POV Narrator:

On the boulder-littered plain past the city, a convoy approaches the half-buried Colossus. Consisting of close to a hundred mounted soldiers and a single majestic carriage, they progress at a steady pace. Winding past the hill-sized boulders and crater ridden grounds, the convoy’s formation shows no openings or weakness.

Inside the carriage, in the centre of the formation, three people are seated with lowered heads; Dawkin, his wife, and their most trusted general and old friend. A heavy atmosphere and a deadly silence enshroud the carriage. A serious grimace stands carved, on each of their wizened faces.

“Monsters that you can’t even dream of ever facing,” Dawkin mumbles in a quiet voice. “Did you say something, dear?” Dawkin’s wife, while sitting beside him, asks. “I was told those words, long ago,” Dawkin answers while lifting his head. “Those words haunted me when I was still youthful, but these past years, we’ve grown complacent.” Dawkin continues, his eyes locking onto the person sitting across from him.

“General, has the evacuation begun?” Dawkin asks gravely. “Yes, my king, the process is already underway, but they will need time.” the General answers, his hands forming tight fists. “Then time they will have,” Dawkin answers, resolution brimming with each syllable. “General, stop the convoy. I need to address our men.” Dawkin commands as he prepares to stand up.

On the dust-covered plain, half a kilometre away from the Colossus, Dawkin exits the carriage. His armoured boots' imprints the ground with their legacy. His hazel eyes scan the convoy; a deep gaze piercing the very soul of each soldier. From his throat, a deep, powerful voice flows; a voice worthy of the utmost respect, “The best of the best. The elite of an obsolete generation. Each of us carries scars of victory and the smiles of the fallen. We’ve forged the future through blood, and I’ll be damned if I see it crumble.”.

Dawkin continues, his voice growing increasingly louder, “Our hair may be grey, our faces may be wrinkled, but our swords have not dulled!”. A raging fire ignites in the eyes of every soldier surrounding him. Dawkin stops, a looming silence, envelopes the surroundings. In a low voice, he continues, “Our people need time to escape and we’ll provide that time. If one of us still draws breath, none will pass us. As a final gift, from the old to the new, we will make our last stand.”.

Dawkin, while surrounded by the veteran soldiers, directs his gaze towards the Colossus looming in the distance. His hand rests on the handle of his prized mithril sword, sheathed on his waist. Without hesitation, Dawkin commands, “Men, dismount and prepare for battle!”. In unison, the convoy dismounts, allowing their mounts to return to the city. As a single entity, they proceed to march forward. Their steel boots, drum the ground. The melodious song of the veterans’ death march.

Up high, on the Colossus’ shoulder, Zohn observes the convoy’s strange movement. “What are they planning?” he ponders silently. “I can’t wait to meet new people!” the Colossus states, his eyes brimming with excitement. “Just be sure to avoid moving. We want to meet them, not bury them.” Zohn reminds, hoping to avoid any potential disasters.

From the marching convoy, a loud shout erupts, “Charge!”. “What a strange greeting.” The Colossus muses. On the Colossus’ shoulder, Zohn observes with a bewildered expression. “Why does it look like they are trying to attack us? Do they see the Col as an enemy?” he ponders.

Slowly, a realization dawns on Zohn, “After the mountain collapsed and their city almost destroyed by Col, they have every reason to believe he’s an enemy.”. “I need to stop them and resolve this misunderstanding.” He quickly decides. Tightly gripping his legendary spear, Zohn leaps from the Colossus’ shoulder, five hundred metres in the air.

A hundred metres away from the Colossus, Dawkin’s mouth widens in awe. “Such a large beast. It seems stuck, so this our only opportunity to stop it. I’ll make sure to avenge Zohn’s death.” Dawkin decides, his eyes growing resolute. From the sky a sharp whistle rings, drawing everyone’s attention. Like a meteor, Zohn impacts the ground with a loud crack, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Halt!” Dawkin shouts, his men forming a defensive formation. “It’s throwing projectiles at us, be ready to dodge.” The General, next to Dawkin, commands. Silently, they wait for the next attack. Seconds pass, but nothing happens. Dawkin’s attention returns to where Zohn landed. As the dust settles, Zohn’s figure slowly reveals itself.

In a crouched position, with a large web of cracks spreading from his feet, Zohn, with a small smile on his lips, stares directly at Dawkin. “We meet again,” Zohn says in a calm voice. “Zohn! You’re still alive?!” Dawkin shouts in shock, unbefitting of his stature. “It doesn’t even look like he has aged a day in seventy years. Also, he didn’t die on the mountain, even after its complete destruction?” Dawkin mumbles to himself, almost incoherent.

“Are you here to help us fight this beast?” Dawkin asks excitedly, finally seeing a glimmer of hope in their wretched situation. A strange expression surfaces on Zohn’s face. “You must have many questions and I’ll get to them later, but there’s another important matter that we need to attend to.” Zohn answers mysteriously.

“Col!”, Zohn suddenly shouts. On cue, the Colossus bends its body, lowering its head closer to the ground. “This is truly the end!” Dawkin shouts internally. “Some introductions are in order. Everyone, this is Col, my companion.” Zohn quickly introduces the Colossus, hoping to ease tensions. “Greetings, tiny goliaths!” the Colossus, with his large head hovering directly over the convoy and in a booming voice, greets them excitedly.

“They aren’t goliaths.” Zohn quickly interjects. “Are you sure, Zohn, you’re practically identical?” The Colossus asks, completely confused. “Ugh, we’ll talk about this later.” Zohn dismisses the Colossus with a sigh. “Come with me and I’ll answer all of your questions,” Zohn says, beckoning the convoy.