We drifted downward in perfect, undisturbed silence. I slipped my hands into the pockets of my heavy coat, watching the dark water slip past our invisible perimeter.
It provided an excellent environment for reflection.
The deeper we travelled, the more the true shape of the oceanic hierarchy revealed itself. It was a staggering, highly volatile pyramid of power, built almost entirely on localised violence and ancient intimidation.
"Where exactly are we going?"
I asked, noticing a subtle, ambient shift in the water temperature outside my barrier.
The freezing, absolute zero of the aphotic zone was slowly beginning to give way to a faint, radiant warmth. It wasn't the artificial, magical heat of a city dome. It was raw, geological power.
"Trench-Spire, it is an ancient, fully submerged volcanic caldera. And, more importantly, it is currently hosting the Abyssal Grand Prix."
Krave announced, her voice dropping into a smooth, deeply enthusiastic register.
