What of Cnut the Great? What of the mighty Emperor of the North Sea?
Weeks later, a ragged, starving group of 150 refugees washed up on the shores of England. Runa, clutching the English Book to her chest, stood before Emperor Cnut and Prince Haakon.
Haakon, now a grown man, wept when he saw the state of the Giant's family. He drew his sword and begged Cnut to launch the fleet to Norway to avenge Bilal.
Emperor Cnut sat on his throne. His face was stone. He looked at Runa, then at his nephew.
"Put away your sword, Haakon," Cnut said coldly. "The Giant played the game of Empires, and he lost the board."
"He was your ally!" Haakon shouted.
"He was a tool," Cnut corrected, utilizing pure 4D Geopolitical Intelligence. "He kept Olaf busy for ten years while I conquered England. He did his job. If I sail to Norway now to avenge a dead Muslim, the Pope will excommunicate me, and my English lords will rebel. Axiomra is ash."
Cnut looked down at Torik, who stood silently beside Runa, his eyes burning with a quiet, lethal intelligence.
"But," Cnut said softly, "the Giant's mind did not burn. I will give you lands here in England. I will protect you. Not for revenge. But because you know how to make the Roman Stone and the Flying Fire. The Giant is dead, but his science belongs to me now."
Back in the ruined plaza of Axiomra, the Kings prepared the end.
They did not take Bilal to Rome or Nidaros. Olaf knew that if he marched the Giant across the country, the peasants who loved him might riot and try to free him. He had to be killed in his own home, to prove to the world that his magic had failed.
Bilal was dragged to the center of the courtyard he had paved with his own hands. He was covered in dirt, his beard matted with blood. He looked up at the sky.
He thought of the 20% who escaped. He thought of Torik reading the English Book in safety. He thought of Astrid's face, and the 2AM jokes by the fire.
King Olaf stood before him, drawing his longsword.
"You are a demon," Olaf proclaimed loudly to the gathered army. "You defied the natural order. You defied God. Look at your city now, Giant. It is dust. Your legacy is nothing."
Bilal looked at the King. Even on his knees, bleeding and broken, the 105kg Warlord radiated an aura that made Olaf's soldiers take a nervous step back.
Bilal did not beg. He did not curse them.
He let out a soft, wet cough, which turned into a quiet, rumbling laugh.
"You think you won," Bilal whispered, his voice carrying the calm, absolute certainty of a man who knew the future. "You can burn the wood. You can kill the body. But you cannot un-teach the math. My children are in the wind, Olaf. The seed is planted. In a thousand years, my people will touch the stars, and you... you will just be a footnote in my history."
Bilal closed his eyes. He recited the Shahada silently in his heart. There is no God but Allah.
He did not feel the blade when it fell. He only felt the warmth of the sun, imagining the little sparrow he had picked up from the mud, soaring high above the clouds.