Aegis Prime stood at the edge of the village and did not move. The giant was fifty feet of iron and old war-plate, built long ago to break armies. Now Aegis Prime wanted only one thing: to hear the people speak a real name, not the word they always used. Weapon. That word had followed the giant through every battle. It clung to the plating like rust. A growl rolled up from the tree line. A drake the size of a horse pushed through the brush, scales smoking, mouth bright with fire. It stumbled toward the cottages gathered in a ring around the great flowering tree. Children stood frozen on the little bridge. Lanterns swung. Somewhere a mother screamed. Aegis Prime knew the fast answer. One fist. One strike. The drake would end in a single blow, the way every threat had ended before. But the villagers were watching. They always watched. If the giant crushed the creature, they would see the tool again, and the name would never come. So Aegis Prime chose the slow way. The giant knelt. Iron knees sank into the soft grass without a sound. Aegis Prime lowered one huge hand, palm flat, and laid it between the drake and the bridge. Not a wall to trap. A road to turn. The drake snapped at the metal fingers. Fire washed over the plating and did nothing. Aegis Prime held still and let it burn itself tired. Slowly the giant curled the hand, nudging the creature away from the houses, back toward the trees. Gentle. Patient. The way a person moves a frightened animal, not the way a machine ends one. The drake's fire guttered. Its legs shook. It was not a monster. It was lost, and small, and afraid. Aegis Prime slid one finger under its belly and lifted. The creature hung there, blinking, too tired to fight. The giant carried it past the last cottage and set it down in the deep grass beyond the village ring. The drake looked back once, then bolted into the dark. Aegis Prime turned. The villagers had come out from behind their doors. They stared up at the giant with faces the giant had never seen them make. Not fear. Something softer. A child broke from the crowd and ran to the giant's foot. She pressed one small hand against the warm iron. "You saved him," she said. "You didn't hurt him. You're not a weapon." She frowned, thinking hard. "You need a real name." Aegis Prime went very still. The crowd murmured. An old man nodded slowly. A woman said the child was right. They began to talk among themselves, low and quick, and the giant caught the shape of it. They were arguing over what to call their protector. For the first time, they were not deciding what to use the giant for. They were deciding who the giant was.