Page 74 of Greed of Giants

The clop of the hooves was closer. “I am.”

His arm around my waist tightened, and with his free hand he brushed his fingers up the column of my neck, the touch so light it felt like the ghost of butterfly wings. A shiver moved through me from the base of my spine to the crown of my skull. My entire being shifted toward him, and I parted my lips, let my eyes flutter shut, and waited for that euphoric sensation to fizzle through me. Everything about him was intoxicating, addicting. Give it years, decades, would I ever tire of these delightful sensations?

“Release,” he coaxed.

I rose on my tiptoes, hungry to taste him.

When his lips met mine, it was all-consuming.

He pressed me closer until our bodies melded together and heat fused through every bone in my body. But the kiss held the pain at bay. A fire ignited somewhere deep, and from the mountain came a roar like thunder, the bellow of rock and magma, the ground shaking beneath us as the Four drew near.

A boom resounded, and I meant to pull away, to look and see if all was crumbling. But Killian did not release me. He pressed his hand against the small of my back and deepened the kiss. I surrendered to it, letting my fears and my anxiety uncoil and drift out like smoke. I focused on the present. Of being here with him.

The Heart pulsed in my hand. Light poured from the Rod, and heat swept from it in rolling waves. Beyond us the roaring continued, the ground shook as though it would break apart and crumble to dust, but I held onto Killian. He was sure, steady, his lips against mine coaxing me away from the terror, what would happen, the coming pain. But the world would gain everything.

First came the wind, whipping around us in tightening spirals. Then came ice, small stinging pellets striking against our skin like whips. Killian hunched over me, shielding my body with his own. Then came the fire. It burst from him in a wave, and the moment it touched my skin, I became one with him, part of the fire, the ash, the burning, the destruction, yet underneath all of it was something new. Beauty. Life. That's all that would be left at the end of this.

And then there was pain, nothing but dizzying, all-encompassing pain, blotting out all thought.

My vision turned white, a roaring brushed over my ears followed by a merciful numbness.

There was no more pain, but I couldn't feel my arms, or the relics in my hands, only my mouth against Killian’s.

Warm.

I opened my eyes and he was already watching me. “You are the most beautiful sight. I would die another death, live and die in an endless cycle, only to be here with you. I'm glad you found me, glad you woke me, even if it led to this.”

“And this. . ?”

“This is the end, Ilaris. Keep your eyes on me and only me.”

I held his gaze. The words that rose were deep and true, welling up inside. “How could I look away when you’ve seen me, understood me?” I pressed closer. “Killian, thank you. I. . .I love you.”

“I know.”

"You made me understand the point of life."

His skin crackled. Embers bled through at his jaw, his throat, his hands, and beneath the surface was pure red fire, living and furious. We were going to erupt.

He leaned his forehead against mine and held me, both arms around me now, solid as the stone we stood on. The world turned red around us, screams began somewhere far below. I saw nothing but his liquid golden eyes.

And the volcano swallowed us whole.

Epilogue

Far to the south lies a lush valley, where the sweetest fruit grows, the crispiest ale is made, and the grazing animals grow unusually large. Beyond that valley is a verdant island where legend holds the gates of hell are buried.

It’s also the location of the ancient city of giants, yet nothing remains of the myth except a single, volcanic mountain.

Every ten years it awakens to spew brimstone and ash onto the land, and carve new paths that erase the legend of the giants and the horror of the Great Sundering. Everything nearby is destroyed, except for one monument that never burns.

High on a cliff side, a giant and a woman are locked in a stone embrace, untouched by time or fire. His arms shelter her, hers press against his chest, and their faces are inches apart. It's the calm look of adoration on their faces thatonlookers remember, as though the devastation around them does not matter.

No one remembers their names or the truth of what happened in the vale.

No songs remember their deeds. No books record their tale. Accounts were lost. Witnesses died. History was rewritten.

But the mountain remembered.