In the great deeps where sunlight never reaches a presence stirs, questioning, curious, then grows quiet.
It isn’t time yet.
One day, it will be time, and that will be the last day.
It isn’t time yet.
And yet. It is cold, dark and dull in the deeps where no life stirs to bother the old one.
Well, older one. It isn’t properly “old” yet, it would have to wait a long time to be properly old. Even for the old ones, the passage of time can be a matter of perception.
This one decides that though the day may be yet to come, it can always pop up and look.
So instead of turning back to its inner contemplation, it stirs the deep and begins to rise.
Initially, there is little to see. There is nothing living here to see in any case. The passing giant squid makes a snap decision and, moving rather quickly for its kind, changes course to avoid the space. He also goes to make a report to those who might care to know that what lurks beneath might be rising.
The darkness roils. Anyone watching might be able to catch a glimpse here and there. So far, glimpses won’t drive anyone mad. But that won’t last. One reason is that so far only two giant squid and one sperm whale have seen anything, and the whale became lunch shortly after so had no time to find out if madness would have been preferred.
The potted petunia had no opinion, having long ago exceeded the depth where it could even consider survival.
Before the roiling could properly leave the abyss, it was interrupted.
We mortals can’t comprehend the concerns of the elder gods. But the result is the same as if we assume we do. The presence was reminded that it had a duty to wait until the day arrived, and only then (and never before) was it to rise up to eat the world. That duty did not include just taking a peek at progress.
Either way, it casually captured the petunia as it returned to its depths.