The silence following the roar of the collapsing tunnel entrance was an illusion. Lloyd felt the cold seeping into his bones, but sharper than the weather was the sensation of being watched by something whose scale defied his comprehension.
He remained crouched behind an ice formation, back pressed against the jagged surface. His lungs demanded air, but he only allowed them short, silent sips, filtered through gritted teeth. The giants were there. They weren't mere brutes; they were monuments of flesh and will that had claimed these depths as their absolute kingdom.
He had caught the details in those seconds of desperate flight. Massive height, skin with the density of granite, and tattoos pulsing with an energy his **Leviathan Pupil**—now reduced to a blurry, organic vision—could barely interpret. But above all, there was that presence. An atmospheric pressure that made the simple act of existing in the same space a battle of endurance.
