"It doesn't matter how talented Anubis and Wepwawet are," Rendall said, swirling the amber liquid in his cup. "Dirtclaw paved the road. Those boys are just walking on it."

He took a sip, his expression cynical. "They stand tall, sure. But only because they're standing on the shoulders of Giants."

"What's this? Is that envy I hear?" Rendall asked, catching the look on Drakthul's face.

"Damn right it is," Drakthul grunted.

In front of Rendall, Drakthul didn't bother with the stoic elder statesman act. They had bled together in the trenches enough times that pretenses were useless.

"I look at the other families, pumping out geniuses left and right. Then I go home, look at my own grandkids, and I just want to strangle the lot of them," Drakthul sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. "I'm not joking, brother. There isn't a single one worth a damn. If even one of them showed the potential to break through to the Legendary Rank, I wouldn't be losing sleep every night."

It was a confession of deep-seated anxiety.

Both Drakthul and Rendall were stuck at the Peak Alpha Rank. They knew the score: without breaking through to Legendary, they were on a timer. Drakthul's clan was influential within the Stoneheart Horde now, but influence was fleeting. Without a Legendary powerhouse to anchor the family in the future, their decline was inevitable.

"The Legendary Rank..." Rendall murmured, his cynicism softening into empathy. "For those without the gift, it's a wall that reaches the sky."

Rendall shared the frustration, though his situation wasn't quite as dire. He hadn't broken through personally, but his daughter Ursa and his grandson Steelblade were promising. They had the spark. Plus, the giant tribe's new generation had seen a spike in potential thanks to Orion's passive influence.

What Rendall didn't know yet was that his other kin, Fergus and Tarn, stationed far away in the Silverwood Realm, had actually ascended to Legendary Rank the moment Orion became a Demigod, carried upward by the bloodline tether. But that news hadn't traveled back to Stoneheart City yet.

"You're still spry enough," Rendall said, leaning forward with a wicked grin. "Why not take a page out of the King's book? Marry a few more exotic women. Maybe the problem is the soil, not the seed. You could breed a better heir."

It was crude advice, but in their world, it was practical.

Orion, the Giant King, was the ultimate example. His offspring were monsters of talent. Following his lead, cross-species marriage had become the new trend among the Giants to diversify and strengthen their bloodlines. The Succubus Tribe and the Garland Tribe were currently the most sought-after matches, thanks to the visible success of Pallas and Caelus.

"Take more wives?" Drakthul snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "I don't have the stamina for that. My mind is entirely focused on the breakthrough..."

Drakthul never finished his sentence.

ROAR!

The sound didn't come from the tent. It didn't come from the city. It erupted from within their own veins.

It was a primal, psychic roar that vibrated through their marrow.

Rendall and Drakthul froze, their eyes widening as a vision hijacked their minds. In the metaphysical sea of their bloodline, a colossus rose from the crimson waves—a Titan with four heads and eight arms, holding up the sky.

"Orion!"

They shouted the name in unison. There was no mistaking that aura.

ROAR!

The internal avatar bellowed again, a shockwave of authority.

This wasn't localized to the tent. It was happening everywhere.

In the Titanion Realm, the Emerald Dream, the Silverwood Realm, the Valkorath Realm, Sunset City, the Cretaceous World, and the endless Sea of Sand—wherever a Giant drew breath, the vision appeared.

Even in the deepest layers of the Abyss.

The stronger the Giant, the more vivid the vision. For the Giant Lords and ancient patriarchs scattered across the multiverse, the manifestation of the [Stoneheart Titan] in their blood wasn't just a picture; it was a decree.

When Orion sacrificed the [Bloodline Awakening Pool] to the Temple, he rewrote the genetic code of his people.

This was a [Bloodline Confirmation]. The Titan God was broadcasting the birth of a new apex branch—the Stoneheart Titan—through the spiritual network of the race.

"A Stoneheart Titan?"

In a forgotten world, a Titan sitting on a throne of bone opened his eyes, confusion and intrigue warring in his gaze.

"A new lineage?" Whispered a Giant Demigod on a lower plane of Abyss. "I must conquer them."

"Find them. Find the Stoneheart lineage!"

Across the cosmos, reactions varied from awe to jealousy to predatory intent. But one thing was certain: the name "Stoneheart Titan" had been branded into the collective unconscious of the Giant race.

It was a historical singularity. In all the eons of Giant history, this had happened only once before.

This was the second time.

Titanion Realm, Stoneheart City

Back at the castle, the atmosphere was less "cosmic revelation" and more "family drama."

Lilith stood with her mouth slightly open, staring at the teenage girl standing next to her husband. Pallas looked equally stunned.

"Elara had a... growth spurt," Orion said casually, as if explaining why he was late for dinner. "Lilith, you'll need to commission a new wardrobe for her. She can't exactly fit into her old dresses."

He patted Lilith on the shoulder, completely ignoring the fact that Elara was currently pinching Pallas's cheeks and cooing at him like he was the baby.

"I'll leave it to you," Orion said, turning toward the Great Hall.

He didn't care about the cosmic ripples he'd just caused. He had logistics to manage.

His immediate goal was to organize his Divine Kingdom. He needed to construct a stable passage system connecting the Horde to the Temple so he could mass-produce the transformation ritual. That meant building high-grade teleportation circles, which meant burning through a mountain of expensive magical materials.

Even with the resources of the entire Stoneheart Horde, he was going to come up short. He needed to call in some favors.

[System Access: Survivor's Platform]

He logged into the Champions Alliance private channel.

It was quiet. His allies were busy running their own empires.

First, he accepted a pending trade from Scarecrow—a massive shipment of grain, processed automatically.

Then, he typed into the chat.

Hulk: "I'm out of seclusion. Everyone still alive?"

His message was like a boulder dropped into a still pond.

Aerin: "Woah! Godfather! You finally surfaced!"

The response was instant.

Since the liberation of the Forest of Nature, Aerin, the Wood Elf Queen, had been swamped with reconstruction. But now that her administration was up and running, she had transitioned from a frontline leader to a rubber-stamper. Her job now consisted mostly of nodding at proposals and signing decrees.

Which meant she had plenty of time to lurk on the Survivor's Platform, shopping for rare resources and waiting for something interesting to happen.

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