Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1438: Elder of Instruction

"Grand Elder, the Stoneheart Horde is establishing a new seat at the high table: the Elder of Instruction."

Orion’s voice resonated in the vastness of the Divine Kingdom.

"The Academy we are building requires a Headmaster. It needs someone with unyielding integrity, someone who commands respect. Are you willing to shoulder this burden for the Horde?"

Until now, the Horde had been governed by four pillars: Rendall, the Elder of Discipline; Thundar, the Battle Elder; Delilah, the Elder of Stewardship; and Onyx, the Elder of Prophecy.

These roles had been forged in the fires of war, designed solely for stability and conquest. But as the Stoneheart Horde swelled in size and complexity, the concentration of power had become a bottleneck. Division of labor was inevitable.

Only by fracturing authority could opportunity bloom. A rigid hierarchy stifled talent; a specialized one created niches for new blood to fill. Roles had to be carved out before the right people could step into them.

"Your Majesty," Rendall bowed low, his voice thick with emotion. "I am willing. I will give my body and soul to this task."

Orion nodded approvingly. This had been his vision ever since he established the first youth camps. Those camps had been the prototype, a nursery for the loyalists who now formed the backbone of the Horde’s command structure. The new Academy would simply industrialize that process, extending education from the elite to the masses.

"Then it is settled," Orion said. "I will send you back now. The people outside are likely desperate to hear about the Stoneheart Temple."

As the Giant King, Orion was the sky—distant, powerful, a deterrent against foreign threats. Rendall was the earth—accessible, tangible, the one to spread the word and manage the day-to-day reality.

"Your Majesty, I will ensure they understand the laws of the Divine Kingdom before they enter."

Orion waved his hand. Space folded, and the Grand Elder vanished.

Titanion Realm. An Unknown Cavern.

Deep within an ancient, fossilized chrysalis, Eryndor drifted in a dark void.

Slowly, light and warmth began to permeate his shell, infusing his dormant body. It wasn’t just heat; it was pure vitality, a sensation of biological ascension that bordered on ecstasy.

"My champion... it is time to break free."

The voice was soft, like silk over steel, echoing through his dream.

Eryndor jolted awake. He realized he was not where he had gone to sleep. He was in a prison of his own making.

The ancient chrysalis was a gamble. It offered the insectoid race a path to evolution, but the price of failure was death—dissolving into nutrient soup to feed the next generation. By all rights, Eryndor should have failed. His potential had been exhausted.

But fate was fickle. A portal to the Wormhole Realm had opened, swallowing his cocoon whole. Inside the Great Pit of the Hive, a Broodmother had sensed him and poured her own energy into his shell, tipping the scales of his evolution.

"Break... break it... break free!"

His consciousness surged. Memories flooded back. He knew what he had to do.

Hiss!

A low, vibrating thrum emanated from the cramped darkness.

Thump. Thump. CRACK.

Heavy impacts shook the chrysalis from the inside. For half a day, the rhythmic pounding continued, until spiderweb fractures spread across the calcified surface.

With a final, wet tear, the chrysalis exploded outward.

Eryndor stood amidst the debris. He was no longer a mere soldier. Massive, iridescent butterfly wings unfurled from his back, shimmering with deadly powder.

"Eryndor! My son, you finally succeeded!"

Kar’Sheen, who had been guarding the cocoon like a sentinel, rushed forward.

The shift to the Wormhole Realm had benefited the father as well. Soaking in the ambient energies of the Hive, Kar’Sheen had broken his own limits, ascending to the Alpha level.

"Father!"

Eryndor stepped out of the remains of his prison, embracing his kin. But before they could celebrate, a presence made the air grow heavy with pheromones.

"My champion. You have emerged."

Eryndor froze. His instincts screamed at him to attack, but the voice... it was the voice that had guided him through the dark.

"Peace, Eryndor," Kar’Sheen said, releasing him and gesturing to the figure behind them. "This is Myxara. Without her aid, you would be nothing but fluids in a shell."

Myxara stood there, a Broodmother in the guise of a delicate humanoid girl, yet radiating a terrifying, primal perfection.

Eryndor turned. His heart hammered against his ribs. To a human, she might have looked alien; to an insectoid, she was the definition of flawless beauty.

"My champion," Myxara purred, stepping closer. "Are you willing to strive for the glory of our swarm?"

She tilted her head.

"Pledge your loyalty to me, and I will grant you the honor of siring the purest bloodline."

A Broodmother, an Alpha-level King, and a warrior born of the Wormhole Realm. The fusion of these three forces was about to birth something terrifying.

The North. Blackstone City.

A wave of pressure, heavy and ancient, pulsed from the Grand Elder’s manor. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but to the keen senses of the Horde’s elite, it was a signal flare.

On the eastern ridge, a massive boulder shuddered and opened two glowing eyes.

"Prophet! It’s the Grand Elder. He’s back!"

Rockwell’s excited voice rang out before Onyx could even fully detach himself from the stone.

"Open the cellar," Onyx commanded, rising from the earth. "Break out the vintage wines. Prepare a gift. We are going to the manor."

He didn’t need to guess. He knew Rendall. That flash of aura was an invitation to his oldest friends.

...

Elsewhere in the city, Gort, the acting Chieftain, stood up from his desk.

"I will prepare the tribute myself," he muttered, a rare excitement coloring his tone.

...

In the Inner City, inside a lavish bedroom, Dirtclaw froze. He had been admiring a newly purchased mount, running his hands over the saddle, when the aura hit him.

"Hah! Finally!"

Dirtclaw kicked the human slave girl off his bed, ignoring her yelp as he marched toward the door.

"Anubis! Wepwawet! Get your furry asses out here!" he roared down the hallway. "You two pups are coming with me to pay respects to the Grand Elder!"

He veered toward his personal vault. He wouldn’t dare show his face at Rendall’s door empty-handed.

...

In the southeast district, the domain of the Buffalofolk.

Earthshaker was in the middle of a training session, drilling his two youngest calves. His older children had plateaued years ago, but these two... these two still had a spark.

He stopped mid-sentence, his head snapping toward the Grand Elder’s estate.

"Wife," he rumbled, turning to the aging Buffalofolk woman who sat nearby, mending his battle cloak. She had been with him through the lean years and the fat. "Go to the lockbox. Bring me the preserved Dragon Scale I brought back from the campaign."

He looked at her, his bovine eyes softening slightly.

"And stay home for the next few days. Don’t go out. With the Grand Elder back... perhaps there is hope for you to advance as well."