“What’s your name, little human?” he asked in a voice that made the sand vibrate beneath my feet.
—Matthew —I replied.
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if she were storing that name somewhere very deep inside.
—I am Aelira.
The name seemed ancient, almost as if it had been born before the mountains.
He told me that his people lived far from the paths of men, in places where the ocean was so deep it seemed to touch the sky upside down. Giants, he said, were not many. And with each generation, fewer were born.
“My son…” she whispered one afternoon, caressing her belly with a huge hand. “He is important.”
“Important to whom?” I asked.
She looked at me with a quiet sadness.
—For the balance of the world.
I didn’t fully understand his words, but I felt they were true.
The storm arrived on the seventh day.
It was not an ordinary storm.
The sky turned black before sunset, and the wind began to roar as if a thousand invisible beasts had awakened at once. The waves crashed against the rocks with a fury I had never seen.
Aelira slowly sat up.
She could already sit up, although she was still breathing with effort.
“They’ve come,” he said in a low voice.
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