High in the Sorgül cirques, hidden from casual view, lies Lost Lake—a dark, still body of water that the giants refuse to approach.
The lake has no outlet and no apparent source. Its surface is perfectly calm even in high winds. The water is cold beyond reason—lowlanders who have tested it report numbness within seconds, frostbite within minutes. Nothing lives in it. Nothing grows on its shores.
The giants will not speak of Lost Lake directly. Pressed, they say only that something sleeps beneath the water—something that was old when their ancestors first entered the basin. The giants' arrival disturbed it. Their songs drove it down. But songs are forgotten, and the sleeper is patient.
Those who camp near Lost Lake report dreams of drowning—of sinking through black water toward something vast and aware at the bottom. The dreams intensify each night. By the third night, most flee. Those who stay longer are never seen again. Search parties occasionally find their camps, gear undisturbed, no sign of struggle. The dreamers simply... aren't there anymore.
The giants have a saying: The lake remembers everyone who forgets it. They do not explain what this means.