Fractured
The leviathans.
Ancient, slumbering beings, cradled for millennia in the abyssal plains, wrapped in shadows and veils of phosphorescence. They had been his comfort as a boy: the knowledge that something older and mightier than storms slept below, guardians of balance who never rose without cause.
Now they stirred.
Their immense thoughts, slow as tides, once a steady presence, had become a confused symphony of unease. Their instincts—perfected over ages to follow the ocean’s rhythms—were shattering against the violent, alien intrusion.
Bab Populer