Luparia barely slept that night. The battle had ended quickly—far too quickly for a force that had marched thousands of demons to their walls. But what kept people awake wasn't the memory of combat.
It was what they'd seen.
Two obsidian giants.
Two stone warriors shaped exactly like Byron Lycans.
In every corner of the city, people spoke of nothing else. In taverns, dwarves pounded their fists on tables, retelling the story again and again with more drama each time. Humans debated whether it was ancient magic or divine miracle. Elves gazed toward the walls with a mix of respect and curiosity.
But those most fascinated were the children.
They ran through the main courtyard with sticks for swords, leaping over stone benches and shouting at the top of their lungs.
"Look! I'm Super Byron!"
"No! I'm Giant Byron!"
"The Protector of Luparia!"
A young lycan pup raised his arms, mimicking claws with his small hands. "The giants fought just like him!"
Laughter filled the air as they reenacted an imaginary battle against invisible demons. Adults watched on, amused and bewildered in equal measure.
Because no one truly understood what had happened.
Which is why the council was called that very night.
The great circular hall of Luparia was lit by torches that cast long shadows across the stone walls. Around the massive oak table sat leaders from every race that now called the fortress home—dwarves, humans, elves, lycans, and shadow elves alike.
Claude was the first to speak, his brow furrowed as he leaned forward. "What we saw today changes everything. Those statues didn't just move—they fought with strategy. Coordinated, precise, exactly like a trained army."
Lars nodded slowly, his amber eyes serious. "They fought like Byron. Every jump, every strike, every dodge—it was identical. I've watched him fight a hundred times, and those giants moved with his exact rhythm."
Elbron laced his fingers together on the table, his violet eyes thoughtful. "The golems left us a gift. But power like this always serves a purpose." He turned his gaze to Byron. "The question is—what purpose?"
Voices rose around the table, each offering a different theory.
"Gratitude," a dwarf chieftain rumbled. "Pure and simple."
"A gesture of alliance," a lycan captain suggested. "They want us to know we have their backing."
"A weapon," a shadow elf added. "Maybe they want the world to understand what they're capable of."
The discussion grew louder, words flying back and forth.
"Power."
"Defense."
"A warning."
Throughout it all, Byron remained silent. Seated at the far end of the table, he stared into the flame of a torch with a thoughtful expression, his hands resting calmly on his knees.
Then the old elven priestess from the forest slowly shook her head.
"Men…"
Her soft voice cut through the noise like water through stone. The hall fell quiet.
"You always look at things the same way. Power. War. Strategy." Her eyes swept across the table, then settled on Byron. "But no one is asking the right question."
Claude raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"
The priestess placed both hands on her staff, her weathered face calm and wise. "Byron… do you know how a golem is born?"
The lycan lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes. "I don't."
The elder smiled slightly. "Golems are not built by hands." She ran her palm across the table's surface as if touching stone. "The Earth Mother creates them."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
"She shapes them with patience… with care… with love."
Lars frowned, rubbing his beard. "That explains some things—but not what we saw today."
"Exactly," the priestess replied. Her eyes returned to Byron. "Golems are simple beings, yet powerful. They do not take part in wars. They do not choose sides in disputes." She paused, letting the words sink in. "That is their purpose—to stand apart, to protect the earth itself, not to fight for kingdoms or clans."
Claude crossed his arms over his chest, his bronze scales catching the torchlight. "Then how do you explain what we witnessed?"
The elder tilted her head. "First, you must understand something more." She looked at everyone around the table. "When the demons enslaved them, they used chains and poison. When others would have seen weapons in these creatures…" Her gaze fixed on Byron again. "He did not."
Elbron narrowed his eyes in recognition. "He never tried to use them."
"He treated them as equals," the priestess continued. "He gave back the water they needed to live. He offered them mountains where they could exist freely—no debts owed, no chains to bind them." She looked up toward the stone ceiling as if seeing through it to the peaks beyond. "The Earth Mother saw this."
The hall was completely silent now.
"She saw a being of flesh act as one of her own children would."
Lars spoke carefully, his voice low. "Are you saying that…?"
The priestess nodded. "The earth has adopted him. To the golems, Byron is now something unique." She looked at him with serene certainty. "A flesh-and-blood golem."
Claude let out a low whistle. "The first one."
"Perhaps the only one in history," the elder said. Then she gestured toward the walls of the fortress. "Which is why the Mother created brothers for him. Two guardians shaped in his image."
Elbron leaned on the table, his expression thoughtful. "So according to you…" He glanced toward the hall's entrance. "…Luparia is guarded by two mountains that chose to look like Byron."
Lars let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Well… I'm glad they're on our side. I wouldn't want to face something like that in battle."
The priestess finished in a quiet, steady voice. "To the golems, Byron is one of them now."
At that exact moment, the hall trembled.
At first, it was barely a shake—cups on the table chimed together, torches flickered and danced. Then the stone floor began to slowly split open in the center of the room. A deep rumble echoed through the space, like the mountain itself was breathing.
"Not again," Lars muttered, standing slightly.
The central flagstones pulled apart, and from the gap rose a column of black stone—pure obsidian, polished to a high sheen. It rose slowly until it stood waist-high to a man, then its surface began to shift and glow.
Bright lines appeared, etched into the stone like glowing veins of light.
Elbron leaned forward, squinting. "That language… I don't recognize it."
Claude shook his head. "It's not elven."
"Or draconic," Lars added.
Everyone turned to look at Byron.
The lycan studied the column for several seconds, his eyes focused on the glowing script. "Russian."
The letters shone brightly against the dark stone. Byron read them aloud, his voice clear and steady.
"Байрон Лайканс… Освободитель Големов."
Claude leaned forward. "What does it mean?"
Byron answered calmly. "Byron Lycans." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Liberator of the Golems."
Silence filled the hall once more—deeper this time, heavy with understanding.
The priestess smiled, her eyes bright with ancient knowledge. "The Earth Mother remembers too."
Lars let out a low whistle. "Well…" He looked at Byron with a mix of awe and amusement. "The mountains just gave you a title."
Elbron crossed his arms, a small smile touching his lips. "One no king could ever claim for himself."
Byron remained silent. He stared at the black column in the center of the hall, at the glowing words that now marked his place in the world. Liberator of the Golems.
For a moment, he looked up toward the stone ceiling again.
And it seemed he could hear something only the mountains could speak.
The council hall fell silent.
In the center of the room stood the first obsidian column, risen from the earth minutes before. Its black surface gleamed under torchlight, and upon it, the words carved by the land itself continued to burn with soft, steady light.
Byron Lycans.
Liberator of Golems.
No one spoke.
Because everyone had come to understand an uncomfortable truth.
Byron had never been bound to help anyone. He had no obligation to open Luparia's gates. No duty to offer shelter to other races. No reason to risk his own people to protect those who were not his own.
And yet he had done it. Once. Then again. And again.
The golems—simple creatures born of the earth—had understood this immediately. That was why they had left guardians. Why they had etched his name in stone. Why they had named him liberator.
But in the great council hall… many of the races now living under Luparia's protection had never spoken a single word of thanks.
The forest elf priestess closed her eyes for a moment. Then she stepped forward.
The soft tap of her staff against the stone floor echoed through the hall like a bell tolling in empty space.
"Then let the earth hear what should have been said long ago."
Everyone turned to look at her.
The elder bowed her head slightly toward Byron. "In the name of the forest elf people… I thank Byron Lycans and the lycan people for opening these mountains to those with no home… and for protecting our lives when you had no duty to do so."
The silence shifted—lighter now, as if a weight had been lifted from the room.
Claude was next to move forward. The draconian placed one hand on the council table before speaking, his voice firm and clear. "The draconians do not forget our debts. In the name of my people, I thank Byron Lycans for allowing us to remain in these lands… and for trusting us when others would have shut their doors."
Lars cleared his throat and stepped forward, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the floor. "Dwarves aren't good with speeches," he grumbled—but there was warmth in his voice. "But we know how to honor those who keep their word." He looked directly at Byron, his amber eyes serious. "In the name of the mountain dwarves… I thank the wolf who chose to protect these lands when the whole world was falling apart."
Finally, Elbron spoke.
The shadow elf stood staring at the obsidian column for several long seconds before turning to face the room. "I am not a man who offers thanks easily." A few in the hall smiled faintly at this truth. "But even I recognize when a debt is owed." His violet eyes settled on Byron, and for the first time in memory, his expression was free of irony. "In the name of the shadow elves who live beneath these mountains… I thank the wolf who offered shelter even to those who once would have been his enemies."
Silence filled the hall once more—deep and solemn now, heavy with meaning.
Then…
The earth trembled.
Not with violence, but with depth. With age.
The stone floor vibrated gently beneath their feet. Torches swayed. Cups on the table chimed together in soft harmony.
"Again…" Lars muttered, furrowing his brow.
A crack appeared in the floor. Then another. Flagstones began to pull apart slowly, as if the mountain itself were breathing and shifting beneath them.
And from those gaps… columns began to rise.
First came a column of pure obsidian, polished like glass so dark it seemed to drink the torchlight whole. Then another. And another still. Each one emerged from the living rock of the mountain, smooth and perfect as if forged by hands beyond mortal understanding.
Claude leaned forward, studying them closely. "That language again…"
The black surfaces began to glow. Letters etched themselves into the stone, as if invisible hands were carving from within the earth itself—slow, deliberate, unyielding.
Byron watched in silence, his eyes moving from one inscription to the next.
First, the column of the priestess:
Gratitude of the forest elf people.
Then the next:
Gratitude of Luparia's draconians.
Another:
Gratitude of the mountain dwarves.
And the last:
Gratitude of the shadow elves.
The light from the letters filled the entire hall, casting everything in shades of deep black and glowing silver. The new columns now surrounded the first one—the one bearing Byron's name—forming a perfect circle.
A circle of obsidian.
A circle of memory.
The priestess watched them with serene composure. "The Earth Mother hears when words come from the heart."
Lars let out a long whistle, his gaze moving around the circle. "Well… looks like our promises are carved into something harder than stone now."
Claude placed a hand on one of the black columns, feeling its smooth surface and the faint warmth that radiated from within. "So this isn't just gratitude."
The priestess shook her head gently. "No." Her voice was quiet, but it carried through the hall with absolute clarity. "It is a reminder." Her eyes moved slowly from leader to leader, holding each one's gaze in turn. "The earth has heard your words. And now it will remember them."
Elbron crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the glowing columns. "Curious," he murmured. Then his gaze shifted to Byron. "In the end… even the mountains wanted to hear it."
Byron said nothing. He only watched the circle of columns that now surrounded his name—eternal stone, eternal memory, a vow that the mountains themselves had chosen to keep.
Because now…
The Earth Mother was watching too.