Thalassor

In the crushing dark beneath the first oceans, something uncoiled. Thalassor

had no beginning and no end — or if he did, no creature ever lived long enough

to find either. His body wound through the deepest trenches like a living

current, so vast that his movement alone stirred the first megastorms on the

surface above. Where he passed, the seafloor split and reformed. Canyons

opened in his wake that would outlast continents. Mareon, who ruled the

waters, did not command Thalassor — he simply watched, the way one watches a

river that has chosen its own course. The great serpent did not hunt out of

hunger. He moved because stillness did not exist for him. And when the gods

finally stilled the First Beasts, the ocean trenches Thalassor carved remained

— scars in the earth so deep that even now, nothing that enters them returns.