As you enter the inner courtyard, a giant is kneeling against the surrounding wall as if to support it with his Atlas' shoulder: you give the slightest of starts.

Yet he is no different from those you saw outside, their backs to the ramparts, their expressionless eyes on the lookout for any invader. They were in their place, it was in the order of things, but what is this monumental watchman doing inside the castle?

It is assumed that the invader will overcome the fortifications, as if the virtual siege evoked by the giants' presence were somehow invisibly underway.

He is imposing when seen up close.

You take a few steps in his shadow. Some of you finger his powerful knees of sand. The children climb up his torso to perch on his shoulders. You envy them and wish you could follow. They grasp onto his face, causing his ears and nose to crumble. When they come back down, he looks somewhat less human, somewhat less benevolent.

Something in his damaged features awakens in you the specter of a silent threat. You begin to dread a vengeance as invisible as the siege.

You scold the children.