have heard about some humans who had born that way. I will take you back to safety. Do not be afraid."

Her words rolled like distant thunder, soft but inescapable. The vast eyes narrowed, shimmering faintly with something far older than pity. Then the air thickened. Enid gasped as the invisible pressure wrapped around her, firm and steady. Her body lifted from the soil, skirts tugging against her legs as if caught in a slow, rising tide. She floated upward, helpless against the force. Her heart thundered in her chest, and though her instincts screamed to struggle The hold was gentle, but deliberate. The mare’s immense face drew nearer until it filled her whole world. Her breath rolling over Enid in warm gusts that carried the sharp tang of iron and grass. For a heartbeat, time froze. The forest hushed, as though every bird, every insect, waited to see whether the titaness would claim the girl or set her down again. Then the mare spoke once more, her voice quieter now, almost intimate in its weight. The colossal nostrils flared, drawing Enid’s scent into cavernous lungs. The gust of air that followed tugged at the girl’s hair and clothes, a hot, rhythmic reminder that every breath of this being could sweep her away.

"Are you capable to speak your just too stunned?"

"E … Enid. My name is Enid."

"Hmm. I’ve never heard a name like that before, but it is lovely."

Her words may have been loud, but the gentleness came through and began to give Enid the idea that she might not die in that instant.

She was taken to the same tree as Jack in the near future and questioned. The animals had also gathered, summoned by their Queen to listen closely.

The forest clearing was a cathedral of shadow and light. Crystal veins pulsed faintly through the bark of a colossal tree in front of Enid, their glow painting the moss in hues of violet and blue. It was the same place Jack would one day stand, though two months earlier it was Enid who found herself trembling upon the flat stone, a speck of humanity before the sovereign of giants.

The Queen stood above her, a tower of living might, golden chains glinting with each subtle shift of her massive frame. Her hooves pressed deep into the soil, cracks spreading outward like scars in the earth. When she spoke, her voice filled every hollow in the clearing, resonating through bark and bone alike.

"Step forward, little one."

Enid swallowed hard, her legs trembled. The stone felt like an altar beneath her feet, raised high to make her visible to the gathered animals. She saw them arrayed in a wide arc beyond the mare’s shadow. Birds like great banners of color, rabbits the size of horses, mice taller than her father, beetles gleaming like burnished bronze. Their eyes watched with alien patience, silent and still, as though the entire forest had paused to listen. The Queen’s gaze fixed upon her, dark and fathomless. The mare began.

"You are human, and yet … not like the others I have seen. You are small. Fragile. A creature meant for the underbrush. And the others in the forest told me they have met and devoured similarly sized humans. Tell me. Why is that your kind so diminished in size?"

Enid’s lips parted, but no sound came. The enormity of the question crushed her chest. She looked down, fingers clenching her skirts.

"I … I don’t know. But … none of this was here before."

The mare’s ears twitched, her vast head tilting slightly. The word rolled heavy on her tongue.

"Describe it."

"There were plains. Villages. Fields. The animals were … like us. Smaller. Birds that could sit on the windowsill. Rabbits that fit in our arms. Cows we could herd, pigs we could pen. Nothing … nothing like this."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd of beasts. The mare silenced them with a single flick of her ears.

"I see. During our travel, I must have accidentally brought this forest and its inhabitants onto your homes. It wasn't intentional."

Enid’s breath caught. The weight of her words pressed against her chest, relief and grief knotted into one. Not intended. Her mother’s death, her father’s bitterness, the countless villagers who had vanished in jaws and claws. None of it had been fate, only accident. A cruel accident. Tears stung her eyes. She bowed her head, her voice breaking.

"Then what are we to do?! Almost all of us were eaten!"

"It is the nature of carnivores to eat meat. There is no cruelty in them. They must eat too."

Enid’s legs wavered beneath her. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, to demand why her mother’s life, why her neighbors and friends had been no more than a meal. But in the weight of that gaze, she could not rage. She could only beg. Her knees buckled, and she fell forward onto the stone, pressing her palms against it as if bowing before an altar. Her voice was small, hoarse, but it carried all the desperate strength she had left.

"Please, great Queen, let us live! Show us mercy! If we must remain small and weak, then let us remain at least alive!"

For a heartbeat, there was silence. The clearing seemed to hold its breath. Even the birds stilled their wings, even the fox froze with its tail curled tight, its amber eyes fixed on the girl who dared to beg.

When the horse spoke again, her voice carried like thunder through the canopy, but beneath its power was a rare gentleness, almost solemn.

"You beg not for power, nor for vengeance, but for life. So be it."

The gigantic equid gaze lingered on Enid’s tiny body, vast and unblinking. Then, slowly, the mare lowered her head until the shadow of her muzzle cloaked the stone, her breath warm against Enid’s skin.The mare’s voice rang out across the stillness.

"Hear me, children of the forest. Humans in this forest are not prey. They are mine to shelter. None shall hunt them, none shall eat them, and none shall crush them. Their survival is my decree."

The words rolled outward, echoing between the trees. Enid felt the air itself shift, as though the forest had swallowed the oath into its heart.

"Return to your people. Tell them they may live. In the safety under my shadow. In exchange, I want answers to my questions later."

The decree had been spoken. From that day forward, the humans were no longer fair game. They were wards of the Queen. And Enid, trembling on the stone, would carry that memory all her life.

"Thank you, my Queen."

PRESENT

"She didn't told you anything where she came from?"

"Nothing. But we doesn’t need it. She gave us her mercy. She gave us life. We owe her everything."

"I … haven’t seen that same mercy for hundreds of people."

"She didn’t knew about us for a month. Of course she didn’t gave us mercy back then."

"No, Enid. I meant for-"

A sudden rush of air cut him off. The late afternoon sky dimmed as if a storm cloud had swallowed the sun. From beyond the tree line a blaze of scarlet shot forward. A scarlet tanager came from the foliage. Its wings stretched like red sails, each downstroke kicking up whirlwinds of leaves and grit.

Jack staggered as he tried to stand his ground against the wind. The bird’s body was the size of a small building, every feather a glowing ember. Sunlight struck its plumage and scattered shards of crimson light across the meadow. The giant bird hovered for an instant, shadow swallowing them whole, then beat its wings once more as it landed.

"Our Queen summons you."

The tanager’s eyes locked on him with a predator’s certainty. A shadow like a falling sunset washed over them. the bird’s talons, each as long as a scythe, snapped forward. Jack barely drew breath before the claws closed around his chest and arms. The world lurched. The earth fell away.

"Jack!"

Enid cried, her voice lost to the thunder of wings.

Air roared past his ears as the bird climbed, a living flame against the bruised sky. Jack twisted, but the grip was iron; each talon curved like a bronze hook, unyielding yet careful.

Below, Enid’s figure dwindled to a dot amid the rippling grass.

TO BE CONTINUED...