The roar that followed the Giant King's command was not a sound, but a shockwave that swept through the gelid air, shearing flakes of frost from the millennial columns. The primordial ice—a substance that defied the laws of thermodynamics and the flow of time—responded to its sovereign's bellow with a radiance so white it burned the retina. Standing in the center of that cathedral of cold, Lloyd felt the environment turn hostile at a molecular level. The King's authority did not just rule over his subjects; it ruled over stillness itself.
The King stepped down from his crystal throne. It was a tectonic movement. A single strike of his boot upon the dais was enough for the frozen bridge Lloyd had just crossed to shatter in a symphony of cracks, racing through miles of structure in a heartbeat.
