Chương 94: Awkward Silence

The giant began sitting up, and soon found himself upright in the hammock, studying the young man before him with unmistakable curiosity. Lloyd instinctively took a step back, feeling the ground tremble faintly beneath his feet with every movement the giant made, the stems of blue flowers around him swaying as though from some invisible shockwave rippling outward in rings.

Swallowing hard, his mouth suddenly dry, Lloyd finally managed to take in every detail of the giant, trying to memorize each one in case it turned out to matter. He was dressed in a green suit, beneath which a dark shirt and dark tie were neatly knotted — despite his massive size, the suit fit him perfectly, without a single wrinkle, as though tailored by the finest craftsman alive, made specifically for this colossal frame.

Over the suit hung a green cloak, adorned with an assortment of medals for some long-past achievements, glinting dully in the light of the fake sky, each medal roughly the size of a grown man's palm, engraved with intricate patterns and inscriptions worn nearly illegible by time.

Lloyd had seen decorations like these before, though judging by their outdated, old-fashioned design, it had to have been at least a century ago, back in the old history textbooks he'd flipped through as a child, long before the Catastrophe. Then the Old Man's voice broke the thoughtful silence — low, resonant, as though rising from somewhere deep within his chest, sending a faint vibration through the very air of the clearing, making the nearest petals tremble ever so slightly.

— Boy, you came from beyond the Veil, didn't you? The question caught Lloyd completely off guard, freezing him for a moment, his heart skipping a beat, an icy chill running down his spine that felt entirely out of place against the warm, tranquil atmosphere of the clearing.

"How could he possibly know that? Did they manage to dig up even that?" Noticing the confusion on Lloyd's face, and how long and intently he'd been staring at his cloak, as though trying to place something familiar about it, the Old Man continued, smiling warmly into his thick gray beard, which hung nearly to his chest, a few strands braided into neat, thin plaits. — You're looking at my cloak like you've seen one before. Nobody wears these anymore these days, so that's what made me think it.

The words visibly eased some of Lloyd's tension, though the underlying unease never fully faded, continuing to hum quietly somewhere beneath his ribs, like a taut string. Trying to ease the atmosphere a little, he finally worked up the nerve to speak, his voice coming out a bit steadier than he'd expected, though still carrying a faint, traitorous tremor. — Were you alive before the Catastrophe? Are you from beyond the Veil too?

Lloyd's eyes gleamed with genuine interest, a tiny, tentative spark of hope flickering inside him — the hope of finally meeting someone who might understand where he'd come from, who might remember that same, long-vanished world, the same streets, the same faces now fading from most people's memory. But the Old Man shook his head at once, his thick beard swaying side to side like a pendulum marking off invisible time. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author.

Report any sightings. — No, this cloak belonged to my father. The Old Man broke into a wide grin, revealing strong teeth, slightly yellowed with age, even but bearing the visible marks of many years. — I'm not quite that old.

At these words he burst into loud, booming laughter, so powerful that the ground beneath Lloyd's feet seemed to tremble with a faint, noticeable shudder, and several of the nearby flowers bent under the gust of displaced air, their petals scattering like a sudden shower, swirling through the air in blue flakes. The laughter rolled across the endless clearing, echoing off who knew what, since there seemed to be no horizon here at all, the sound simply dissolving somewhere into infinity.

Suddenly the Old Man rose to his full, towering height, sending Lloyd's knees trembling traitorously, his body instinctively recoiling, bracing to run if the giant so much as took a step toward him, every muscle tensed in anticipation of possible danger.

But then the Old Man simply sat down right beside him — sitting with such heavy, thunderous force, with such a deep, ground-shaking sound, that Lloyd couldn't help but jump where he stood, several flowers caught directly beneath the giant's massive body crushed beyond recovery, releasing one last, faint trace of their scent.

"How much does this guy even weigh." The Old Man patted the ground with his massive palm, inviting Lloyd to sit beside him — his hand was noticeably larger than any human's, old, whitened scars visible across the knuckles, evidence of long-forgotten battles from ages past.

Not particularly eager to comply but unwilling to refuse such an imposing companion, Lloyd did as asked, settling onto the soft, petal-strewn grass a couple of meters from the giant, keeping a respectful, safe distance, already mentally mapping out an escape route just in case. And so the two of them sat facing each other — the Old Man studying Lloyd intently, with open curiosity, tilting his head to one side, as though examining some rare, fascinating specimen behind museum glass.

Lloyd, in turn, nervously sifted through his own thoughts, avoiding the giant's gaze, feeling like some tiny, defenseless insect beneath that watchful, appraising stare, preferring instead to fix his eyes on the ground beneath him, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

They sat like that for what felt to Lloyd like several unbearably long seconds, filled with heavy, probing silence, broken only by the faint rustle of flowers in a nonexistent breeze and a distant, barely perceptible hum whose source Lloyd couldn't identify, as though some enormous, invisible machine were operating somewhere beyond sight. That silence pressed down far harder than any loud noise could have, stretching every second out like thick, viscous tar.

The Old Man, meanwhile, continued studying him — not with hostility, but not quite warmth either, more with the calm, detached appraisal of a skilled craftsman examining a new, untested tool, weighing what it might be good for, whether it was even worth investing time and effort into. A light breeze finally managed to break through the still air of the clearing, stirring the edge of the green cloak, and one of the medals gave a soft clink against its neighbor, a brief, metallic chime.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Lloyd finally spoke, trying to keep his voice steady despite the anxiety twisting his insides into a tight knot. — What exactly is the third stage supposed to be?