After convincing him there was no danger, Jack led Robert out of McDale and through the surrounding farms, winding toward a plot of land—no more than half an acre—that had yet to be fenced off. People stared and whispered as they passed. The dark skies overhead rumbled and groaned, threatening to open up.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination, where Salia squatted with her knees drawn to her chest. Only grass and weeds grew around her, dandelion fluff floating on the breeze.

Robert halted.

“Jack!” said Salia, beaming. “How did it go?”

Gesturing to Robert, Jack smiled back. That particular expression had proven infectious, forcing him to mirror it every time, like some kind of spell.

“I brought their leader,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

“A—about what?” His knees trembling, Robert swallowed. The colour drained from his cheeks.

Salia regarded him. “About me living here, silly.”

“I’m sorry, what?” said Robert, gaping.

Jack folded his arms. “You heard her.”

“I—wh—sorry, but…” Robert wiped his forehead. “How are we supposed to trust that you won’t just kill us all?”

“Because I won’t,” said Salia, biting her lip.

“Yes, but how do we know?”

She froze.

Good God, now was not the time! It was a simple enough question; was she nervous? Should they have rehearsed beforehand?

His heart pounded. Everything they’d been working toward, creating a stronghold for Salia and a beacon for himself, rested on this negotiation. He could let it pass, and they’d be forced to travel some more. Together. The hope of more moments like in the forest set him aflutter, but he couldn’t give in. Everything had to evolve. This included their relationship, and he ached to learn what came next.

Salia and Robert gawked at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“You don’t,” said Jack. “You have no idea, but neither do we. What’s to say you lot don’t just come hack down the beanstalk in the middle of the night? Fair trade, I reckon.”

“Perhaps.” Clearing his throat, Robert rolled his shoulders. “What’s in it for us?”

With a grin, Salia reached out. He flinched, but she stopped short, opening her clasped fingers to reveal a tiny drawstring bag. It was like a grain of sand atop her palm.

Gingerly, Robert took the bag, opening it and furrowing his brow. “Beans?”

“Magic beans,” said Salia. “They sprout their stalk overnight, and produce a plentiful harvest every week! All I want is to be able to live freely, and I don’t need all of them, so I’m happy to share.”

Realisation lit Robert’s features. Passing back the pouch, he stroked his chin, nodding as he muttered to himself. Awkward tension hung in the air, pressing down on Jack. Sure, it was a difficult decision, but did he have to keep them in suspense? Sand filled his throat, and he wrung his hands.

Finally, Robert said, “Okay, then. I’ll send some boys every week to harvest, and you have my word that no-one will bother you.”

“Really?” Salia’s eyes brightened as she extended a finger to him. “Thank you!”

Chuckling nervously, he gripped her outstretched digit and shook. Though he tried, he couldn’t stop the corner of his lip flicking upward.

Infectious.

“For what it’s worth,” said Salia, “I’ll do my best not to eat you.”

“I should hope so.”

***

Salia tilled the earth, and Jack supervised, if one can take ‘supervised’ to mean ‘sat on his ass and watched while someone else did all the work’. In his defence, her palms were far bigger than shovels, and she finished before he’d have been able to find one. Still, his veins throbbed with frustration.

This served him, too, yet he was watching while Salia did all the heavy lifting. It hadn’t been long, but their proximity and the scrapes they’d survived had made him envision them as a team. She was his partner, but he couldn’t help.

He contemplated encouraging her, at least, but he figured ‘Go Salia, plant those beans!’ sounded more like a come-on than anything else. Since she’d suffered the same feelings, he could sit through them, too.

So, he ogled her instead. Her gentle feminine curves, blown to ridiculous proportions, caught his appreciation, but what really stirred him was how gentle her touch was, even when handling inert soil. The hole was wide and shallow, and each rake of her fingers was almost loving.

All the while, she laughed to herself. Humming and singing, she was probably far away in a land of fantasy, imagining all the wonderful things that might come next. Something stirred inside. He missed the optimism that came before the insight that if something can go wrong, it will.

He paused for a beat.

Razor?

Normally, she’d have cut in with a retort or two by now, or at least some kind of vomiting noise. Instead, nothing. Only ghostly silence echoing within his skull.

A hole opened in his stomach. Had she had enough? She’d definitely made her opinions clear, but was that enough to abandon him? As far as he knew, he could still wield her. That didn’t make her absence any less unsettling, though. Was she hurt, or in danger?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He swore he felt a stab of satisfaction.

Shoving it aside, he met Salia’s excited gaze as she finally opened the pouch. Sunset had painted the sky pale orange, and their long shadows eclipsed the hole she’d dug.

“Finally,” she said. “A new home, surrounded by people who aren’t hell-bent on murdering me. Maybe this is just the beginning. Maybe the world can end up filled with love, instead of hate.”

“Yeah,” he replied, standing, “I’m glad.” He policed a frown as he walked over. Even if he didn’t share her optimism, that didn’t mean he had to burst her bubble—it was one of the things that made her so wonderful. Who knew? It could have been the right call.

“What about you?” She sprinkled the beans in, and began replacing the loam. “You’re trying to find your way home, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, your friend will definitely see this and figure it out, so what’s next?”

He stiffened. Returning was his top priority, that much was true. But somehow, he knew it would feel wrong without her, the same way it would without them. He’d never considered the impermanence of this connection. Without care, he’d plunged headfirst into her, and now it was biting him.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there,” he said.

“I see,” she said, studying her feet. “Well, if you haven’t decided yet, um… maybe I could go with you?”

He flatlined for a moment, his mind showing him impossible fantasies. Him and Salia at the beach, or in Stanley Park, enjoying a clear summer’s day. Some poor vendor, trying to create the world’s largest ice cream.

Her lounging in the yard outside his office while he perched in the window, and the pair chatting well into the night. Just because he hadn’t heard of Giants in the future didn’t mean there weren’t any. This could be why.

Even as the image formed, he dismissed it. No matter what he wished, life wasn’t that easy, and the alternative was plain horrifying.

“Jack?” Staring at him, she sighed in relief as his attention snapped to her. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Sorry,” he said. “For that and the other thing. As much as I’d love to, I don’t think you’d fit in the HARDON.”

She blinked. “Is that a fetish thing? Because I think we could at least try…”

“What? No!” he said, sputtering. “It’s a… time machine.”

Her lips parted, and she squeaked. “A… time machine?”

“Yeah. As hard as this might be to take in, I’m from the future.”

“Well,” she said, nodding, “that explains all the weird stories and the clothes you were wearing when we met. I thought it was a bit weird for human fashion.”

He twitched. “Says the woman basically wearing her living room curtains! Wait, you believe me?”

“Yep. You have no reason to lie to me about this.”

Oh, sweet Salia. There was an entire laundry list, but that didn’t make her wrong, and her faith made him feel fuzzy.

“Well, then…”

“I’ll wait for you.” Her hands behind her back, she smiled.

“Not a chance,” he said, panic flooding his throat. “I don’t know exactly how long, but that’s almost two thousand years waiting for someone that might never come. Maybe that’s devotion to you. But I look at it, all I see is Hell. You start full of hope, then that turns to impatience, and eventually to hatred. You ain’t Rory Williams, and I can’t ask you to do that.”

She pouted. “You’re not asking, I’m just doing. I want to wait; why wouldn’t I? I’m not actually giving anything up when I’m sure I’ll never love anyone like this again.”

“You’ve known me, what, a week?” His gut twisted. Even he didn’t buy it, and he was thinking it.

“Does it matter?” Kneeling, she thrust her face next to his. “I feel safe with you, like I could share anything, like someone understands me. And I understand you. You’re running, like me. I’d do anything for you. I want you so much it hurts, but I realise I have to let you go if it’s best for you, even if it shatters me. What am I supposed to call that if not love?”

His heart melted as he gave in. “I love you, too.”

***

Lydia picked at her shackles. These were iron, cold and rough against her wrists, but that wasn’t the issue. She had a hundred different ways to break simple metal bindings.

The problem was the runes.

Because of these, her magic was blocked. Every time she tried something, all she experienced was her brain straining and her sphincter flexing. Of course, this also meant magic wouldn’t affect her, but that didn’t seem relevant.

She was more worried about the spears.

She sat on a tree stump at the edge of the woods, in a clearing with a small pond. It was spacious, and fresh, the smell of farms mixing with the scent of forest. They’d placed similar stumps in a ring around a fire. The warmth seeped into her, offsetting the night’s chill, but all the hairs on her body remained raised.

Escape was impossible.

An owl hooted somewhere, and insects buzzed around the pond and firelight. Witchfinders milled around, pitching tents, while Levi and Cunham conversed some distance away.

Next to her, a bald man with his arm bound to his torso sipped from a mug.

“I should have killed you, shouldn’t I?” she said.

“Probably,” said Father Joshua. “I view it as the grace of God.”

She smirked. “More of an error in judgement.”

“Brought on by His will.”

Huffing, she turned away and noticed Levi striding toward one of the tents. Here was an opportunity to ease the knots her intestines had twisted into.

“Levi,” she called.

He craned his neck, favouring her with a sneer. His eyes, which appeared focused far in the distance, burned. Not like Jack’s, which looked as though he was fighting somewhere else, but fixated on something. Something far darker. “What?”

“Tell me, what exactly is all this for? You’ve captured me, wonderful, but why do you still search with such fervour?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, clicking his tongue. “I hunt monsters to protect people.”

“Or are you protecting your ego?”

He bristled. “Say that again?”

“You heard.” She recalled not so long ago, when she had similar thought patterns. The time she’d maintained everything she was told, and separated the world into Family, Peasants, and Monsters. Sometimes, she missed the simplicity.

Others, it made her want to vomit.

“I don’t care what time period it is,” she continued, “everything isn’t black and white. You can slap a label on anything, but if I said God has a vagina, would that make it true?”

Several frenzied glares snapped to her.

“See what I mean?”

“Like I said, you won’t understand.”

Ah, lovely. She was sure Dunning and Kruger would have loved to meet this fellow. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re their favourite stalker.”

Jogging over, Levi drew his sword. She cooed in delight, flexing her shoulders to clap, before the cuffs dug into her skin. He swung.

Stars and spots overtook her vision. She slumped forward, landing at his feet as she tipped to her side. Her restraints made her helpless.

Pain wracked her ribs and lanced down her spine. An onslaught of kicks battered her torso, and she coughed, gasping.

Eventually, her consciousness slipped away.

But her smirk remained.

***

Jack leaned back into Salia’s leg. She was asleep, snoring lightly. Occasionally, she’d brush him with her finger, and he’d moan. Was this even real? He felt light, as though he needed a tether to keep from floating away. The beanstalk was rising, and with it, both their hopes for a better future.

His began with his homecoming, but it wasn’t that simple. He’d be going back to her. And even if she had to surpass two millennia to get there, he had faith in her. No matter the lessons life had beaten into him, there was always a chance for change. An opportunity to discover he was wrong. He’d bet on that, and they could find the path to a happy ending together.

His eyelids became heavy. They’d spoken well past the church bells and McDale’s surrender to slumber, and though fulfilled, he was exhausted. He’d finally told her about Lydia and Hannah, and the adventures they’d been on.

Salia couldn’t wait to meet them, apparently.

He hoped that was a figure of speech, since waiting was what she’d signed up for.

She’d asked him if things got better for her kind, and he’d delighted in telling her of all the progress people had made. The part where there were no Giants hadn’t made the story.

Snap!

Bolting upright, he drew Razor. The twig hadn’t been close, but it hadn’t been far, either. Slowly, he pivoted on his toes, surveying the area. A sliver of moon lit the pastures dimly, illuminating only shadows. Everything was as it had been: fences undisturbed, path empty, grass growing. Just an animal, probably.

The back of his head exploded.

Everything went black.