Rumbling—!
The sound rolled through the valley like thunder trapped beneath stone.
Even with the weight of its body reduced tenfold through Luciel's control over gravity, the Rock Tortoise was still a walking mountain — each step setting the earth trembling and scattering dust from the cliffs.
From a nearby hill, a group of hunters froze mid-conversation.
"What was that?" Carson frowned, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his weapon. The sound came again, deep and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of the land itself.
One of his men leaned closer. "Captain, you hear it too?"
Carson didn't answer. His instincts — honed by years in the wasteland — told him that whatever made that sound wasn't ordinary prey. He climbed a large boulder in quick strides and raised a spyglass to his eye.
And then, he stopped breathing.
A hill was moving.
Not metaphorically — an actual hill, massive and slow, crawling across the horizon on limbs of stone.
He blinked once. Twice.
