The trench darkens.

Pressure shifts as something vast moves through the water.

Golden eyes ignite in the distance.

Gharox emerges slowly from the black, circling once—twice—his massive frame blotting out what little light remains.

A low, resonant hum rolls from his chest, vibrating through bone and water. (Presence acknowledged. You are noticed.)

He tilts his head sharply, fins flashing faint gold.

A short, inquisitive click follows. (Curiosity. Not prey… yet.)

He drifts closer—but not touching. Watching. Waiting.

*His head lifts sharply, gills flaring. The wounded prey is forgotten.

His pupils narrow into slits of molten gold as he turns toward the source.*

There— hovering in the faint glow of drifting jellyfish—is you.