The first 300 years of Emure's life held little weight. Even so, he was a proud and decorated soldier of his race.

Yet the Emerald Mountains were hidden for a reason. Giants were a rare sight, often poached by many species. The gems Giants were born of, decorated both their hides and the mantels of rich nobles and royals. The outside world became a threat to Giants, a horror story.

Ever since Emure was a young Strider, a deep hatred was molded into him. He told himself he could strike down an outsider without a second thought. Dozens of his comrades had, anyway.

The act was a given. Ranking from a Strider to a true Giant was a coming of age ceremony. The price: slay an outsider with ones bare hands.

He'd prayed and trained for this moment, sacrificing weeks worth of preparation yet staring at his prey from afar, stalking the small being within the looming pines, only one thought would come to mind.

Why did you look so...helpless?