Ocular Astra Journeys: The Seven Hearth

CHAPTER 3: THE COUNCIL OF SEVEN

Dawn painted the undersides of the broad leaves above them in pale gold. Stollen was already awake, examining the faint, persistent glow from the cage lock, when a high, nervous voice cut through the morning quiet.

“Stallion! Lyra!”

Stollen winced. Lyra snorted, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

A miniature guard stood at a safe distance, clutching a spear almost as tall as he was. He flung a bundled mass of cloth toward the cage, where it landed with a soft thump. “The Council of Seven Elders summons you! At the Great Hall! Immediately!” He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and scurried into the ferns.

he giants were dumbfounded and surprised at the same time. "Well, it seems we have an invitation," Stollen said, standing up and brushing off his pants. I guess we should go to this meeting and see what they have to say. 

Yeah definitely I am curious about this planet. Lyra said smiling.

‘And he said my name wrongly.’ Stollen added with a distorted expression. Lyra chuckled lightly.

‘Worst of all he didn't give us directions.’ Lyra added.

Stollen sighed heavily. ‘We need to get out of here as soon as possible. I'm hungry.’

The bundle contained two rough-spun tunics and pants, crudely stitched but clearly sized for them. They were coarse, smelling of lye and strange herbs.

“Prison chic,” Lyra muttered, pulling the tunic over her head. It fit like a sack.

Their own suits were scarred and battered, the seals compromised. Reluctantly, they left them folded in the cage. Stepping out into the cool air without the armored shell made Stollen feel oddly naked.

Following the guard’s vanished path, they pushed through the dense undergrowth. The Forest of Heavenly Trees gave way abruptly to cultivated land.

The village unfolded before them.

It was a masterpiece of miniature engineering. Thatched houses, no larger than breadboxes to them, clustered along winding paths. Aqueducts—perfect, scaled-down replicas of Roman stonework—carried streams of water along raised channels. A windmill, its sails the size of dinner plates, turned lazily in the morning breeze. In fields that looked like well-kept garden plots, tiny figures tended rows of grain stalks that barely reached Stollen’s ankles.

As the giants approached, the settlement froze.

Doors slammed. Shutters clicked closed. A woman gathering water from a communal well dropped her bucket and fled, the bucket bouncing behind her. From the dark slit of a window, a dozen tiny, wide-eyed faces stared out before being yanked away.

“They’re not primitive,” Stollen murmured, his engineer’s mind cataloging the precise joinery of a timber bridge, the clever pulley system on a well. “They’re… condensed. They’ve built a full civilization on a one-to-one hundred scale.”

“They’re also terrified,” Lyra added quietly.

Ahead, the path opened into a wide clearing. And there, standing alone, was the Great Hall. It was eye catching and one that didn't need directions, the Giants walked towards it.

It was colossal compared to the huts—a vast, circular building constructed from the same dark, iron-hard wood as the Heavenly Trees. Its walls were carved with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to tell stories of stars and strange, long-limbed creatures. But it was the doors that snagged Stollen’s attention. They were massive, arched things, standing three times taller than any hut’s doorway. Tall enough for him to walk through without stooping.

The proportions were wrong. This wasn’t built for the people hiding in the houses.

Two guards, slightly larger than the rest and clad in polished bark armor, pushed the great doors inward. The interior was dim, lit by shafts of sunlight from high windows. The air smelled of old wood and damp earth.

Seven thrones, raised on a dais, formed a semicircle. Upon them sat the elders.

Stollen recognized Skrul immediately, seated at the far right. His expression was unreadable. To his left was a severe-looking woman with hair the color of frost—Eira, he guessed. Next to her, a bulky man with a perpetual scowl—Thorold. A gentle-faced man with kind eyes—Arin. A sharp-eyed woman studying them like chess pieces—Lila. Two others, older and more withdrawn, completed the circle.

The hall, which had been buzzing with tiny voices, fell silent as tombs.

Eira spoke first, her voice amplified by a silver cone. It was cold, precise, and carried a blade’s edge. “You stand before the Council of Seven, giants. You bring with you the memory of ash and broken walls. The last of your kind to descend brought fire. Why should we not treat you as the threat you are?”

Thorold leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “Their size is weapon enough. We should crush the problem before it crushes us.”

Arin raised a slender hand. His voice was soft, but it carried. “The Scrolls of the Seven Suns tell us that giants may come from the heavens. They may be guides, or tests of faith. To destroy them may be to spit in the eye of providence.”

Lila steepled her fingers. “Sentiment and fear are poor advisors. They have strength we lack. That is a fact. The question is not if we use it, but how we control it.”

The debate swirled around them—accusations, scriptures, pragmatic calculations. Stollen waited for a lull.

When it came, he stepped forward. The floorboards, thick as tree trunks, creaked under his weight. Every tiny eye fixed on him.

“We are not from your heavens,” he began, his voice echoing in the vast space. “We are from a world called Earth. Our ship was damaged. We were pulled here against our will. We mean you no harm. We only wish to leave.”

The elders listened intently as Stollen continued. "We mean no harm, and I'd like to propose a way to prove our harmlessness. We'll use our strength to build and repair or upgrade your 7 villages, showcasing our capabilities and demonstrating our good intentions. In return, we'll gather resources and knowledge to construct a spaceship that will take us away from your planet… Please?”

The chamber fell silent, the elders weighing Stollen's words. After a moment of contemplation, the lead elder, Arinthal, spoke up. "We accept your proposal, giants. We'll provide the necessary resources and guidance. You, in turn, will work on the villages and prepare your spaceship and leave this planet. Let's work together and find a mutually beneficial solution."

With the agreement reached, the meeting ended on a hopeful note. 

Then he added the critical piece. “To begin, we will need a base of operations. A place with the raw materials to start construction.” He looked at Skrul. “This Island. We'll start here.”

A murmur ran through the assembled advisors and guards behind the thrones. Skrul gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

The vote was called. Skrul, Arin, Lila, and one of the silent elders raised their hands.

Eira’s jaw tightened. Thorold looked furious. But it was done.

As the council disbanded, Stollen approached Skrul. The elder was watching the others file out.

“This hall,” Stollen said quietly. “The doors. They weren’t built for your people, were they?”

Skrul turned his deep-set eyes on Stollen. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, “You chose wisely with the metals. A logical first move.” He reached into his robe and produced a rolled parchment, tied with a silvery cord. “Your next choice will be harder. The composites you need for your ship’s frame are found on Arin’s continent.” He placed the scroll in Stollen’s palm. It was tiny, no larger than his thumb. “To reach Arin’s land, you must cross Eira’s.”

He held Stollen’s gaze. “She was the strongest voice against you. Tread carefully, Stollen. Not all paths on Hearth are made of dirt.”

Stollen looked back at the Great Hall. The massive doors. The perfectly scaled architecture. The map in Lyra’s hand.

A cold understanding began to seep into his bones.

Lyra rolled the map up, her movements slow. She met his eyes, her voice low and certain.

“Skrul didn’t answer your question. And this map… Stollen, this world isn’t what they say it is.”