What is Novelia? →

Episode 1

What is Novelia?

Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.

Learn more about Novelia →New sign-ups get 5,000pt

The Giant's Memory Remains Not Episode 1: The Giant Amidst the Rubble, a Nameless Awakening

The Giant's Memory Remains Not Episode 1: The Giant Amidst the Rubble, a Nameless Awakening
The color of the sky was wrong. At first, Towa didn't realize he was looking down at the world from somewhere high. No—he didn't even have the sense of realizing it. The land spreading across his entire field of view simply seemed strangely small and far away. The wreckage of collapsed stone walls lay scattered at his feet like toy blocks. A crushed cart was flattened like a caved-in birdcage. The wind howled—not against his cheeks, but somewhere much higher up. He was standing. That was the moment his body understood the fact. He looked down at his arms. Massive, gnarled limbs like darkened rock. When he tried to bend a finger, a sensation like a heavy stone door grinding ran from his elbow to his shoulder. His shadow on the ground was grotesquely long, grotesquely thick. That was not the shadow of a man. In place of a heartbeat, something creaked deep in his chest. "...Ah." A voiceless sound crumpled in the back of his throat. A sensation like air leaking from every gap in his body instead of from his lungs. At the edge of his vision, the rubble that should have been at his feet looked as small as distant ground. The height of his eyeline was wrong. His body was hot. No—not hot. From deep in his chest came the sound of branches groaning. Creak, creak—the sound of wood splitting, of fibers tearing. At the center of his body, something was coming undone. The giant frame shrank as if collapsing. His knees buckled, his shoulders dropped, his field of view plummeted. The ground rushed up. Unable to even break his fall, Towa crashed onto the rubble. Sand and dust filled his mouth from the impact. He coughed—and this time, there was properly his own small hand in front of his eyes. Thin, bony, human. His breathing was ragged. His heart—this time for real—was pounding wildly against the inside of his ribs. Towa slowly pushed himself up. His whole body was heavy as lead. His arms, his legs, every single finger felt clumsy, as if they belonged to someone else. He looked down—his chest was visible through the gap of his unbuttoned shirt. There was a mark. A dark, root-like stain spreading in branches along his ribs. It looked like the trail of something that had crawled beneath his skin. The part jutting out from the center of his chest, near the sternum, was black and hard and dry, like a broken splinter of wood. He touched it. No pain. No heat. Just a foreign object, existing there. "...What is this." His voice was hoarse. It was his own voice, yet it felt like hearing someone else's. Towa looked around. The wreckage of a collapsed city wall. A crushed cart. Scattered wooden crates and shattered pots. Numerous disturbed footprints covered the ground, as if someone had fled in a panic. Beneath the cart, something that looked like a human arm was visible. It wasn't moving. Something deep in his chest went cold. Did I do this? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. Not his name, not where he was born, not where this place was. Not what he ate yesterday—not even whether there had been a yesterday at all. The inside of his head was white as if shrouded in deep fog; he reached out and grasped nothing. "...Who am I." He muttered to no one. The only answer was the sound of wind threading through the gaps in the rubble. Towa rose slowly. His legs trembled. Even so, he couldn't afford to lie there. He couldn't stay here. That much he knew. He didn't know why. But something at his core was screaming at him to move. He took a step. The rubble clattered. At his feet lay a wooden tag. He picked it up. Characters were carved into its surface, as if branded. "5-72A-09" Some kind of number. An identifier. In this world, there were those who were called by numbers instead of names. Towa knew this. He didn't know how he knew. But some part of his mind understood that this wooden tag was exactly that sort of thing. "...An identifier." The words came naturally from his mouth. Those called by numbers. Origin unknown. Even they themselves didn't know the meaning of their own number. Legal protection was thin; many held no citizenship. Beings viewed with curiosity and fear. Such knowledge surfaced and faded in fragments. No memories, yet words and knowledge remained. That incongruity only stoked his unease further. Still gripping the wooden tag, Towa raised his head. In the distance, he could see a city wall. A massive stone wall, perhaps twenty-five meters tall. Sections had crumbled, leaving blackened, scorched marks. That was a fortress city. A stronghold town where people lived, protecting themselves from dragons and monsters. Towa knew. This continent was the Velsrein Continent. A land overrun by dragons and monsters. Humanity huddled within scattered fortress cities, barely connected by narrow roads. Beyond the roads lay the domain of magical beasts, beyond human control. And right now, he was outside those roads. Beyond the rubble, he could faintly make out something like a path. Overgrown with grass, crumbling in places, but there were definitely signs of human passage. That was the road. Towa shoved the wooden tag into his pocket. He started walking. His body was heavy, his vision blurring from time to time. Even so, his feet moved forward. He had to move. If he stayed here, something would happen again. Not knowing who he was, the only thing driving him was the impulse that he had to keep moving. The evening sky dyed the ruined town orange. The wind carried the smell of char and blood from afar. The mark on his chest faintly warmed. Towa stopped and pressed a hand to his chest. The mark that had felt nothing until moments ago was now just slightly warm. Not hot. But something was definitely there. "...This is the only clue I have." He muttered, and walked on. Just a little further to the road. Dusk was slowly beginning to wrap around the world. On the distant city wall, one, then two watchfires were being lit. There were people there. Someone there might know who he was. No—there couldn't be. He had been a giant. If someone had seen that form. If that giant had destroyed something, hurt someone. A chill ran down his spine. Towa felt as though someone was watching him. He turned around. Only the mountain of rubble, sinking quietly in the dusk. No figures. But he was being watched. No basis for it. Just a hunch. But that hunch quickened his pace. Giant sightings. Whispered across every corner of this continent. The legend that those bearing the mark held the power to transform into giants. Towa knew such stories. He couldn't remember where he'd heard them. But he knew. "...If I'm found, what happens?" No answer came. Without an answer, Towa stepped onto the road. The road at dusk was quieter than he'd expected. The stone paving was cracked, grass growing in places. On both sides, traces of campfires and campsites dotted the way. Someone had spent the night here and departed with the morning. Such traces lingered everywhere. Towa walked down the center of the road. The sky began shifting from purple to deep blue. Stars appeared, one after another. The wind grew cold. He turned up the collar of his jacket. The mark on his chest warmed again. This time, a little stronger than before. Towa stopped and opened his shirt. The mark was unchanged—the dark, root-like pattern. The splinter jutting from his sternum looked even blacker in the dusk. He touched it. Hot. But not unpleasant. Rather, this was— "...A guidepost, is it." Towa muttered. No basis for it. But he felt it could be so. This heat was trying to lead him somewhere. That's what it felt like. He walked on. With the heat in his chest as his only clue. Towa walked alone down the road in the gathering dark. Not knowing what lay ahead, not knowing where he was headed. Only the faint pulse of the splinter deep in his chest as his guidepost. Night comes. On the Velsrein Continent, night makes human life cheap. Beyond the roads lies the domain of magical beasts. The hour when nocturnal monsters begin to move in search of prey. Towa knew this. So he had to prepare to camp. Build a fire, find a place where he could defend himself. But his body wouldn't move. Fatigue crashed over him all at once. The recoil of returning from giant to human. The shock of lost memory. The mental exhaustion of walking on without understanding anything. Towa found a collapsed stone wall by the roadside and sat down with his back against it. His breathing was ragged. His vision flickered white from time to time. "...Move, me." He told himself. But his fingertips trembled, and no strength came. In the distance, he heard the howl of a wolf. Towa raised his head. At the end of the road, in the darkness, he thought he saw a cluster of glinting eyes. Road wolves. Body length one and a half meters, nocturnal magical beasts that hunted in packs. A common threat on this continent, attacking caravans and campsites. Towa's body went rigid. He had to run. But his legs wouldn't move. The glinting eyes drew closer. One, two, three. In the darkness, he could hear the beasts' breathing. Low growls. The sense of bared fangs. Towa gripped the splinter in his chest. Hot. Deep in his chest, again—the creak of branches groaning. "...Stay back." His voice trembled. The wolves didn't stop. Towa closed his eyes. And his consciousness went dark. —How much time had passed? When Towa awoke, the night had not yet broken. His body was still leaning against the stone wall. The surroundings were quiet, and there was no sign of the wolves. "...What happened." He didn't remember. He remembered the wolves approaching. He'd closed his eyes. And then—now. Time had fallen out. Towa stood. His body was lighter than before. The fatigue was gone. As if something else had been moving his body in his stead. He looked at the ground. Wolf tracks led off toward the far side of the road in disarray, as if the animals had fled. And there was something else. Enormous human footprints. Giant footprints, many times the size of Towa's own feet, were pressed into the ground all around where he had been sitting. "...Again." He had become a giant. To drive off the wolves. Or to kill them. But he had no memory of it. Towa looked at his hands. Human hands. Thin, bony, powerless. These hands had been massive limbs of darkened rock just moments ago. "...Damn it." The mutter dissolved into the night air. The splinter in his chest was still hot. Towa raised his head and looked down the road. In the distance, he could see the lights of the fortress city. If he went there, he might learn something. Who he was. What that giant was. The meaning of the mark on his chest. But if he went, he would be found. As a witness to the giant. As a mark-bearer. "...Even so." Towa started walking. He had to go. He had to move. Not knowing who he was, he still had to move. With only the heat in his chest as his guidepost. Towa walked on through the night road. Behind him, a shadow watched from the darkness. The faint creak of metal joints. An automaton. One of them was quietly following Towa.