Journal of the last Giant
Journal found on a ship in the Giants' final destination and graveyard in 49 - The End of a Civilization.
Most of the journal is mundane with damaged entries, until a page catches our attention:
It all began the day the First One died. I remember it clearly; the sky split open and in that moment we knew that our Creator had fallen. It was like every Giant in the world simultaneously howled their grief into the air, then we all blinked. Afterwards, things were different. Many of my kinsmen had disappeared, including my only daughter. We were scared, confused, and in mourning; Our Maker was gone, none of us knew what to do.
Kierja the True, our wisest prophet, climbed to the Stone Giant’s Cradle and spent a winter in trance, hoping to seek guidance from whatever remained. Finally, he returned with an answer; our people were sent into the stars, and the spirit of the Stone Giant had given him the power to find them. This morning we set sail, a new generation of wayfarers sailing into the blackness. Kierja gifted our longships with the power of flight, and as I write this we make way for the hole in the sky above the Cradle. I wonder what we will find out there, and if we will ever return.
We left the half-kin behind. Kierja says that the realm between the stars is a dangerous journey, and their weakness would only inhibit our search. When we left them on the beach, there was one in particular who burned herself into my memory. Her hair was a fair blonde, unknown to true blood Giants, with a strong and beautiful face that was marred by an eyepatch. She roared and screamed at us as we left, begging us to bring her along. The air boiled around her, and I swear it seemed her rage would conjure a storm to drown us. Her clan spirit is strong with her; impressive for a half blood tiger whelp…
We find this next entry a bit further in the journal:
It has been four moons since we left our homeland, at least that’s what we’ve assumed by tracking the days; there are too many moons to keep track of here. Kierja leads us to our lost people, and I gladly follow him into the wilds. The Galaxsea is beautiful, more than I could’ve ever imagined.. The days pass by quickly enough; a bit boring but the sightseeing makes up for it. The voyage seems to be a success so far, but I have my doubts. There are whispers moving throughout the armada, and the burden of leadership is beginning to take its toll on Kierja. I fear that if his worries continue to grow as they have, they’ll consume us all. The Elders know something, I can feel it in my bones, but I doubt they will inform the armada of any trouble until it is already too late. I try to push these worries out of my mind and focus only on my dearest Fjendra. It’s likely that she is having the time of her life; she always loved the auroras and now she’s swimming through them. I pray that she is warm and fed, and that she thinks of her mother as often as I think of her…
Some more pages are hard to read, as it's mostly about the daily life on the ship, until we find this one:
The trouble has been revealed; the Old Word is gone. Kierja said that the Word only works on our homeworld, and despite his best efforts the magic that’s stored in our bones has run dry. The ships cannot fly without our breath to blow the sails. We are lost and listing. Kierja tells us to hold the faith; a kind soul could come rescue us, we could eventually drift to dry land, or (least likely) we could find a New Word. He said the Giants were the first on Wundera and that we would surely be the last, after we’ve reunited with our star flung kinfolk.
I continue not for my faith in him or the Word, but for the love of my daughter. It’s been a year at sea and my longing has become second nature. Every morning I rush to the deck and pray that Fjendra is standing there, smiling at me, confused as to why I look so worried. Every night I climb the mast and sing her lullaby into the void, then retire to fitful sleep. I dream that there’s some strange traveler passing by who later shares a fire with her, and when they hum my melody she recognizes it, and knows I’m searching for her.
My grief is a mountain. All of my prayers, my songs, my anguished wails and my howls of rage; all of it has gone unanswered…
There are several pages that seem to be nonsense written in a frenzy. There are two entries
that stick out. The first being the following, written in bold script that covers the whole page:
FJENDRA WERE ARE YOU?
The second is an empty page, with a single sentence written at the bottom:
The Giants are dying.
We keep going through until we find a proper entry:
Some time has passed, exactly how much I am uncertain. What I am certain of is that this is the end of my people. We are starving, exhausted, and madness spreads through the armada like wildfire. We desperately held onto the delusion that we would be saved until Giants started dying. Many of them starved (I didn’t think Giants could starve), others leapt from their ships and were pulled to pieces by Astral waves. Such beauty and such violence.
Kierja still breathes, despite many of us wishing he didn’t. He led us here, away from the comfort of our homes and into our suffering. The surviving clans have shunned him, leaving him to rot in his guilt. Despite this, he still insists that we will be saved; either by the Word or by the spirit of the Stone Giant. Never once has he suggested that we save ourselves.
The question of what to do with our fallen kinsfolk has found a gruesome answer. There are no birds, no foxes, no bugs or rats for a proper sky burial. We have taken to eating the remains. We convince ourselves that we do it to ensure their spirits return to the cycle. I’m doing it because I am hungry. I can’t be the only one who feels this way…
Most of the pages have been teared after this point, or soaked in ink. We finally found a "proper" entry, written in haste:
They’re all dead, except for me. Even Kierja has left this life behind, though I must admit it was by my own hand. He must suffer for what he’s done to the once great Giants. I crushed his throat in my hands, and afterwards I embalmed his body. I drained his blood, dipped his corpse in salt and oil, and strung him up to dry. No sky burial, nor cairn nor tomb for the betrayer, his soul must stay trapped in his body; eternally watching the graves that he built for us.
All I am is hungry. Hungry for food and drink, yes, but also hungry for home; hungry for solid ground to stand on, hungry for the way the sun rises over mountains, hungry for the droning hum of the Old Word, and hungriest for Fjendra. She is all I have left. I am no longer Una the mighty chieftess of the Aurochs clan, I don’t even think I’m a Giant anymore. I am a mother whose daughter is lost, I am alone, and I am ravenous.
With a note at the bottom:
I am going to die.
After a few comprehensive writings and rambling, we find what seems to be the final entry:
Fjendra, if by some miracle you find this journal, please know that this wasn’t your fault. We believed the Word would guide us to wherever you are, and we were wrong. That’s all it is. Sometimes people do whatever they think is best, and sometimes they are wrong. Wherever you are, know that I am waiting for you in the place between. I won’t reenter the cycle until we’re together again. I gave this life to find you, and I will give a thousand more if I have to. You are my greatest joy, don’t let the mountain crush you like it did to me.
I love you, see you soon.
- Una, The Last.