Rockhaven

Cal ran his hand over the weathered wood of the fence post, feeling the grain against his calloused fingers. He had built this life piece by piece, but some mornings, he still tasted the salt of the sea in the back of his throat. It clung there like a phantom, a reminder of storms he’d long since left behind.

“Hold it steady, Jacob,” he said, reaching for another nail from the pouch on his hip.

Jacob leaned against the next post, gripping the plank with one hand and holding a smirk with the other. “It’s not going anywhere, Dad. I think I’ve got this by now.”

“Good,” Cal replied evenly, lining the plank against the post. “Means you can stop leaning on it like it’s a tavern bar.”

Jacob huffed, adjusting his grip. “Fine. But I’m just saying, I’m getting pretty good at this whole ‘fixing fences’ thing. You don’t have to micromanage.”

Cal gave a faint smirk and hammered the nail in with three quick strikes, the sound echoing across the field. “When you’re better than me, I’ll stop.”

Jacob rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, his expression brightened as if he’d remembered something important. “Do you think the meeting will take long tonight?”

“Hard to say,” Cal said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Depends on how much arguing we get over the trade route and who’s coming along for protection. Bandits are stirring up trouble again.”

“Well, I hope it’s quick,” Jacob said, a sly grin creeping across his face. “You know, so I have time to, uh… hang around town after.”

Cal straightened and arched a brow. “You’re not going to the meeting, so what’s your rush?”

“No rush,” Jacob said, feigning nonchalance. “I just thought I might see who’s there… you know, maybe say hi to someone.”

Cal gave him a long, measuring look, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “This someone wouldn’t happen to be Brielle, would it?”

Jacob’s ears turned red. “What? No. I mean, maybe. Why?”

Cal chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No reason. Just making sure you’re not planning to spend all night hovering around the bakery pretending you’re not there to see her.”

“I don’t hover,” Jacob said indignantly. “And she’s not at the bakery. She helps her mom at the tailor’s shop, for your information.”

“Well, make sure you say hi like a gentleman. Don’t just stand there gawking.”

“I don’t gawk!” Jacob said, his voice cracking slightly before he caught himself. He coughed, adjusting the plank to distract from his embarrassment. “Anyway, you’re one to talk. You’re so good with words, huh?”

“I’m married,” Cal replied, hammering in another nail. “That means I already won. You? You’ve got work to do.”

Jacob huffed but didn’t argue. The two worked in silence for a while, the sounds of hammering and birdsong filling the air.

“Do you think she’ll be there?” Jacob asked suddenly, his voice quieter, as though he didn’t want to sound too eager.

Cal paused, glancing at his son. He didn’t say anything at first, just shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to go to town and find out.”

A smile tugged at Jacob’s lips, and he nodded, redoubling his efforts to finish the fence. Cal kept his gaze on the plank, but the faintest hint of a smile crept across his face.

You're absolutely right—Veloras is a logical consideration, but Skaldfjord being too far north doesn't fit here. Let me revise that section with a more plausible alternative.

Jacob handed his father another plank, watching as Cal lined it up against the next post. The hammer strikes echoed into the open field, filling the quiet morning with rhythmic thuds. For a while, neither of them spoke, but Jacob’s mind was clearly working on something.

“Hey, Dad?” he asked finally, his voice more thoughtful now.

“Hmm?” Cal responded without looking up, focused on driving the nail straight.

“Why don’t we just deal with the bandits ourselves?” Jacob asked. “Like, get a group together, go out there, and run them off for good.”

Cal paused mid-swing, glancing at his son. “That’s not how it works, Jacob.”

“Why not?” Jacob leaned against the fence, his arms crossed. “I mean, the whole village talks about them like they’re such a big problem. If everyone’s so worried, why doesn’t someone do something?”

Cal sighed, finishing the nail and setting the hammer down for a moment. He rested his hands on his hips and turned to Jacob.

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “Bandits aren’t like wolves or wild animals. They’re people. Desperate, dangerous people. You corner them, and they’ll fight like rats with nothing to lose. That’s not a fight you walk into lightly.”

Jacob frowned. “But we’ve got Willem, and Osric, and you. The village isn’t defenseless.”

Cal gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We have farmers, a blacksmith, and a hunter. Not soldiers. Bandits… they’re used to fighting. Some of them were soldiers once, or worse. You don’t just throw people at a problem like that and hope it works out.”

Jacob tilted his head, still unconvinced. “But what if we had more help? Like from Veloras or even one of the barons nearby?”

“Veloras is a trade city,” Cal replied. “They’re not sending anyone unless it’s worth their coin. And the barons… well, they’re more likely to tax us for the trouble than send help.”

Jacob’s brow furrowed. “So, what? We just wait for them to attack?”

“We prepare,” Cal said firmly. “That’s what the meeting tonight is for. To make sure the caravan is protected, to make sure the village is ready.”

Jacob hesitated, his frustration giving way to uncertainty. “But if it’s so dangerous… are you going with the caravan?”

Cal leaned on the fence, his gaze drifting to the horizon. “If they need me, I’ll go,” he said after a pause. “But you don’t need to worry about that right now.”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “I’m not a little kid, Dad. I can handle it.”

Cal turned back to his son, his expression softening. “I know you’re not a kid, Jacob. But that doesn’t mean I want you worrying about things you can’t control. We’ll handle it.”

Jacob looked down, scuffing his boot in the dirt. “It just feels wrong, you know? Letting them get away with it.”

Cal nodded slowly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It does. But sometimes, the best way to protect what you have is to wait and choose your moment. Rushing into a fight without knowing what you’re up against… that’s a good way to lose everything.”

Jacob glanced up at his father, seeing the weight behind his words. He nodded, though the frustration lingered.

“Now,” Cal said, stepping back and picking up the hammer, “let’s finish this fence. The sooner we’re done, the sooner you can wash up and get to town.”

Jacob smirked faintly, his earlier excitement creeping back. “You just want me out of your hair.”

Cal chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I want the fence to keep the cows in. You wandering off is just a bonus.”

They both laughed, and the weight of the conversation lifted for now.

The sun was climbing higher, warming the fields as Cal and Jacob walked back to the farmhouse. Jacob carried the empty tool bag slung over his shoulder, and Cal had a bundle of leftover planks tucked under one arm.

“I don’t get why the cows keep testing the fence,” Jacob said, glancing back at the freshly repaired posts. “They’ve got plenty of grass inside the pasture.”

Cal chuckled softly. “Cows don’t think about what they’ve got. They just see something on the other side and want it. Not too different from people, really.”

Jacob smirked. “So, people are like cows now?”

“Sometimes,” Cal said, opening the farmhouse door and stepping inside.

The familiar scents of baking bread and lavender soap greeted them. Annabelle, Cal’s wife, was kneading dough at the counter, her auburn hair tied back with a scrap of cloth. She glanced up and smiled, brushing flour off her hands.

“Fence fixed?” she asked.

“For now,” Cal replied, setting the planks by the door. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Probably until tomorrow,” Jacob added, smirking.

“Well, you’ve got time to wash up,” Annabelle said, motioning to the basin by the window. “I don’t want you heading into town looking like you just wrestled a pig.”

Jacob rolled his eyes but obeyed, setting the tool bag down and heading to the basin. He splashed water onto his face and arms, scrubbing away the sweat and dirt from the morning’s work.

“Think Brielle will notice if I’m covered in dirt?” he asked with a grin, glancing at his father.

“She’ll notice,” Annabelle said before Cal could respond, her tone dry. “And she’ll tell her mother, who’ll tell me. And then you’ll hear about it for a week.”

Jacob groaned. “Fine. I’ll clean up properly.”

Cal smirked, heading to grab his own towel. “Good plan. Nobody likes a man who smells like cow manure.”

After they’d both cleaned up, Jacob hurried upstairs to change into his better clothes, leaving Cal alone with Annabelle for a moment.

“You’re worried,” Annabelle said, not looking up from the dough she was working.

Cal leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Always am.”

She paused, glancing at him. “It’s about the bandits, isn’t it?”

Cal nodded slowly. “Meeting tonight should help, but… yeah. They’re getting bolder. Too close for comfort.”

Annabelle’s expression softened. She reached out, resting a flour-dusted hand on his arm. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Before Cal could respond, Jacob came barreling down the stairs, dressed in a clean shirt and trousers. He adjusted his belt, looking far too pleased with himself.

“How do I look?” he asked, turning for inspection.

“Like you’re ready to sweep the tailor’s daughter off her feet,” Cal said dryly.

Jacob flushed but grinned. “Let’s go, then. Don’t want to keep the town waiting.”

Cal chuckled, grabbing his coat and hat. “All right. Let’s head out.”

Annabelle waved them off, calling after them as they stepped outside. “Don’t let him make a fool of himself, Cal!”

“No promises,” Cal replied, shaking his head as Jacob darted ahead, already brimming with excitement for the evening.

The dirt path into Rockhaven was quiet, flanked by tall grass that swayed lazily in the breeze. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in warm hues of gold and orange. Cal walked at an even pace, hands resting lightly on the straps of his pack. Jacob strode beside him, his usual excitement tempered by a flicker of hesitation.

“So,” Jacob began, kicking a loose stone down the path, “do you think they’ll pick the usual route for the caravan this season? Through the hills?”

“Probably,” Cal said without much thought. “It’s faster, and the hills give decent cover. But that’s the same reason the bandits like it.”

Jacob frowned, his brow furrowing as he stared at the path ahead. “I could help. With the caravan, I mean.”

Cal’s pace slowed, and he glanced at his son. “You could help how?”

“I’m sixteen now, Dad,” Jacob said, standing a little straighter. “Old enough to handle a bow or carry a blade. You don’t have to treat me like a kid anymore.”

Cal stopped, turning to face Jacob fully. His eyes, steady and sharp, locked on his son’s. “You think carrying a bow makes you ready to deal with bandits? That’s not how it works, Jacob.”

“Why not?” Jacob shot back, his tone defensive. “I’ve been practicing with Willem. He says I’m good. Better than he was at my age.”

“Willem’s a hunter,” Cal said evenly. “Killing a wolf or a boar is one thing. Killing a man is another.”

Jacob hesitated, his confidence faltering, but he quickly recovered. “I’m not saying I want to kill anyone. But I can help guard the caravan, keep watch. I’m not useless, Dad.”

Cal sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d expected this conversation eventually, but not today. “It’s not about being useless,” he said, his voice softer now. “It’s about understanding what you’re walking into. Bandits don’t play fair. They don’t care how old you are or how good you are with a bow. They’ll gut you if it means getting what they want.”

“I can handle it,” Jacob insisted, his tone growing more frustrated. “You were my age when you left home, weren’t you?”

Cal froze for a split second before recovering. “That’s different,” he said, his voice tight.

“How?” Jacob pressed. “You left to go to sea, to make a living. Why can’t I—”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Cal snapped, the words harsher than he intended. Jacob flinched, and Cal sighed, running a hand down his face. “Look, I know you’re not a kid anymore. But being sixteen doesn’t mean you’re ready for everything the world’s going to throw at you. And it doesn’t mean I’m ready to let you go out there and risk your life when it’s not necessary.”

Jacob scowled, kicking at the dirt. “It’s not fair. You get to decide everything, like I don’t have a say.”

“You have a say,” Cal said firmly. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you when I need to. And right now, the answer is no. You’re not going with the caravan this season.”

Jacob clenched his fists, but he didn’t argue further. The tension hung heavy between them as they continued walking in silence for a few moments.

Finally, Cal spoke, his voice calmer. “You’ve got time, Jacob. To grow, to learn, to figure out who you are. Don’t be in such a hurry to prove yourself. You’ll have your chance to help when the time’s right.”

Jacob glanced at his father, the frustration in his eyes softening just a bit. “You really think I’m not ready?”

Cal hesitated but nodded. “Not yet. But you’re closer than you think. Just give it time.”

Jacob sighed, kicking the stone again as they neared the edge of the village. “Fine. But next year, I’m going.”

Cal smirked faintly. “We’ll see.”

The lights of Rockhaven flickered ahead, and the sounds of the village evening began to drift toward them. Jacob picked up his pace, his earlier excitement about town returning, though the conversation lingered in his mind.

Cal followed, his expression thoughtful. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time Jacob brought it up. And he wasn’t sure how long he could keep saying no.

Cal and Jacob entered the outskirts of Rockhaven as the evening settled over the village. Lanterns were being lit along the main road, casting warm pools of light that flickered across the cobblestones. The sounds of conversation and laughter drifted from open doorways, mingling with the rhythmic creak of a wagon being unloaded near the market square.

Jacob walked a few paces ahead, scanning the crowd with poorly hidden eagerness. His earlier frustration about the caravan was clearly forgotten. Cal smirked faintly, falling into step beside him.

“Listen, before you go running off to find Brielle,” Cal said, his tone casual but pointed, “you might want to remember a few things.”

Jacob slowed, glancing at his father with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. “I wasn’t going to run.”

“No, of course not,” Cal replied, the smirk tugging a little wider. “But when you do find her, don’t just stand there staring like a fish out of water.”

“I don’t stare!” Jacob protested, his ears turning red.

“You do,” Cal said, matter-of-factly. “It’s like you forget how to use words. Start with something simple—a greeting. Then, maybe ask about her day or if she’s been busy at the tailor’s.”

Jacob frowned, clearly overthinking already. “What if I say something stupid?”

“Then don’t,” Cal said with a shrug. “And if you do, laugh it off. Girls like it when you can laugh at yourself.” He clapped Jacob lightly on the shoulder. “Just be yourself, and for the love of everything, don’t try too hard.”

Jacob sighed but nodded, the advice sinking in. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try that.”

“That’s the spirit.” Cal gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “Now go on. You’ve got this.”

Jacob glanced back toward the square, his nerves momentarily flickering into excitement. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Don’t mention it,” Cal said. “And don’t make me regret letting you go off unsupervised.”

Jacob grinned and jogged ahead, his steps light with anticipation as he disappeared into the growing crowd. Cal watched him for a moment, shaking his head with a faint smile before continuing toward the village center.

The town hall stood near the square, a modest but sturdy building with wide double doors and windows glowing from the lanterns inside. Cal stepped through the doors into the meeting room, where a handful of villagers were already gathered. Mayor Elric Stonefield stood near the head of the room, chatting with Willem and Osric about something Cal couldn’t quite make out over the low hum of conversation.

“Evening, Cal,” Margaret Harth called from the far side of the room as she placed a pitcher of water on the central table. “You’re just in time. Elric’s been yammering about trade routes all day.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Cal replied with a nod, taking a seat near the corner. He leaned back slightly, observing the room as the last few villagers filtered in, ready for the discussion.

As more villagers trickled into the town hall, the hum of conversation grew louder. Cal remained in his corner, arms crossed, observing the room. Willem Greer stood by the wall, his wolfhound Shade lying obediently at his feet. Osric Pinewill leaned against a support beam, his massive arms crossed, the blacksmith looking as unshakable as the iron he worked with daily.

Mayor Elric Stonefield, a tall, lean man with graying hair and a weathered but kind face, clapped his hands for attention. The conversations gradually died down as everyone turned toward him.

“Good evening, everyone,” Elric began, his voice carrying a calm authority. “Thank you for coming. As you all know, it’s time to start preparing for the seasonal trade caravan to Veloras. But before we finalize anything, we need to address the growing bandit problem.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

“They’ve been getting bolder,” Willem said, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “Saw fresh tracks by the eastern woods just yesterday. They’re scouting closer to the village now.”

“Not surprising,” Osric added, his tone grim. “They know the caravan’s worth hitting.”

Cal watched silently, his jaw tightening.

Elric raised a hand to quiet the room. “That’s why we need to plan this carefully. We’ll need at least six guards for the caravan. Volunteers, preferably.”

“I’ll go,” Willem said without hesitation.

“And me,” Osric added.

A few others muttered their agreement, but the room remained tense. Everyone knew that guarding the caravan was a risk, especially this year.

“What about you, Cal?” Elric asked, his gaze shifting to the corner.

Cal leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “I’ll go if you need me.”

The room seemed to exhale in relief, though Cal caught the flicker of concern in Elric’s eyes.

“Thank you,” the mayor said. “That gives us three experienced men. We’ll need a few more.”

A younger man near the back raised his hand hesitantly. “I’ll join.”

“You sure, Evan?” Elric asked, his tone cautious.

“I can do it,” Evan replied, puffing up his chest.

Elric nodded. “All right. That’s four. We’ll work out the rest before we leave.”

“What about the route?” Margaret asked. “Are we sticking to the hills?”

“We don’t have much choice,” Elric admitted. “The hills are the quickest way, and the fewer days on the road, the safer we’ll be. But we’ll need to stay sharp.”

“Sharp won’t mean much if they hit us with numbers,” Willem said. “We should consider hiring a couple of mercenaries from Veloras. They’ll cost, but it’s better than losing the whole caravan.”

Elric nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll vote on it.”

Cal stayed quiet, his thoughts drifting to Jacob’s earlier questions. He knew his son’s frustration wasn’t unfounded, but the boy didn’t yet understand the weight of decisions like this. The stakes were too high, and the risks too real.

As the meeting went on, plans began to take shape: supplies for the caravan, shifts for the guards, and what to trade in Veloras. But the bandit threat loomed over every discussion, a shadow no one could ignore.

When the meeting finally adjourned, Cal stood, nodding to Willem and Osric as he headed for the door. Outside, the cool evening air greeted him, carrying the faint sounds of the village winding down for the night.

He paused in the square, glancing toward the tailor’s shop. Jacob was standing just outside, talking animatedly to Brielle, who smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Cal allowed himself a small smile before turning toward home, the weight of the evening pressing down on his shoulders.

The walk home was quiet, the cool night air brushing against Cal’s face. The stars above were bright, scattered like shards of glass across a black canvas. The village sounds faded behind him, leaving only the chirping of crickets and the distant rustle of wind through the trees.

As he approached the farmhouse, the warm glow of lamplight spilled out through the windows. He paused for a moment, taking in the familiar sight, the weight of the meeting still pressing on his mind.

He stepped inside, the wooden door creaking softly on its hinges. The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of lavender from the soap his wife always used. Annabelle was seated at the kitchen table, her needle and thread working steadily on a patch for one of Jacob’s shirts. She looked up as Cal entered, a warm smile immediately spreading across her face.

“Long meeting?” she asked, setting the shirt aside.

“Felt like it,” Cal said, hanging his coat on the peg by the door. “Everyone’s worried about the bandits.”

Annabelle frowned slightly, her hands resting on the table. “Did they decide who’s going with the caravan?”

“Willem, Osric, me, and a couple of others. Might hire mercenaries in Veloras, if the vote goes that way.”

She nodded, though her worry was evident. “You’ll be careful.”

Cal moved over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Always.”

Before she could say more, the sound of small, hurried footsteps came from the other room. A moment later, Emma appeared, her hair slightly messy and her favorite worn blanket draped over one arm.

“Papa,” she said, her voice soft but excited as she shuffled over to him.

Cal crouched down, a tired smile spreading across his face. “You’re still awake?”

Emma nodded, hugging her blanket tightly. “I wanted to say goodnight. Mama said it was okay.”

Cal glanced at Annabelle, who gave him an innocent shrug.

“Well, goodnight, then,” Cal said, pulling her into a quick hug. “Did you finish that book you were reading?”

“Not yet,” Emma said, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. “But it’s getting good. The knight just found the dragon’s cave.”

“Sounds exciting,” Cal said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You’ll have to tell me what happens next.”

“Okay,” she said with a small yawn. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and curious. “Papa? Are the bandits going to come here?”

Cal hesitated, glancing at Annabelle before answering. “No, sweetheart. We’re keeping everything safe. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Emma studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But you’ll protect us, right? Like the knight in my book?”

“Always,” Cal said, his voice firm but warm. “Now, off to bed with you. It’s late.”

Emma hugged him tightly one more time before shuffling back toward her room, dragging her blanket behind her.

Cal stood, exhaling softly as he turned back to Annabelle. She gave him a knowing look and walked over, wrapping her arms around him.

“You’re a good father,” she said quietly.

“Trying to be,” he replied, his voice low.

“You are,” she insisted, resting her head against his chest. “And you’ll keep them safe. All of us.”

Cal didn’t respond immediately, the weight of her trust settling heavily on his shoulders. He tightened his arms around her briefly, taking comfort in her presence.

“I’ll do my best,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Annabelle pulled back, meeting his eyes with a soft, reassuring smile. “That’s all I need.”

He nodded, kissed her forehead, and let her lead him toward the table, where the bread waited to be shared.

Cal sat by the hearth, leaning back in the worn wooden chair that creaked softly under his weight. The small fire crackled, casting flickering shadows across the cozy kitchen. Annabelle sat opposite him, her hands wrapped around a small clay cup. A bottle of amber-colored whiskey rested on the table between them, half-empty, the smell of it mixing with the faint scent of woodsmoke.

They sipped in silence for a while, the kind of comfortable quiet that only came from years of knowing each other. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and the occasional distant laugh from the village drifted in through the slightly open window.

“He’s cutting it close tonight,” Annabelle said, breaking the silence. Her voice was light, but Cal caught the hint of worry beneath it.

Cal smirked faintly, swirling the whiskey in his cup. “He’s got his mind on Brielle, not the time. You know how boys get at that age.”

Annabelle raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Oh, I know. Someone else used to show up late when he thought I’d be at the bakery.”

Cal leaned back, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “That was different.”

“Was it?” she asked, tilting her head. “Because from where I stood, it looked like you couldn’t string two words together without staring at your boots.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Cal said, though his smirk gave him away.

“You’re lucky I had the patience to talk to you at all,” Annabelle teased, her tone softening. “You didn’t make it easy, Cal.”

Cal fell quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the flames. “Didn’t think I deserved someone like you back then. Still not sure I do.”

Annabelle reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “And yet here you are, building a life for us. You’ve done more than enough to earn this, Cal.”

He stared at their hands, the callouses on his palm brushing against hers, smooth from years of tending the home. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed in Rockhaven back then. If I’d never left.”

“You wouldn’t have been you,” she said simply. “And I wouldn’t have been me. Everything we went through brought us here, to this.”

“Not sure a few years on the sea helped much,” Cal said, his voice low.

Annabelle squeezed his hand gently. “You came back, Cal. That’s what matters. You left, but you found your way home.”

His jaw tightened, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. He gave a slow nod and reached for his drink again, letting the warmth of the whiskey chase away the lingering guilt.

The door creaked open then, and Jacob stepped inside, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cool night air and a hint of excitement. He froze when he saw them sitting by the hearth, clearly not expecting to walk into an audience.

“Uh, hey,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

Cal leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Figured we’d wait, just in case we needed to come drag you out of trouble.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face gave him away. “I wasn’t in trouble.”

“How’d it go?” Annabelle asked, her tone warm and curious.

Jacob hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It was fine. We talked. She… uh… she smiled a lot.” His grin widened despite himself.

“Good start,” Cal said, raising his cup in mock approval. “Didn’t stare too much, did you?”

“Dad!” Jacob groaned, his face turning red. “I didn’t stare.”

Annabelle laughed softly, shaking her head. “Leave him be, Cal. He did fine.”

Jacob gave her a grateful look before heading toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Annabelle called after him as he disappeared up the steps.

Cal watched the empty stairway for a moment before turning back to Annabelle. She gave him a knowing look and raised her cup slightly.

“To finding your way home,” she said softly.

Cal smiled faintly, clinking his cup against hers. “To finding a way.”

The fire crackled softly as they sat together, the warmth of the hearth and the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a familiar embrace.

Rok moved quietly through the mountain pass, his massive feet crunching over loose stones. The air was cold and thin, the kind of air that bit at the skin and made the world feel empty. He liked it that way. Quiet, no humans, no yelling.

As he reached a stream winding through the rocks, he knelt to drink, his large hands cupping the freezing water. When he stood, something caught his eye—a faint glint in the dirt beside the stream.

Frowning, Rok crouched and brushed the earth aside with one thick finger. A sword emerged, its hilt small and delicate in his hand, like a toy. The blade was dull with age, the once-bright steel marred by rust and grime, but there was something about it that held his attention.

As he turned it over, a voice rang sharply in his mind. “About time someone picked me up.”

Rok startled, nearly dropping the blade. He whipped his head around, scanning the mountains, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Who talk?” he growled, his voice low and rough.

“Not out there, big guy. In here. The sword.”

Rok froze, staring down at the weapon in his hand. “Sword... talk?”

“Yes. And thank you for stating the obvious,” the voice replied, exasperated. “Name’s Elara Brightshield. And you?”

Rok hesitated, unsure if he was dreaming or going mad. Finally, he muttered, “Rok.”

“Well, Rok, it’s nice to meet you. Now, what exactly are you planning to do with me?”

Rok tilted his head, inspecting the sword. “Found you by water. Take to cave. Maybe keep.”

“Keep me? What, as decoration?” she asked, her tone incredulous.

Rok shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling like shifting boulders. “Small sword. Too small. Not good for fighting.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Elara admitted. “But that’s not my fault. You’re huge.”

Rok grunted, turning the blade over again. “Why sword talk?”

Elara’s voice softened slightly. “It’s a long story. I wasn’t always a sword. I used to be... someone else. A paladin. Someone who fought for good.”

Rok frowned, the word unfamiliar. “Pal...a...din? What is?”

“A knight,” she explained. “Someone who helps people. Protects them.”

Rok’s brow furrowed. “Humans yell. Throw rocks. Not worth helping.”

Elara was silent for a moment before replying, her tone thoughtful. “They’re afraid. Fear makes people act stupid. But not all humans are bad.”

Rok shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the village far below. “They not want Rok. Call monster.”

“And you believe them?”

“Rok not care, Rok mind himself and stay around mountains, Rok find shinny things for fun"

Thank you for the input! Here's the updated dialogue and continuation, incorporating your revision to better reflect Rok's mindset and speech pattern.

Elara was silent for a moment before replying, her tone thoughtful. “They’re afraid. Fear makes people act stupid. But not all humans are bad.”

Rok shifted uncomfortably, his gaze moving toward the faint glow of the village far below. “They not want Rok. Call monster.”

“And you believe them?”

“Rok not care,” he grunted, brushing a thumb over the sword's hilt. “Rok mind himself. Stay around mountains. Rok find shiny things for fun.”

“Shiny things?” Elara asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

Rok nodded slowly, turning the sword in his large hands. “Yes. Rocks, and shinny rocks. Rok find good ones. Keep in cave.”

“And that’s enough for you?” she asked, her tone softer now.

Rok frowned, his thick brows knitting together. “Enough. No one yell, no one throw rocks. Rok safe. Humans safe. Good for all.”

Elara didn’t respond immediately, but Rok could sense the weight of her thoughts. “Safe,” she said finally, “but lonely.”

Rok grunted but didn’t answer, his grip tightening on the sword. He stared at the blade for a moment, the strange glow in its engravings catching the faint moonlight. “Why sword talk to Rok? What you want?”

“What I want?” Elara’s voice was quiet for a moment, then resolute. “I want to be more than just a sword sitting in the dirt. I want to help someone again. And maybe… maybe I can help you.”

“Help Rok how?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, “but it’s a start. You found me for a reason, Rok. Maybe we can figure it out together.”

Rok stood, the sword small in his massive hand. He glanced back toward the direction of his cave, where his collection of shiny treasures lay waiting. His life had been simple, safe so would he need more.

Rok stood, the sword small in his massive hand. He glanced back toward the direction of his cave, where his collection of shiny treasures lay waiting. His life had been simple, safe—so would he need more?

He slid the sword into the makeshift loop on his belt, its weight almost unnoticeable against his side. “Rok take sword. See what happen.”

“Good,” Elara said, her tone lighter now.

Rok began the slow walk back to his cave, the faint crunch of his heavy steps echoing through the quiet mountains. For a while, neither spoke, the silence between them filled only by the sound of wind brushing through the rocks. Eventually, Rok’s curiosity got the better of him.

“You say you was paladin,” Rok said, glancing down at the sword on his belt. “Now… sword. Why?”

Elara paused before answering, her voice measured. “It’s a long story, Rok. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Rok grunted, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Rok not know. But you talk, maybe Rok listen.”

“Fair enough,” Elara said with a faint laugh. “I was a paladin—someone who protected others, helped those in need, and fought against evil. My order, the Radiant Shield, was everything to me. We believed in honor, justice, and… well, doing the right thing.”

Rok nodded slightly, though his expression remained skeptical. “Sound like much work.”

“It was,” she admitted. “But it was good work. I traveled with my party—other knights and adventurers—and we made a difference. Or at least, we tried to.”

Rok tilted his head. “So… what happen? Why now sword?”

Her voice grew quieter, tinged with sorrow. “We were hunting a creature—a terrible thing that had been terrorizing the land. My party and I found it deep in the mountains. We fought hard, and… we won. But not without cost.”

Rok glanced at the sword again. “You die?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I was mortally wounded. My party fell too. But before I died, I used the last of my strength to bind my soul to my sword. It was a spell I’d learned for emergencies, a way to ensure my blade could still serve even if I couldn’t.”

“Why do that?” Rok asked, his brow furrowing. “Why not just… go?”

Elara was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t let go. There was still so much to be done, so much I wanted to protect. I thought… maybe someone else would pick me up and carry on the fight.” She chuckled softly, her tone bittersweet. “I didn’t expect it to take this long, though.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Rok’s massive hand brushed the hilt of the sword. “You wait long time?”

“Ages,” Elara said, her voice soft. “I’ve spent centuries buried in dirt, unable to move, unable to speak to anyone. You’re the first person I’ve talked to in… I don’t even know how long.”

“First talk… to giant?” Rok said, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Yes, a giant,” she replied, her voice brightening slightly. “And honestly? I’m glad it’s you. Even if you don’t talk much.”

Rok grunted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Rok talk enough. You talk much. Make up for it.”

Elara laughed, a sound filled with relief and gratitude. “Fair enough, Rok. Fair enough.”

As they reached the entrance to his cave, Rok paused, glancing down at the tiny sword on his belt. “Rok not know what happen next. But… maybe not bad you here.”

“Maybe not bad at all,” Elara said softly. “We’ll figure it out, Rok. Together.”

With a faint grunt of approval, Rok stepped into the cave, the glow of the sword’s faint engravings lighting the dark space just enough to feel less empty.

Rok walked to his makeshift shelf, a flat slab of stone nestled against the wall where his shiny treasures were carefully arranged. Smooth river stones, polished pieces of quartz, chunks of gold-veined rock, and a few precious gems glittered faintly in the dim light. He gently placed the sword next to a gleaming amethyst the size of a human fist.

“You stay here,” Rok said, his voice low as he stepped back and looked at the blade. “Good spot.”

“On a shelf?” Elara asked, her tone wry. “I suppose it’s better than a ditch, but I didn’t think my new wielder would treat me like a decoration.”

Rok tilted his head, considering her words. “You say you sword now. Sword not sleep, not eat. Shelf good place.”

Elara sighed, but there was no malice in it. “Fair enough. For now.”

Satisfied, Rok turned and stretched out on the stone floor of his cave, his massive body making the space feel even smaller. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at the rocky ceiling. The faint glow from the sword cast soft shadows that danced across the walls, and the gentle hum of Elara’s presence lingered in his mind.

“Why you still here?” Rok asked suddenly, his voice rumbling in the quiet. “Not sword… just leave?”

There was a pause before Elara answered, her tone quieter this time. “I told you, Rok. I bound myself to the blade because I wasn’t ready to let go. And now that I’m awake again… I don’t know. Maybe I still have a purpose. Maybe you do, too.”

“Rok purpose is Rok,” he said simply, closing his eyes. “Rok stay here. Find shiny. No bother humans.”

“And what if they bother you?” Elara asked.

Rok grunted softly, not opening his eyes. “They yell. Throw rocks. Rok leave.”

Elara didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice was softer, “Rok. You don’t have to run forever.”

Rok didn’t answer, his breathing evening out as he began to drift off. The glow of the sword dimmed slightly, the cave growing darker but not completely black.

“Goodnight, Rok,” Elara said quietly, her voice laced with an unexpected warmth.

The only response was a low, contented rumble from the giant as he slipped into sleep, the sword at rest beside the glimmering treasures he held so dear.

When Rok opened his eyes in the morning, the first thing he heard was a sharp, cheerful voice in his mind.

“Oh, you’re finally awake! I’ve been waiting forever!”

Rok groaned, rubbing his face with one massive hand. “Sword talk much,” he grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“And you don’t talk enough,” Elara shot back, her tone playful. “What’s the point of carrying a magic sword if you’re not going to chat with it?”

“Rok not carry. Rok put on shelf,” he said, sitting up and glancing at her resting spot beside his shiny collection.

“And a lovely shelf it is,” she replied with mock sincerity. “But I didn’t bind my soul to this blade to sit on a rock all day.”

Rok stretched, his joints popping loudly as he stood. “Rok need eat. Then shiny hunt. Sword stay here.”

“Shiny hunt?” Elara asked, her curiosity piqued. “You mean like finding gems and treasure?”

Rok grunted affirmatively as he lumbered toward the mouth of the cave. “Rok find shiny. Keep. Not give.”

“Not even to the villagers?” she teased.

“Villagers yell,” Rok said simply. “No give shiny to yellers.”

Elara chuckled softly. “Fair enough. But maybe someday, you’ll find someone who doesn’t yell.”

“Maybe,” Rok muttered, stepping outside and squinting at the morning sun. He didn’t sound convinced.

As he began his trek toward the nearby stream to look for breakfast, the sword’s voice rang out again, determined to fill the silence. “So, Rok, tell me more about this shiny collection of yours. What’s the best piece you’ve found?”

Rok sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Sword talk much,” he repeated, trudging down the path.

“And you’re going to listen, because you like having someone to talk to, even if you won’t admit it,” Elara said smugly.

Rok grunted, refusing to dignify her with a response. But as he made his way to the stream, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The sword might talk too much, but for the first time in a long while, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

After Rok had eaten, a quick meal of roots and berries he’d gathered near the stream, he started off toward his favorite hunting spot for shinies—a narrow gorge where the stream cut deep into the rocks. His massive feet crunched over loose gravel as he walked, the sound echoing through the quiet mountains.

As he climbed down into the gorge, a familiar voice broke through the stillness.

“So, where are we going today? Anywhere exciting?”

Rok froze mid-step, his brow furrowing. “How still hear sword talking? Sword in cave?”

“Ah, yes,” Elara said, her tone bright with amusement. “That’s the thing about being a magic sword. Once you pick me up, I stay with you. Not physically, obviously, but... well, it’s a bit complicated. Let’s just say we’re connected now.”

Rok grumbled, his hand brushing the empty loop on his belt where the sword had rested the night before. “Rok not like this. Rok not take sword to leave it behind.”

“And yet, here I am,” Elara said lightly. “Think of it as a bonus. You don’t need to carry me to have my company.”

Rok sighed deeply, his frustration bubbling just below the surface. “Sword talk too much. Rok like quiet.”

“Then I guess you’ve been spoiled,” she replied with a chuckle. “But you’ll get used to it. Besides, I’m not just here to annoy you. I can help.”

“Help how?” Rok asked, continuing his descent into the gorge.

“Well, I’m good at identifying treasures, for one. You like shinies, don’t you? I can tell you which ones are valuable, which ones are rare. It’s practically my area of expertise.”

Rok stopped, considering her words. “Sword know shinies?”

“I know a lot of things,” Elara said smugly. “But yes, I know shinies. Gems, metals, artifacts—you name it. I used to wield artifacts myself, back when I had hands.”

Rok grunted, not entirely convinced. “We see. Rok find shiny first.”

“Fair enough,” she said, her tone almost playful. “Lead the way, big guy.”

Rok shook his head, muttering to himself as he continued down the rocky path. The idea of a sword that wouldn’t stay quiet annoyed him, but there was something oddly comforting about the voice in his head. At least, he thought, he wouldn’t have to talk to himself anymore.

As he reached the gorge floor, the morning sun glinting off the water’s surface, he started scanning the rocks, his sharp eyes searching for anything that sparkled. And all the while, Elara’s voice hummed in the back of his mind, offering observations and the occasional comment, as if they’d been doing this together for years.

As Rok waded through the shallow stream at the gorge’s floor, his sharp eyes scanned the rocky terrain for anything shiny. Every now and then, he’d pause, lean down, and lift a stone, inspecting it before tossing it aside with a dull thud.

“So, Rok,” Elara’s voice chimed in his mind, breaking the quiet, “why don’t you associate with other giants? I don’t imagine you’re the only one living in these mountains.”

Rok frowned, brushing dirt off a stone he’d picked up before tossing it into the stream. “Not many giants here. Few in mountains. Far away.”

“And you don’t visit them?” Elara asked, her tone curious.

Rok grunted, turning over a piece of quartz before placing it in the pouch slung across his broad chest. “No. Giants not like Rok. Say Rok weak.”

“Weak?” Elara repeated, surprised. “You’re enormous. How could anyone think you’re weak?”

“Not fight,” Rok said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “Other giants fight. Crush. Humans scared of giants. Giants like that. Rok not like.”

“Ah,” Elara said, her voice softer now. “So you chose to be different.”

“Rok mind self,” he replied, crouching to inspect a small rock glinting in the sunlight. “No fight humans, no crush. Just find shiny. Simple.”

“And the other giants don’t understand that,” Elara guessed.

Rok nodded, placing the stone into his pouch. “They laugh. Call Rok ‘soft.’ Say Rok no real giant. So Rok leave. Better alone.”

Elara was silent for a moment, as though considering his words. “You know,” she said finally, “what they think doesn’t matter. You’ve chosen a different path, and I respect that. It takes strength to walk away from what others expect of you.”

Rok shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling like shifting hills. “Rok not care what they think. Giants far. Rok stay here.”

“Do you ever get lonely?” Elara asked gently.

Rok paused, his hand hovering over a particularly shiny stone. “No,” he said after a long moment. “Rok have shinies. Now sword talk. Cave not lonely.”

Elara chuckled softly. “Well, I suppose that makes me one of your shinies now.”

Rok grunted, his lips twitching in what might have been the faintest hint of a smile. “Sword shiny, but talk too much.”

“You’ll learn to like it,” she said, her voice warm.

Rok didn’t reply immediately, his focus shifting back to the rocks at his feet. He wasn’t sure if he believed her, but for now, he decided he didn’t mind the company. At least she wasn’t throwing rocks at him.

And as the sun climbed higher, casting its light across the gorge, Rok continued his hunt, the quiet broken only by the sound of Elara’s occasional observations and the soft rush of water around his feet.

Rok crouched by the stream, his large hands brushing away dirt and pebbles until the gleam of light he’d seen came into full view. It was a chunk of quartz, larger than his fist, its surface fractured into patterns that caught and scattered the sunlight. He lifted it carefully, holding it up to inspect in the morning light.

“Shiny,” Rok muttered, his rough voice tinged with satisfaction.

“Now that’s impressive,” Elara’s voice chimed in his mind. “That’s quartz. Not the rarest, but it’s beautiful. You’ve got a good eye, Rok.”

Rok tilted his head, examining the crystal. “Quartz,” he repeated slowly. “Not know word. Just shiny.”

“It’s a type of stone,” Elara explained. “Common in some places, but still lovely. That one’s especially nice. Good find.”

Rok grunted in acknowledgment, turning the crystal over once more before slipping it into the pouch strapped across his chest. The quartz clinked against the other stones inside, and he adjusted the strap, making sure the pouch sat comfortably before standing again.

He brushed the dirt off his knees, glanced around the gorge, and resumed his slow, steady search for the next shiny.

Rok moved upstream, his massive feet splashing through the shallow water as he scanned the streambed. The faint trickle of the current filled the gorge, mingling with the occasional clatter of stones shifting beneath his steps.

Reaching a bend in the stream where the water deepened slightly, he crouched down, his shadow falling over the rippling surface. With a slow, deliberate motion, he plunged his hand into the streambed, his fingers digging into the sand and loose stones. When he pulled his hand out, a handful of wet gravel and silt dripped from his palm.

He sifted through it carefully, letting the water wash away the fine particles as he searched for anything that caught the light.

“Patience is key,” Elara said, her tone light but curious. “Treasure hunting isn’t always about luck—it’s about persistence.”

“Rok have patience,” he muttered, tossing the handful aside when nothing caught his eye. “Rok dig more.”

He reached in again, this time grabbing a larger handful of the streambed. The current tugged at his arm as he raised his hand out of the water, the gravel shifting and clinking in his palm. A glint of gold flashed among the gray stones, catching his attention.

“Hmm,” Rok rumbled, narrowing his eyes as he picked through the handful. He plucked out a small, irregularly shaped nugget, its surface gleaming faintly in the sunlight.

“Gold,” Elara said, her voice carrying a note of admiration. “Now that’s a find, Rok. Not easy to come by, even for treasure hunters.”

“Gold?” Rok repeated, turning the nugget over in his fingers. “Shiny. Good shiny.”

“Very good shiny,” Elara agreed. “It’s valuable. Humans would trade a lot for even a small piece like that.”

Rok snorted softly. “Humans yell. Throw rocks. Not trade. Rok keep.”

“Fair enough,” Elara said, her tone shifting to one of quiet amusement. “At least you know its worth, even if you’re not sharing.”

Rok slid the nugget into his pouch with the quartz and other treasures, the soft clink of metal and stone satisfying to his ears. Without pausing, he reached into the stream again, his large hand digging deep into the sand and gravel, determined to find more.

This time, his fingers brushed against something hard and smooth, different from the loose stones around it. Curious, he gripped it and pulled it free, lifting it into the sunlight. A polished black stone, darker than the shadows around it, sat in his palm, its surface glistening with water.

“Hmm,” Rok muttered again, holding it up to his face for a closer look.

“Obsidian,” Elara said after a moment. “Volcanic glass. It’s sharp, dangerous if shaped into a weapon, but in its raw form like that, it’s… striking.”

“Not shiny,” Rok said, his tone flat.

“Not shiny in the same way, but it’s beautiful in its own right. Deep and dark, like night.”

Rok frowned, turning the stone over in his hand before slipping it into the pouch. “Shiny is better. But Rok keep.”

Elara chuckled softly. “You’ve got a good haul so far, Rok. What’s next?”

“Next…” Rok rumbled, his gaze sweeping upstream. “More shiny.”

Without waiting for her reply, he trudged further along the stream, his massive hands ready to dig again. The thrill of discovery, no matter how small, drove him onward, and even though the sword talked too much, he found he didn’t mind the company as much as before.

Rok trudged along the stream, the faint sound of rushing water masking the clinking of his pouch filled with shinies. The peace of the gorge was interrupted by a sudden, sharp whooping call echoing from up ahead. The sound was deep, guttural, and followed by sharp barks that sent a chill down his spine.

He stopped, his ears twitching as he listened intently.

“Gralkith,” Rok muttered, his voice low.

“Gralkith?” Elara asked. “What’s that?”

“Sneaky beast” Rok said, scanning the cliffs. “Covered in bone. Hunt in packs. Dangerous.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Elara said cautiously.

“Not old,” Rok replied. “New to mountains. They bite and scrach but Rok big Rok punch or kick hard and they leave"

Rok stood still, his sharp eyes fixed ahead, listening to the distant growls and whooping calls.

Rok stood still, his sharp eyes fixed ahead, listening to the distant growls and whooping calls. The echoes bounced off the gorge walls, their guttural rhythm unsettling but not unfamiliar. He had dealt with Gralkith before.

As he scanned the cliffs, movement caught his eye. High above, shadows shifted unnaturally, large forms scaling the sheer rock face with frightening speed. Their bone-plated bodies blended with the jagged terrain, but the occasional glint of sunlight on their armor-like hides gave them away.

“Gralkith climbing,” Rok muttered, narrowing his eyes.

“Why?” Elara asked, her voice tense.

Rok didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept lower, to the floor of the gorge where another shape darted into view—a human, small and quick, scrambling over rocks and dashing toward the tree line.

“Human running,” Rok said flatly. “Gralkith hunting.”

“And you’re just going to stand there?” Elara’s voice sharpened.

Rok shrugged, turning his attention back to the stream. “Not Rok problem. Rok not fight humans’ fights. Gralkith leave if no catch.”

“No catch? You can’t be serious!” Elara snapped. “That person is going to die!”

Rok grunted, brushing dirt off his hands. “Humans yell. Throw rocks at Rok. Not worth.”

“I don’t care what they’ve done before!” Elara’s voice was fiery now, cutting through his indifference. “You can help. You should help.”

Rok sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. He glanced back toward the scaling Gralkith and the distant human figure, now stumbling on loose rocks.

“Rok not like this,” he muttered.

“And I don’t care what you like. Get moving!”

With a low growl of frustration, Rok turned and began trudging toward the commotion, his massive strides purposeful but reluctant. “Stupid sword talk too much,” he grumbled under his breath.

“And you’ll thank me when we save that life,” Elara shot back, her tone unyielding.

Rok didn’t reply, his focus shifting to the chase ahead, the guttural calls of the Gralkith growing louder with every step.

Rok’s massive strides pounded against the rocky ground as he pushed himself forward, his eyes fixed on the human figure stumbling through the gorge. The guttural whoops and growls of the Gralkith echoed all around him, growing closer with every moment.

“Faster, Rok!” Elara’s voice rang sharply in his mind, her usual composure gone. “They’re going to catch him!”

“Rok moving,” he growled, his breath heavy as his long legs carried him across the uneven terrain.

“Not fast enough! You’re big—use those legs!”

Rok grunted, forcing himself to pick up the pace. He leapt over a jagged outcrop, landing heavily but recovering quickly. His sharp eyes locked onto the human, who was scrambling desperately across the rocky streambed, his movements frantic.

The whooping calls of the Gralkith grew louder, and Rok risked a glance up. The bone-plated creatures were moving fast, their hulking forms scaling the cliffs with terrifying ease, their glowing eyes fixed on the fleeing prey.

“Gralkith close,” Rok muttered, his tone grim.

“Then don’t stop!” Elara shouted. “Keep going! You’re almost there!”

Rok bared his teeth, his frustration mounting as his massive frame crashed through the gorge. The human tripped on a loose stone, barely catching himself before scrambling forward again, but the stumble cost him precious time.

“Stupid human,” Rok muttered under his breath, his pace quickening.

“He’s terrified, Rok! Just move faster before it’s too late!”

With a low growl of irritation, Rok pushed himself harder, his massive feet kicking up sprays of dirt and water as he closed the distance between him and the human. The Gralkith, sensing their prey’s desperation, let out another round of guttural roars, the sound reverberating through the gorge like a warning.

“Almost there,” Rok rumbled, his breath coming in deep, controlled bursts. His eyes darted between the human and the shadows closing in from above, calculating the moment he’d need to intervene.

But he kept moving, Elara’s voice sharp in his mind. “Don’t slow down, Rok. Not for a second.”

Rok skidded to a stop, his sharp eyes tracking the human scrambling along the cliff above. The whooping calls of the Gralkith echoed louder, their bony forms closing in with terrifying speed, scaling the rocks like they were born for it.

The human was panicked, his steps erratic and unsteady as he moved along the narrow ledge. Rok’s gaze darted further along the gorge, his knowledge of the terrain snapping into focus.

“Waterfall,” Rok muttered, his brow furrowing. “Big fall. Human jump maybe. No good.”

“What do you mean ‘no good’?” Elara demanded. “Where’s the waterfall?”

“Up ahead,” Rok said, pointing further down the gorge. “Fall deep. Water strong. Gralkith not care. They jump. Armor thick—no hurt.”

“And the human?” Elara’s voice was sharp, insistent.

Rok snorted, glancing back up at the stumbling figure. “Human soft. Break on rocks. Water take.”

“Then you can’t just stand here!” Elara snapped. “You know this gorge! You can stop them! Move, Rok!”

He growled low in his chest, his fists clenching as he watched the human’s frantic escape. The Gralkith were relentless, their glowing eyes locked onto their prey. The human was running out of ledge—and time.

“Rok not like this,” he muttered, turning abruptly and stomping toward the path that led to the base of the waterfall. His strides were long and purposeful, but reluctant.

“You don’t have to like it,” Elara said firmly. “Just get there before it’s too late.”

Rok’s sharp eyes flicked back to the human and the creatures pursuing him, calculating his chances. He knew the gorge, its twists and dangers. If he moved fast, he could intercept them before the jump—or at least give the human a fighting chance.

With a deep grunt, Rok broke into a run, his heavy footsteps thundering through the gorge as the sound of rushing water grew louder ahead.

Rok’s massive feet thundered against the rocky ground as he raced toward the waterfall, the sound of rushing water growing deafening in his ears. The human was still running along the cliff above, his steps frantic and uneven, with the Gralkith closing in fast. Rok glanced up as he reached the base of the falls, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“Human jump,” he muttered grimly as he saw the man teeter at the ledge’s edge. “Stupid.”

The human let out a panicked scream and leapt, his arms flailing as he plummeted toward the churning waters below.

“Rok jump too,” Rok grumbled.

Without hesitation, Rok threw himself into the air, his massive body soaring after the falling figure. The roar of the waterfall surrounded him as he dove, his sharp eyes fixed on the human’s flailing form. With a precision that belied his size, Rok reached out and caught the screaming man in his massive hand just before they hit the water.

The impact sent a massive spray of water into the air, but Rok barely flinched as he surfaced, the human still in his grasp.

The man’s screams hadn’t stopped. He kicked and squirmed, beating his fists against Rok’s hand as he shouted, “Don’t eat me! Please, don’t eat me! I didn’t do anything! Let me go!”

“Stop yelling!” Rok rumbled, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “Rok not eat. Rok help.”

The human froze, his wide eyes locking onto Rok’s massive face. His mouth opened as if to say something, but before he could, there was a loud splash behind them.

Rok’s head snapped around, his sharp eyes catching the sight of Gralkith landing in the water. Their bone-plated forms barely seemed to notice the impact as they swam toward him, their glowing eyes predatory and focused.

“Stupid creatures,” Rok muttered, his frustration evident.

The human started screaming again as the Gralkith closed in, but Rok lifted him high above the water with one massive arm. “Hold still!” Rok barked. “Rok keep you safe.”

The first Gralkith lunged, its clawed hands swiping toward Rok’s side. With a growl, Rok swung his free hand in a devastating punch. “Rok punch!” he bellowed as his fist connected with the creature’s bony chest. The impact sent a shockwave through the water, forcing the Gralkith back, though it didn’t seem injured.

Another creature lunged from the side, and Rok lashed out with a massive kick. “Rok smash!” The water churned violently as his foot collided with the beast, sending it reeling.

The Gralkith weren’t easily deterred. Their thick bone armor absorbed much of Rok’s blows, but they weren’t prepared for the sheer ferocity of his attacks. He punched, kicked, and shoved, his massive limbs thrashing the water as he fought to keep them at bay.

The human, still held high above, stared down in wide-eyed shock as Rok roared in frustration. “Rok not hurt much,” he muttered. “But Rok hit hard. You leave!”

His next punch sent one of the creatures tumbling backward, and the rest seemed to pause, their glowing eyes flickering as if reassessing the situation. Another deep growl rumbled from Rok’s chest as he stomped the water, sending up waves that rocked the Gralkith.

The creatures hissed and snarled, but one by one, they retreated, vanishing into the shadows of the gorge.

Rok let out a deep, exasperated sigh, his massive shoulders slumping. “Finally,” he muttered, trudging toward the shore.

He carefully set the human down on the rocky bank, who immediately scrambled backward, his eyes still wide with fear.

“Rok not hurt,” Rok rumbled, glancing down at the man. “Rok save. Stop yelling now.”

The human just stared, his chest heaving as he struggled to process what had just happened. Behind him, the sound of the waterfall roared on, but for a moment, the only other sound was the dripping water from Rok’s soaked frame.

Rok stood on the rocky shore, water dripping from his massive frame as he watched the retreating shadows of the Gralkith. He huffed, shaking his head, then turned his attention inward.

“That was impressive,” Elara said, her tone warm and approving. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did. I’m proud of you, Rok.”

Rok grunted, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sword talk too much. Not like fight Gralkith, but… they leave now.”

“Still, you saved him. That means something.”

Without even glancing at the human, Rok started to walk away, his massive strides carrying him toward the gorge’s edge. “Rok not like fighting. Gralkith hard. Stupid creatures,” he muttered, continuing his conversation with Elara as though no one else was there.

“Hey!” the human’s voice called out, stopping Rok mid-step. “Wait! Why did you help me?”

Rok sighed, turning his head slightly but not stopping. “Stupid sword told Rok to.”

The human blinked, confused, his eyes darting around. “Sword? What sword?”

“Long story,” Rok muttered, waving a massive hand dismissively as he kept walking.

“Wait!” the man called again, scrambling to his feet and jogging after Rok. “I’m Willem—Willem, a hunter from Rockhaven. Who are you, giant? Do you have a name?”

Rok paused, glancing down at the human with a mix of annoyance and curiosity. “Rok,” he said simply, then turned back and continued his steady walk away.

Willem stood there for a moment, watching the giant's retreating form, his mind racing. “Rok,” he repeated under his breath, the name unfamiliar yet strangely fitting for the massive figure disappearing into the distance.

Back at his cave, Rok crouched near the fire pit, his massive hands carefully arranging the dry wood he’d collected earlier. The mountain goat he’d caught—a hefty creature by human standards but hardly a meal for someone of his size—was laid nearby, ready for roasting. He had caught it with ease, hurling what to him was just a rock, though most would have called it a boulder. The goat hadn’t stood a chance.

As he struck flint against steel, sparks flew, and a small flame began to take hold. Rok leaned down, gently blowing until the fire flickered to life. He nodded to himself, satisfied, and reached for the goat, but Elara’s voice filled his mind before he could begin.

“You know, Rok, that was truly something back there.”

“Hmm?” Rok grunted, glancing toward the sword resting against the wall near his shelf of shinies.

“The jump! The way you caught that human mid-fall—flawless! And the way you knocked around those Gralkith? It was… well, it was impressive.”

Rok paused, his hands still as he processed her words. Compliments weren’t something he was used to. Most of what he heard from others involved yelling, accusations, or fear. He found himself grinning, though it was small and hesitant.

“Rok just… do what sword say,” he said, shrugging as he hoisted the goat onto a spit over the fire.

“You could’ve ignored me,” Elara countered, her tone teasing. “You didn’t have to help, but you did. And you did it well.”

Rok chuckled softly, turning the spit with one hand while prodding the fire with the other. “Rok punch and kick. Not big deal. Gralkith leave.”

“Not a big deal?” Elara said, her voice mock incredulous. “Rok, you held a screaming human in one hand while fighting off an entire pack of bone-armored monsters. That’s a big deal.”

Rok glanced at the fire, the flickering light reflecting in his eyes as he spoke quietly. “Human not stop yelling. Thought Rok eat him.”

Elara laughed warmly, and Rok found himself smiling again.

“Well, to be fair, you are a giant. It’s probably not every day someone like you shows up and saves the day.”

“Hmm,” Rok grunted, his grin widening. He turned the spit again, his massive shoulders relaxing as he listened to her talk. He wasn’t sure why, but he enjoyed the sound of her voice, especially when it wasn’t scolding him.

As the goat began to cook, the aroma filling the cave, Rok leaned back against the wall, glancing toward the sword. “Sword talk nice,” he said softly. “Rok… not used to that.”

“You deserve it,” Elara replied gently. “You’re more than you think you are, Rok. Today proved that.”

Rok didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared into the fire, his faint smile lingering as he thought about the day’s events. Maybe the sword was right. Maybe, just maybe, he was more than the monster humans thought he was.

Cal stood outside the tavern, adjusting the collar of Jacobs shirt as the warm glow of lanterns spilled out into the evening air. Jacob stood fidgeting in front of him, his excitement barely contained. Cal reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of coins, selecting five copper pieces before handing them to his son.

“That should be enough,” Cal said, his tone steady but warm. “Invite her to the inn, get a meal. Just a nice meal, nothing fancy. You’re just asking her out to share a good meal, understand?”

Jacob nodded quickly, pocketing the coins, though his nervousness was still evident. “Right. A meal. I understand, Pa.”

Jacob hesitated for a moment, then looked up at his father, his voice quieter. “Dad… what if she says no?”

Cal smiled, resting a reassuring hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “Then you thank her for her time, son, and you walk away with your head held high. A no doesn’t mean you’re less. It just means it wasn’t the right time.”

Jacob nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful, as Cal gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before letting go.

Cal fixed him with a firm look, leaning in slightly. “BUT once she says yes, you make sure you tell her you have to ask her father first. Trust me, son, you do not want that kind of trouble.”

Jacob’s eyes widened a little, and he swallowed. “Her father? Do you think he’ll mind?”

Cal smirked, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “He might not mind at all, but it’s not about that—it’s about showing respect. Trust me, it’ll save you a lot of trouble down the road.”

Jacob nodded quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, I’ll make sure to do it right.”

Cal gave a faint chuckle and added, “And if for some reason that’s not enough,” he gestured toward the coins, “tell Maggie to carry it on my tab. She knows me—it won’t be a problem.”

Jacob blinked in surprise. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course,” Cal said with a shrug. “But don’t go making a habit of it, you hear? You’re sixteen, not a freeloader.”

Jacob grinned sheepishly, trying to shake off his nerves. “Thanks, Pa. I’ll make sure to do it right.”

Cal clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Good lad. Now get moving if you’re going to catch her before the tailor shop closes.”

Jacob nodded, his face lighting up with nervous determination. Without another word, he turned and dashed off down the street, the sound of his hurried footsteps fading as he disappeared into the evening bustle.

Cal watched him for a moment, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “Young love,” he muttered to himself before turning and stepping into the tavern.

Cal stepped into the tavern, the warm, familiar smell of wood smoke and ale mixing with the louder-than-usual murmur of voices. His eyes immediately locked onto the crowd surrounding the bar table. It wasn’t uncommon in a place like this, and Cal had seen it all before—a fight in progress or one just finished.

There was a slim chance someone had said something outrageous or unbelievable, but in this town? No, it was probably a fight.

Cal moved forward, gently but firmly pushing his way through the throng of villagers. “Excuse me. Coming through,” he said, his voice steady but commanding enough that people parted without much protest.

When he reached the center of the crowd, he stopped, his eyes falling on the sight before him. It wasn’t often that Cal found himself surprised anymore, but this was one of those rare moments.

Willem sat on a bar stool, swaying slightly as he grinned wildly. Empty shot glasses lined the table in front of him, the faint smell of spirits heavy in the air.

“CAL!” Willem’s voice boomed as he shot to his feet, nearly toppling the stool in the process. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were wide with excitement. “Cal, you won’t believe what happened to me today!”

Cal raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “You’ve certainly got everyone’s attention, Willem. What’s this about?”

Willem slapped his hand on the table, his grin widening. “A giant, Cal! A bloody giant saved my life!”

The murmurs in the room grew louder as people exchanged glances. Cal’s expression remained skeptical, though his interest was piqued. “A giant? Really?”

“Yes, a GIANT!” Willem bellowed, holding his arms wide as if to demonstrate the sheer size. “Eighteen feet tall if he was an inch! I was up in the gorge, hunting, you know, and those damned Gralkith started chasing me!”

At the mention of the Gralkith, the crowd fell silent, and Cal’s brows furrowed. “You ran into Gralkith? In the gorge?”

Willem nodded emphatically, reaching for another drink but finding none left. He jabbed a finger at the empty glasses, his speech slurring slightly. “They had me cornered, Cal. Cornered! I thought I was done for. So I jumped. Right off the waterfall. Only thing I could do!”

Cal stared at him, his arms still crossed. “And the giant?”

Willem grinned like a madman, his eyes lighting up. “Caught me. Right out of the air! One hand, like I was a rabbit or something. Then he fought those Gralkith, just punching and kicking them until they ran off!”

The tavern erupted into murmurs again, and Cal uncrossed his arms, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You’re saying a giant saved you… and fought off Gralkith?”

“Damn right, he did!” Willem exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “Said his name was Rok. Big guy, grumpy as hell, but he didn’t hurt me. Saved me, plain and simple.”

Cal shook his head slowly, trying to process the story. “And you’re sure you weren’t seeing things, Willem? Drinking before you ran into those Gralkith?”

Willem laughed, the sound loud and unrestrained. “Cal, I know what I saw. A giant, I tell you. He even talked! Told me his name. You don’t believe me? Fine. Go up to the gorge yourself and see if you run into him!”

Cal sighed, his skepticism giving way to a faint curiosity. The story sounded insane, but Willem wasn’t the type to invent something this elaborate, drunk or not. “Alright, Willem,” he said finally, his tone even. “We’ll see. For now, maybe you should slow down on the drinks, huh?”

Willem grinned, slapping Cal on the back. “Cal, you don’t know what you’re missing! It’s a giant, I tell you! Rok!”

Cal shook his head again, gesturing to the bartender to cut Willem off. He wasn’t sure what to make of the story yet, but something about it stuck with him. Giants weren’t supposed to exist anymore—not around here, anyway. And yet, Willem didn’t seem like he was lying.

He’d have to think about it.

Got it—rum fits perfectly for Cal's sailor background. Here's the revised version:

Cal shook his head again, glancing at Willem, who was still grinning like a fool, the excitement of his tale bubbling over. He wasn’t sure what to make of the story—a giant saving someone from Gralkith? It sounded impossible.

Still, Cal figured he’d have to think about it later. For now, he decided to sit down and have a drink while he waited on Jacob.

Pulling out a stool next to Willem, Cal waved to the man behind the bar, a stout, middle-aged fellow with a thick beard and a no-nonsense expression. “Brennan, a rum,” Cal called out.

Brennan grunted in acknowledgment, reaching beneath the bar to grab a bottle and a glass. “Rum, eh? You must be in a mood, Cal,” he muttered, pouring a generous amount before sliding it across the counter.

Cal caught the glass and raised it slightly in thanks. “A mood, sure,” he said, his voice dry, before taking a long sip. The familiar warmth spread through him, a taste of his past life on the sea.

Willem, still buzzing with energy, slapped him on the back, nearly making him spill. “That’s the spirit, Cal! You’ll need it when I tell you the story again, because I’m not stopping until everyone in Rockhaven knows what happened!”

Cal smirked faintly, setting the glass down. “I’m sure you aren’t, Willem. Let’s just see if the rum makes the story better or worse.”

Brennan snorted, wiping the counter as he moved down the bar. “I’ll put my coin on worse. You sticking around long, Cal?”

“Just until Jacob’s done,” Cal replied, swirling the rum in his glass.

The noise of the tavern swirled around him as he leaned back in his stool, letting himself unwind. Whatever Willem’s wild tale meant, it could wait. For now, he focused on the warmth of the rum and the buzz of conversation, keeping one ear tuned for the sound of Jacob’s return.

Willem leaned closer to Cal, his voice dropping to a near whisper as his eyes darted around the tavern. “Look, Cal, I know you was a sailor back in the day. You’ve seen things, right?”

Cal took a slow sip of his rum, glancing at Willem out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. What’s your point?”

“Cal,” Willem said, leaning in even closer, his tone insistent, “have I ever made up tall tales before?”

Cal set his glass down and shook his head. “No. You’ve always been honest, even when drunk. So what’s this about?”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t no tale or dream or nothing,” Willem said, his voice dropping further as he glanced over his shoulder. “I swear to you, Cal. You know I respect you.” He hesitated, then added quickly, “Don’t be telling no one else I said that, or I’ll call ya a damned liar—but it’s true. Ain’t no lie, Cal.”

Cal’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Willem, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “Alright, Willem,” he said carefully, “you’ve got my attention.”

Cal swirled the rum in his glass before taking another slow sip. Willem’s eyes bore into him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Finally, Cal set the glass down with a quiet clink and leaned back slightly.

“Look, Willem,” he began, his tone steady and calm. “I believe you. You’ve never lied to me before. But even so… what can you do about it?”

Willem blinked, his expression faltering for a moment. “I—well, I…”

Cal shook his head, cutting him off gently. “I’ve seen my fair share of weird things out there in the world, Willem. Storms that’d swallow ships whole, creatures that shouldn’t exist. But a giant? That’s not one of ’em.”

Willem slumped slightly, rubbing his hand over his face. “But, Cal, I swear—”

“I’m not saying you’re lying,” Cal interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “I’m saying it doesn’t matter. Let it be. You’re alive. You made it out. That’s what counts.”

Willem sat quietly for a moment, clearly wrestling with Cal’s words. The tavern noise hummed around them, but for a moment, it felt like the two of them were in their own world. Finally, Willem sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t let it go, Cal. I need to know more.”

Cal leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar as he looked Willem square in the eye. “Then that’s your choice. But don’t go dragging me into it. I’ve got my family to think about.”

Willem nodded reluctantly, though the glint of determination in his eyes hadn’t faded. Cal sighed and leaned back again, finishing off his drink. Whatever Willem decided to do next, it wasn’t going to involve him.

Cal sat around the tavern, nursing a few more drinks as the evening stretched on. He kept an ear out for the familiar sound of Jacob’s voice or footsteps, but as the hours passed, there was no sign of him.

With a sigh, Cal finished the last of his rum, tossed a few coins onto the bar to cover his tab, and pushed himself up from the stool. He adjusted his coat, glanced around the tavern one last time, then stepped outside into the cool night air.

Cal made his way down the quiet streets toward the inn, his boots crunching softly against the dirt road. The lanterns lining the street cast a warm glow, but his mind was elsewhere. Jacob was late, and while Cal wasn’t overly worried, he wanted to be sure his son hadn’t gotten into any trouble—or made a fool of himself.

As the inn came into view, he spotted the soft light spilling through the windows, the faint hum of conversation drifting into the cool night air. He approached the door, his hand reaching for the handle, but he stopped short.

He thought of his wife—of chasing after her when they were younger, trying to impress her with his charm and swagger. It hadn’t always gone smoothly, but the memory brought a faint smile to his face. Jacob deserved his chance, unbothered by his father barging in and making things awkward.

Cal stepped back from the door, glancing around. Spotting the nearest window, he walked over quietly and peeked in.

There they were. Jacob and the girl sat at a table near the corner, the remnants of their meal pushed aside. Jacob was leaning slightly forward, a wide grin on his face as he spoke animatedly. The girl laughed, her face lighting up as she responded, clearly enjoying herself.

Cal stayed where he was, watching for a moment as his son and the girl exchanged laughter and smiles. Jacob looked confident, comfortable—even happy.

Cal felt a swell of pride as he watched his son laughing and enjoying himself. He took a step back from the window, his smile fading slightly as practicality settled in. They lived outside of town, and with bandits roaming within striking distance of Rockhaven, there was no way he was leaving the two unaccompanied.

He scanned the area, spotting a sturdy barrel tucked against a nearby building, just outside the reach of the inn’s light. He made his way over and sat down, resting his arms on his knees as he kept a watchful eye on the surroundings.

It wasn’t a bad night to sit and wait. The cool air was refreshing, and the distant hum of town life added a sense of calm to the moment. Cal leaned back slightly, listening to the faint sounds of laughter from inside the inn. He wasn’t about to ruin Jacob’s evening, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t close by, just in case.

The rum’s warmth still lingered in his chest as he settled in, his keen eyes scanning the street and shadows for anything out of place. This was how it had to be. A quiet night, a proud father, and the vigilance that came with protecting his own.

Shortly after Cal had settled on the barrel, he saw Jacob and Brielle step out of the inn. Jacob was walking beside her, his posture proud but nervous as he offered his arm. Cal couldn’t help but smile, a quiet “Atta boy,” slipping from his lips.

He rose silently and began to follow them, keeping to the shadows and staying far enough back not to be noticed. His boots made little sound on the packed dirt road as he watched the pair walk, their hands brushing before finally clasping. They held hands as they walked, laughing softly and talking, their young voices carrying faintly in the cool night air.

It didn’t take them long to reach her house, a small, modest home with a tidy porch. Cal stayed back, leaning against the side of a nearby tree, his arms crossed as he watched. The two stood near her door, the conversation between them shifting to a quieter, more awkward tone. Cal couldn’t hear the words, but he could see the way Jacob shuffled his feet, glancing down and then back at her, and the way Brielle smiled softly, tilting her head just so.

Then, slowly, she stepped closer, her arms draping over Jacob’s shoulders. He hesitated only a moment before placing his hands around her waist. Cal smiled again, the scene bringing a warmth to his chest. It wasn’t just pride for his son; it was a memory, one of his wife when he was Jacob’s age. The way she’d made him feel—invincible and terrified all at once.

The two leaned in, their movements tentative but earnest, until their lips met in a soft kiss under the dim porch light. Cal’s grin widened. Jacob had done well.

After a moment, Jacob pulled back, saying something softly as he stepped away. Brielle waved as he turned, and he waved back before starting the walk home, his steps lighter and quicker than before. Cal watched him for a moment longer, then slipped out of the shadows to follow his son.

Cal caught up with Jacob near the edge of town, his boots crunching softly against the dirt road as he approached. Jacob was walking with his hands in his pockets, his steps slow and measured, a faint, dreamy smile lingering on his face. He didn’t notice Cal until his father spoke.

“So,” Cal said casually, his voice breaking the stillness of the night, “how’d it go?”

Jacob jumped slightly, his shoulders tensing before he spun around. “Pa! What—uh, what are you doing here?”

Cal chuckled softly, catching up and falling into step beside him. “Just making sure you got back safe. You know how things are with bandits lurking about.”

Jacob frowned, his head ducking slightly. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Sure you can,” Cal said, his tone light but steady. “But it’s a father’s job to make sure you don’t have to.”

Jacob muttered something under his breath, his cheeks coloring slightly, but he didn’t argue further. Cal glanced at his son, taking in the slight flush of his face and the way he seemed to be walking lighter than usual.

“So,” Cal pressed with a faint smirk. “How’d it go with Brielle?”

Jacob hesitated, his lips twitching nervously. “It went… fine. She said yes to dinner. We had a good time.”

“Looked like more than just a good time to me,” Cal said, his smirk widening.

Jacob froze mid-step, his head snapping toward his father, eyes wide. “You were spying on us?”

“Spying?” Cal said, raising an eyebrow and feigning offense. “I was keeping an eye out, that’s all. You’re my son. Not gonna let you wander off unprotected, especially with Brielle living on the edge of town. Not the safest place these days.”

Jacob groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Pa, that’s embarrassing. I can handle myself.”

“Embarrassing, sure,” Cal said with a shrug, “but if something had gone wrong, you’d be glad I was there.” He gave his son a sidelong glance, his voice softening. “Besides, I’m proud of you. You handled yourself well. Even saw you pull off that kiss. Your ma would be thrilled.”

Jacob’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he groaned again, covering his face with his hands. “Pa, you’re making it worse.”

Cal chuckled, clapping a firm hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “Relax. You did good. You acted like a gentleman, and you didn’t make a fool of yourself. That’s what matters.”

Jacob peeked through his fingers, his embarrassment slowly easing into a small smile. “You really think so?”

“Of course,” Cal said, his tone genuine. “Brielle seems like a nice girl, and she’s got good taste if she said yes to you. Just remember what I told you—respect her, respect her family, and you’ll do fine.”

Jacob nodded, his nervousness replaced by a quiet confidence. “Thanks, Pa.”

Cal squeezed his son’s shoulder before releasing it, letting the quiet night settle between them as they continued walking. The cool air was crisp, the distant sounds of the town fading behind them. After a moment, Cal spoke again. “Let’s get home. Your ma’s probably pacing the floor wondering what’s taking us so long.”

Jacob chuckled softly, falling into stride beside his father. “She’s going to ask a million questions, isn’t she?”

“You bet she is,” Cal said with a laugh. “And you’d better answer every single one of them.”

Together, they made their way down the familiar road toward the farm, the soft glow of the lanterns from town fading into the night as they walked side by side.

Rok stepped out of his cave the next morning, the sunlight spilling over the mountains and warming the rocky terrain. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, ready for another day of searching for shinies. The stream glistened in the distance, and he lumbered toward it, humming a low tune to himself.

“Back to the shinies, I see,” Elara’s voice chimed in his mind, her tone laced with mild amusement. “You know, Rok, there’s more to life than shiny rocks.”

“Rok like shinies,” he grunted, crouching by the stream and sifting through the gravel.

“I noticed,” Elara replied. “But you could be doing so much more. Think about yesterday! You saved that hunter’s life. You made a difference.”

Rok frowned, turning a handful of stones over in his massive palm. “Rok not care. Hunter yell, Rok save. Now over.”

“You may not care, but I think he did,” Elara pressed. “Maybe he’ll tell others. Maybe they’ll stop calling you a monster. You could be a hero, Rok.”

Rok snorted, tossing the dull stones back into the stream. “Rok not want to be hero. Hero get hurt. Shinies not hurt.”

Elara sighed dramatically. “You’re impossible, you know that? Let me tell you something, Rok—most people who are considered ‘heroes,’ they don’t want to be the hero. It just happens.”

Before Rok could reply, a distant voice echoed through the gorge.

“Rok!”

He froze, his head snapping up as his sharp eyes scanned the rocky terrain. The voice bounced off the cliffs, faint but unmistakable.

“Rok!”

Elara perked up in his mind. “Well, that’s new. Someone’s calling you. Who do you think it is?”

Rok scowled, straightening to his full height. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

The voice grew louder. “Rok! It’s Willem!”

Elara’s laughter rang through his thoughts. “Oh, look at that. Your hunter friend is back. How persistent!”

“Stupid hunter,” Rok muttered, adjusting his satchel as he turned toward the sound.

“Be nice,” Elara teased. “He probably just wants to say thank you. Or maybe he brought you a shiny!”

Rok huffed, his footsteps heavy as he trudged toward the source of the voice. It wasn’t long before he spotted Willem scrambling down a rocky slope, waving his arms like a man possessed.

“There you are!” Willem shouted, his face lighting up as he caught sight of the giant. “I’ve been calling for you!”

Rok crossed his arms, his expression flat. “What you want, Willem?”

Elara’s voice chimed in again, “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Willem shifted nervously, his gaze flicking up at Rok before quickly darting away. “I just wanted to say thank you,” he began, his voice quieter now. “You saved my life yesterday and took off before I could get my mind right to say it properly.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “And… I know it’s probably not much to you, Mr. Rok, but I wanted to give you this.”

He held out his hand, palm up, revealing a finely crafted silver cup. The metal gleamed faintly in the morning light, its surface worn smooth by years of use.

“It’s really the only thing I have of value other than my bow… which I lost yesterday running from those damned monsters.” Willem looked down at the cup, his expression earnest. “But I wouldn’t be breathing if not for you. So… here.”

Willem extended the cup further, his hand trembling slightly, as if unsure whether the giant would even take it.

Rok spoke simply, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. Words were not his strength, even among his own kind, but he understood meaning, and he understood what this human was offering—the last of anything he had.

“Wait,” Rok said, his massive hand gesturing for Willem to hold on.

He turned and walked back into his cave, his heavy footsteps echoing against the rocky walls.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Elara chimed in his head, her voice full of teasing warmth. “You’re really stepping up, Rok. Helping people, giving back—you’re on your way to being a proper hero. I’m so proud.”

Rok grunted softly, rummaging through his shelf of shinies. He grabbed a few stones that Elara had pointed out before—ones with veins of gold and silver running through them, and a deep red rock she’d called a ruby. They were among his favorites, not because of their value but because of how they sparkled in the light. He held them carefully in his massive hand as he stepped back out of the cave.

Willem’s eyes widened as Rok returned, the massive giant walking up to him with deliberate steps before crouching down to one knee.

“Here,” Rok said simply, holding out his hand. In his palm rested several rocks with bright veins of gold and silver running through them, along with the deep crimson stone.

Willem stared at the offering, his expression a mix of awe and confusion. “But… but, Mr. Rok, I came to thank you with what I had. I can’t take this from you… I don’t deserve it…”

“Take,” Rok said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need. Rok no need shinies. Just like shinies. Buy bow. This good.”

Willem’s hands trembled as he reached out, carefully picking up the stones as though they might shatter. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

Rok tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but expectant. “Say ‘thank you.’ Then take.”

Willem let out a shaky laugh, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Thank you… Thank you, Mr. Rok. I’ll never forget this.”

Rok grunted, standing to his full height again. “Good. Now go.”

Elara giggled in his head. “You know, for someone who says he doesn’t want to be a hero, you’re doing a fantastic impression of one.”

Rok huffed, turning away as Willem began climbing back up the gorge. “Rok not hero. Rok just Rok.”

Elara’s warm laughter echoed in his thoughts as Rok returned to the stream, crouching down and resuming his search for shinies as if nothing had happened.

"Mr. Rok, I’ll make this up to you! I swear it!" Willem yelled after him, his voice carrying across the gorge as Rok continued walking away without looking back.

Rok grunted, shaking his head slightly, more focused on the stream ahead than the human's shouts. “Stupid hunter,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Elara teased, her tone brimming with amusement. “He’s grateful, Rok. You did something good, and now he wants to return the favor. That’s how this works.”

Rok didn’t respond, crouching by the water and sifting through a handful of stones.

Meanwhile, Willem stood for a moment, staring at the precious stones in his hands. The veins of gold and silver glinted faintly in the sunlight, and the deep red of the ruby seemed to glow as he turned it over. This was more wealth than he’d ever dreamed of holding.

Clutching the stones tightly, Willem began the trek back into town, determination etched across his face. He already knew exactly where this money was going to go.

“This is more than I’d have seen in years,” he muttered to himself, his pace quickening. “But I’ll make this right. I’ll make it up to him.”

Willem’s thoughts raced as he neared the edge of town. He owed Rok his life, and now, thanks to the giant, he had the means to rebuild what he’d lost. And one day, he’d find a way to repay the kindness that the towering, gruff giant had shown him.

Jacob burst through the door of the house, his voice loud and excited. “Pa! Pa! Wait until you hear this!”

Cal, sitting by the hearth with a cup of rum, looked up calmly. “Hear what?”

“Willem’s been talking about a giant in the hills!” Jacob exclaimed, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed to stand in front of his father.

Cal raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “I heard about that. So what?”

“Well, I was, uh…” Jacob hesitated, scratching the back of his head.

Cal’s mouth quirked into a knowing smirk. “You were just with Brielle.”

Jacob froze, his eyes wide. “How did you…?” He sighed, realizing it was pointless to ask. “Anyways, yes, I was, and she told me something. Her and her mother just got an order.”

Cal’s eyebrow rose slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “An order? What kind of order?”

Jacob leaned forward, practically bouncing on his heels. “Someone eighteen foot tall and huge—a giant, Pa! Brielle said Willem came in and paid up front in gold for supplies and clothes, big enough to fit the giant!”

Cal stared at his son for a moment, his lips pressing into a line. “You’re telling me Willem’s still going on about that giant?”

“Yes! And now he’s putting money behind it,” Jacob said, his voice still brimming with excitement. “Pa, doesn’t that mean it’s real?!”

Cal sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It means Willem’s convinced, I’ll give you that. But giants in the hills?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in it, son.”

“But, Pa,” Jacob pressed, his voice dropping slightly. “If it is true… what does that mean for us?”

Cal looked at him steadily, his voice calm but firm. “It means nothing, Jacob. Not unless that giant shows up at our door.”

Jacob frowned but didn’t argue, though the wheels in his head were clearly still turning. Cal watched him for a moment, then gestured toward the table.

“Go on, sit down,” Cal said. “Your ma’s got supper waiting, and I’m not gonna let some giant story ruin a good meal.”

Jacob nodded slowly, taking a seat, though his mind was clearly still racing with the possibilities.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a faint golden glow over the mountains as Rok stepped out of his cave. He stretched his massive arms, his joints popping faintly in the crisp morning air. Without a word, he began his usual routine, heading toward the stream nearby to quench his thirst.

“Another morning in the mountains,” Elara mused in his mind, her tone thoughtful rather than teasing for once. “Peaceful, isn’t it?”

“Rok like quiet,” he replied simply, crouching by the stream. He scooped up a handful of the cold, clear water and drank deeply, letting the refreshing chill settle in his chest.

As he stood, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, a faint sound carried through the gorge. At first, it was indistinct—just a murmur against the stillness. But then it came again, clearer this time.

“Rok!”

Rok froze, his sharp eyes narrowing as he turned his head toward the sound. The voice was unmistakable.

“Rok! It’s me, Willem!”

Elara perked up in his mind. “Your hunter friend is back.”

Rok sighed heavily, rolling his shoulders. “Stupid hunter,” he muttered, his tone more resigned than annoyed.

The sound of creaking wheels joined Willem’s voice now, the steady rhythm of hooves clopping against the rocky terrain growing louder.

“Rok! You there? I’ve got something for you!” Willem’s voice carried clearly now, his tone upbeat and excited.

Rok turned fully, his brows furrowing as he caught sight of the human. Willem was leading a small horse, the animal pulling a cart laden with supplies. The creak of the cart’s wheels echoed in the stillness of the gorge as Willem came closer, a broad grin plastered across his face. A new bow was slung over his shoulder, its polished wood catching the early morning light.

“Rok!” Willem called again, waving with his free hand. “There you are!”

Rok crossed his arms, his expression flat as he watched the human approach. The quiet of the morning had been broken, but he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity as Willem and his cart drew closer.

Rok stood still, his massive frame towering over Willem as the human gestured toward the cart, a nervous but eager smile on his face.

“I’ve brought you something, Mr. Rok,” Willem said, his voice steady but respectful. “I don’t know if you’ll use it… but I thought it might be nice.”

Rok’s sharp eyes dropped to the cart. Draped over the top was a large bundle of cloth, its edges flapping faintly in the morning breeze.

“What human want?” Rok asked simply, his deep voice rumbling.

Willem gestured again, encouraging him. “Go on. Take a look.”

Rok stepped forward, his massive hand reaching out cautiously. His fingers gripped the cloth gently, careful not to tear it as he lifted it away. Beneath the covering was an assortment of barrels and open baskets, the latter filled with strips of dried meat.

Rok frowned, picking up a strip of the dried meat between two thick fingers. He turned it over, sniffing it curiously. “What this?”

“That’s jerky,” Willem explained, grinning now. “Dried meat. Keeps for a long time, and it’s good to eat. Thought it might be useful for you, living out here in the mountains.”

Rok’s brow furrowed as he tentatively brought the piece to his mouth. He bit into it, chewing slowly, his expression unreadable at first. After a few moments, he gave a low grunt of approval. “Good.”

Willem’s grin widened. “Glad you like it. There’s more in the baskets. And the barrels? Beer and wine. Figured it might be nice to have something other than water now and then. Don’t know if it’ll do much for someone your size, but it tastes good.”

Rok set the jerky down and picked up one of the barrels with ease, turning it in his hands like it weighed nothing. He eyed it curiously before prying off the lid with a sharp flick of his thumb. The scent of rich, dark beer wafted up, and Rok sniffed it deeply.

Elara’s voice chimed in his mind, her tone amused. “Look at you, getting deliveries like a proper lord. Very fancy.”

Rok ignored her, lifting the barrel to his lips and taking a long drink. The flavor was rich and malty, far more satisfying than the simple water he was used to. He gave a low rumble of appreciation, setting the barrel back down carefully.

“Good,” Rok said again, his tone approving. He looked down at Willem, his expression softening slightly. “Why human bring this?”

Willem shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, it’s a thank-you, Mr. Rok. You saved my life, and… I wanted to show you I meant it. This… it’s what I could manage.”

"Also... that," Willem said, pointing toward the cloth Rok had dropped.

Rok turned, his sharp eyes settling on the pile of fabric. As he shifted his weight, a piece of it unfolded slightly, revealing a large, well-stitched section of cloth. He crouched down, picking up the bundle with deliberate care. The fabric unfolded further as he lifted it, revealing what appeared to be an enormous shirt, complete with sturdy stitching and reinforced seams.

Curious, Rok grabbed the other bundle and gave it a small shake. It unfurled to reveal a pair of pants, just as large and just as carefully crafted.

Elara’s voice rang in his mind, brimming with delighted amusement. “Aww, look at that! He had a shirt and pants ordered for you, Rok! Isn’t that thoughtful?”

Rok held up the shirt, inspecting it with a critical eye. “Clothes?” he rumbled, his brow furrowing slightly as he turned it over in his massive hands.

Willem nodded enthusiastically, still grinning. “Yeah! I figured… well, you’re out here, and I thought it might be nice to have something. Took a bit of convincing with the tailor, but Brielle and her ma helped make it happen. Paid up front, so no trouble there.”

Rok tilted his head, studying the fabric. It was soft but sturdy, the kind of material that could withstand rough use. He wasn’t used to clothes—he’d never needed them—but the thoughtfulness behind the gesture wasn’t lost on him.

“It’s not just thoughtful—it’s practical,” Elara added, her tone almost teasing. “You might not care, but imagine how impressed people would be if you looked this good.”

Rok grunted, setting the pants and shirt down carefully on a nearby rock. “Rok… not wear clothes before.”

Willem laughed nervously. “Well, no time like the present, right? And hey, they’re there if you ever decide to try ‘em out. Just wanted to do something useful for you.”

Rok looked down at Willem, then back at the clothes. He gave a small nod, his rough voice rumbling softly. “Human think much. Rok thank.”

Willem relaxed visibly, the grin never leaving his face. “Glad you like it, Mr. Rok. You deserve it, after everything you’ve done.”

Rok didn’t respond, but as he glanced back at the neatly folded clothes, a flicker of something unfamiliar crossed his face—something that felt a lot like gratitude.

Elara’s voice chimed in Rok’s mind, warm and insistent. “Rok, invite him back to the cave. It would be polite. He brought you gifts; the least you can do is share some of the jerky and wine.”

Rok frowned, glancing toward Willem, who was still standing by the cart, looking hopeful and a little nervous. “Rok not…” he began but trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s not that hard, Rok,” Elara pressed, her tone teasing. “Just ask. He’s not going to bite you, you know.”

Rok sighed heavily, his massive shoulders rising and falling. Finally, he turned toward Willem, his expression reluctant but sincere. “Human… want to follow? Share jerky. Wine.”

Willem blinked, clearly taken aback by the invitation. His mouth opened, then closed, before a wide grin spread across his face. “You mean it? Yeah, yeah, I’d like that!”

Rok gave a small grunt, turning and gesturing with his massive hand. “Come.”

The giant started walking, his heavy footsteps echoing softly through the gorge. Willem quickly tied the horse’s reins to a sturdy branch, leaving the cart safely behind, and jogged to catch up.

It wasn’t a long walk—just a short distance back to Rok’s cave—but Willem couldn’t help glancing around in awe as they approached. The sheer size of the cave’s entrance was daunting, the rocky walls carved naturally by time and weather.

Rok ducked slightly as he entered, his towering form brushing the edges of the entrance. Willem hesitated for a moment before following, his steps careful as he took in the space.

The inside of the cave was larger than he’d expected, lit faintly by the morning sun streaming through cracks in the rock. In one corner, an array of shiny stones and polished gems were carefully stacked, catching the light and creating a faint, colorful glow.

“This… this is incredible,” Willem muttered, his eyes darting around the cavern.

Rok grunted, moving to the back of the cave to grab one of the barrels of wine and a basket of jerky. He set them down on the ground near a flat rock that served as a makeshift table.

“Sit,” Rok said simply, gesturing toward a nearby rock formation that looked like it had been worn smooth over time.

Willem obeyed, sitting down and still marveling at the size and structure of the cave. “You’ve got a good setup here, Mr. Rok. Cozy, even.”

“See?” Elara said in Rok’s mind, her tone pleased. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now share, and maybe even talk a little.”

Rok sat down across from Willem, ripping open the jerky basket and placing it in front of Willem. Without hesitation, he picked up a larger basket and tilted its contents—nearly an entire pile of dried meat—into his open mouth.

Willem froze, jerky halfway to his mouth, watching in awe as Rok devoured the lot with a few massive bites.

“You’re a man of few words, Mr. Rok,” Willem said after a moment, finally taking a piece from his own basket and chewing. “But I appreciate the hospitality.”

Rok grunted, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. He grabbed the barrel of wine and popped the lid with ease, pouring some into a carved wooden bowl for Willem before drinking straight from the barrel himself.

The rich flavor pleased him, and he rumbled his approval, setting the barrel down carefully. Elara’s laughter rang softly in his mind, pleased by the unexpected warmth of the moment.

Rok tilted the barrel back again, letting the wine flow into his mouth. He lowered it with a satisfied rumble, licking his lips. “Wine… good. Taste… sweet… and… warm… good!”

Willem laughed, lifting his bowl in a mock toast. “It’s one of my favorites too, Mr. Rok!”

Rok grunted in acknowledgment, setting the barrel carefully back down.

“But really,” Willem said, his tone turning earnest. “I’m thankful for everything. All this…” He gestured to the food, the wine, and the folded clothing nearby. “The only thing I spent your money—er, shinies—on was my bow, like you said. The rest of it went to all of this, for you.”

Rok tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Why nice to Rok?”

Willem sighed, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “Because… I thought I knew about the world, Mr. Rok. I thought I understood what was evil, what was wild, what wasn’t… like us. Like humans.” He looked down, his voice quieter now.

“I was wrong,” he said finally, his tone steady but filled with emotion. “You’re not a monster. You’re not wild. You’re… you’re like us. Better than some of us, even. You’re good, Mr. Rok, and I was wrong about what I thought I knew. I wanted to make it right.”

Rok studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a small grunt, leaning back slightly. “Human… learn. Good.”

Willem chuckled softly, a hint of relief in his laughter. “I guess I have. And I’ll keep learning. Thanks to you.”

Elara’s voice chimed in Rok’s mind, softer now, almost proud. “See? You’re not just teaching him, Rok. You’re changing him. That’s something to be proud of.”

Rok huffed, grabbing another piece of jerky and stuffing it into his mouth. “Rok not teacher. Rok just Rok.”

Willem laughed again, shaking his head. “Well, just Rok, you’ve made more of a difference than you probably realize.”

Rok listened to Willem’s words, chewing on another piece of jerky as they settled in his mind. Slowly, a faint smile spread across his massive face. It wasn’t something he did often, but for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt… happy.

“Willem…” Rok said, his deep voice rumbling. He nodded slightly, as though testing the word. “Willem…”

In his mind, Elara’s voice chimed in, soft and encouraging. “Friend.”

Rok blinked, tilting his head slightly. “Willem… friend?”

Willem’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked almost as surprised as Rok sounded. Then his expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, Mr. Rok. Friend.”

Rok’s smile grew a little wider, his massive shoulders relaxing as he nodded again. “Willem… friend,” he repeated, the words unfamiliar but strangely satisfying.

Elara’s voice echoed warmly in his mind. “See, Rok? Even giants can have friends.”

Rok huffed, leaning back and grabbing the wine barrel for another drink, his faint smile still lingering. “Friend good,” he said simply.

Willem laughed, raising his bowl in a toast. “I’ll drink to that, Mr. Rok. To friendship.”

Rok nodded, clinking his barrel lightly against Willem’s bowl before taking another swig, the warmth in his chest now more than just the wine.

Willem leaned forward, setting his bowl down carefully on the flat rock. “So, Mr. Rok,” he began, his tone more relaxed now, “I was wondering—if there’s anything you’d like or need, Veloras is a trade city. The village is sending a caravan there soon, and they’ll have almost anything you might want. I could see about getting it for you.”

Rok frowned, his brow furrowing as he mulled over the question. “Need? Want?” he rumbled, the words feeling strange in his mouth. He glanced toward Elara’s sword resting nearby, his confusion clear. “Rok not know. Rok have… cave, water, shinies.” He gestured vaguely toward his collection. “What else Rok need?”

Elara’s voice chimed in his mind, curious and amused. “Well, that’s a good question. Is there anything you want, Rok? Something you’ve ever thought about having?”

Rok grunted, his expression turning thoughtful. “Rok not think. Not know want.” He glanced back at Willem. “What human mean?”

Willem chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Well, you know… maybe something to make your life easier. Tools, maybe? Or something you’d enjoy—like, uh…” He trailed off, glancing around the cave. “I don’t know, bigger barrels of wine? More jerky? Something to brighten up the place?”

Rok tilted his head, considering the suggestion, but nothing came to mind. “Rok fine. Not know what need.”

Willem nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “Fair enough, Mr. Rok. But if you think of anything, let me know. Veloras really does have just about everything. The caravan’s a big deal for the village, especially with the bandits we’ve been dealing with.”

Rok’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly. “Bandits?”

Willem’s expression turned grim, and he nodded. “Yeah, they’ve been a problem for months now. Raiding farms, hitting travelers, stealing supplies. They haven’t gone after the village yet, but we’re all worried they might.” He gestured vaguely. “That’s why we’re sending guards with the caravan to Veloras. Enough of them, and the bandits won’t risk attacking.”

Elara’s voice cut in sharply in Rok’s mind, her curiosity piqued. “Bandits? That sounds serious. They’re clearly a threat, Rok.”

Rok grunted, leaning forward slightly. “Humans… not fight bandits?”

Willem shook his head. “Not directly. We don’t have the numbers to go after them in their camps. The best we can do is make the caravan too risky a target. Enough guards, and the bandits should leave it alone.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s not ideal, but it’s the best plan we’ve got.”

Rok’s brow furrowed, his mind turning over Willem’s words. Bandits were trouble, and trouble had a way of growing if left unchecked. But humans dealing with human problems—that was their way.

Elara’s voice softened, her tone both thoughtful and encouraging. “You’ve already started helping people, Rok. Maybe this is another chance to do something good. Think about it.”

Rok leaned back, chewing on another piece of jerky as he stared at the cave’s entrance. The idea of helping was… unfamiliar, but the thought lingered nonetheless.

Rok sat forward, his sharp eyes fixed on Willem. “Where bandits at? Close by?”

Willem nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the direction of the village. “We think they’re holed up near the eastern pass, maybe half a day’s walk from here. There’s an old logging camp up that way—abandoned for years now. Perfect spot for bandits to hide. That’s where travelers have been ambushed the most.”

Rok grunted, his brow furrowing as he processed the information.

“An abandoned camp?” Elara’s voice chimed in, thoughtful. “That makes sense. Isolated, easy to defend, close enough to the roads for ambushes but far enough that no one will stumble on them accidentally. Sounds like a problem.”

“Human not go after bandits?” Rok asked, his deep voice steady.

Willem shook his head. “No, Mr. Rok. Like I said, we don’t have the numbers or the fighters for that. Best we can do is send enough guards with the caravan to make sure it doesn’t get hit. Hopefully, that’ll be enough.”

Elara’s tone turned more insistent in Rok’s mind. “Rok, this is serious. Bandits this close? That’s trouble waiting to happen. You can do something about this.”

Rok frowned, still chewing over the idea. After a moment, he looked down at Willem. “Willem… friend,” he rumbled, his tone rough but sincere.

Willem blinked, his expression softening into a wide grin. “Yeah, Mr. Rok. Friend.”

Rok nodded, rising to his full height and stretching his massive arms. “Rok thank, friend. Need go now. Hunt shinies.”

Willem chuckled, shaking his head as he stood as well. “Of course, Mr. Rok. Shinies are important, after all.”

As Rok turned toward the cave entrance, Elara’s voice chimed in his mind. “I’ll give him credit—he’s not wrong about the shinies being important to you. But don’t forget what we talked about, Rok. Those bandits aren’t going to disappear on their own.”

Rok paused mid-step, frowning. “Rok help human, Rok save human. Why Rok go fight other humans?”

Elara’s voice softened, her tone laced with a mix of reason and encouragement. “Because those humans—the bandits—they’re hurting others. They’re causing suffering. You’ve already seen what Willem thinks of you. Imagine how much more you could change if you stopped those bandits. You could protect people, Rok. Isn’t that worth considering?”

Rok grunted, his expression skeptical. “Humans fight. Always fight. Why Rok stop fight?”

“Not all humans, Rok,” Elara countered gently. “Look at Willem. Look at the villagers. They just want to live, to be safe. Bandits take that away. You’ve seen it. You know it’s wrong. And you’re big, strong—you can stop it. That’s why.”

Rok sighed heavily, his massive shoulders rising and falling. “Rok… think. But Rok still not like it.”

Elara chuckled softly, her tone amused but understanding. “I didn’t say you had to like it, Rok. Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”

With that, Rok resumed his stride, leaving Willem behind to pack up his things. The thought of bandits lingered in his mind, gnawing at the edges of his usual focus on shinies.

As Rok walked toward the stream, Elara’s voice echoed in his mind, curious but firm. “Rok, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm,” Rok grunted, cupping water from the stream and drinking deeply.

“Do you have a class?” she asked, her tone steady and inquisitive.

Rok paused, sitting back on his heels as he thought. “Rok… Stonebreaker,” he said after a moment. “Rok smash rock. Break stone. Find shinies.”

“Why not do more rok?” Elara wondered

“Rok not think about more. Why do more? Why risk ouch for humans who yell at Rok? Why risk hurt? Better to hunt shinies. Mind Rok self.”

Elara’s voice shifted, losing its usual teasing edge and becoming firmer, more resolute. “Because there’s more to life than being self-serving, Rok. If you have the ability to help another, you should help another. The strong protect the weak.”

Rok frowned, leaning against a boulder as he processed her words. “But Rok not human. Why protect human? They not like Rok. They yell at Rok. Call Rok monster. Why help them?”

“Because most of them are weak, Rok,” Elara replied, her tone unwavering. “They’re farmers, ranchers, innkeepers. They aren’t warriors or mages. They can’t stop the people who want to harm them or do wrong. You’re different. You’re strong, Rok. Stronger than them. That means you can stand between them and the people who would hurt them.”

Rok shook his head, his brow furrowing deeper. “What if Rok get it wrong? What if Rok not do good? Hurt wrong human? Rok no want fight. Rok no want trouble. Rok just want hunt shinies. Not bother anyone.”

There was a moment of silence before Elara spoke again, her voice softer but no less resolute. “You know the thing about heroes, Rok? Nearly none of them wanted to be heroes. The world called to them, and they answered the call. It’s not always about doing what you want, but about doing what you’re able to do. Because if you don’t, who will?”

Rok grunted, her words settling heavily on him. He looked down at his reflection in the stream, his massive form rippling in the water. “Rok… think,” he said at last, his tone uncertain. “But Rok still not like.”

Elara’s tone warmed slightly, a faint hint of her usual teasing returning. “You don’t have to like it, Rok. You just have to do the right thing. In the end, that’s all we have Rok…the right thing. Do what we can to make this world better not only for ourselves but for others as well. Its not always glorious or pretty, but sometimes its necessary.”

Rok sighed, splashing the water with his hand. “Stupid sword always talk.”

“You’re welcome,” Elara said with a faint chuckle, but her words carried a quiet pride beneath the humor.

Rok sat cross-legged in his cave as the last light of the day faded, the flicker of a small fire casting shadows against the rocky walls. In one hand, he held a basket of jerky, chewing on several pieces at once, while the other hand rested on a nearly empty wine barrel. His satchel of shinies sat nearby, its contents gleaming faintly in the firelight.

“Not bad for a day’s work, Rok,” Elara’s voice chimed in, warm and approving. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Rok reached into the satchel, pulling out his finds one by one and setting them carefully on the flat stone he used as a table. First, two gold nuggets, their rough, uneven surfaces still gleaming with their natural luster.

“Gold,” Rok grunted, pushing the nuggets slightly forward.

“Good start,” Elara replied. “What else?”

Next, he set down a ruby, uncut and jagged but catching the firelight in a brilliant red sparkle.

“Red rock,” Rok said, tilting his head slightly as he admired it. “Elara call… ruby?”

“That’s right, a ruby,” she confirmed, her tone pleased. “It’s beautiful. You’ve got an eye for these things, Rok.”

Rok grunted softly, not entirely sure how to respond to praise. He reached back into the satchel and pulled out a stone shot through with veins of silver, its dull gray surface glinting faintly.

“Silver rock,” he said simply, adding it to the collection on the table.

“Not bad at all,” Elara said, her tone thoughtful. “Gold, silver, and a ruby. You’re getting quite the collection. Anything else?”

Rok reached in one last time, pulling out a smooth, deep green stone flecked with tiny gold spots.

“Green rock. Pretty,” he muttered, placing it beside the others.

“Emerald, maybe?” Elara guessed. “Or close enough. Either way, it’s a beautiful find.”

Rok leaned back, surveying his collection for the day with a satisfied grunt. “Good day,” he rumbled.

“A very good day,” Elara agreed, her tone warm. “You’ve done well, Rok. And not just with the shinies.”

Rok huffed, chewing on another batch of jerky. “Rok like shinies. Make Rok happy.”

“And that’s what matters,” Elara said gently.

Rok leaned back further, his massive form casting long shadows on the cave wall as the fire crackled softly. “Save human make Rok happy. Rok like human. Brought nice things. Kind, not yell at Rok. Rok want to help other humans, but…Rok scared, Elara help?”

“Of course I’ll help, Rok,” Elara said, her voice soft but unwavering. “I want to help you do what’s right. I know we’ve only been acquainted for a few days, but… Rok, I need to admit something.”

She hesitated for a moment, her tone tinged with regret. “Before I was… this… when I was human, I would have attacked a giant first and asked questions later. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now, since meeting you, I know that wasn’t right. Not all giants are monsters, and you, Rok—you’re good.”

Her voice grew steadier, more encouraging. “You could do so much more than I ever did. But listen to me—if you don’t want to, if you’d rather keep to yourself and hunt shinies, then Rok, that’s okay. I’ll still be here with you, no matter what.”

There was a pause before she continued, her tone filled with quiet determination. “But if you want to do more, if you want to be more, I’ll help you. I’ll guide you. I believe in you, Rok.”

Rok chewed thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the fire as its light flickered and danced against the walls of the cave. “Rok like sword talk,” he rumbled after a moment. “Rok think about what sword say… what Elara say.”

He finished the last of the jerky in his hand, followed by a deep swig from the nearly empty barrel of wine. Setting it aside, he lay down on the cool stone floor, his massive form stretching out comfortably.

As his head rested on his arm, his eyes followed the flickering light of the fire, watching it cast shapes that danced and shifted along the cave walls. His thoughts drifted between the shinies he’d found, the human he’d saved, and the words Elara had spoken.

For now, the cave was quiet and safe, and with the firelight keeping the shadows at bay, Rok allowed himself to close his eyes, letting the day’s thoughts linger as sleep began to take hold.