(KOTG) Ch 15: Journey To The First Tower!

Thron sat cross-legged in Kyvareth's warm palm, the gentle sway of her stride rocking him like a slow-moving ship. It wasn't the first time she carried him like this, but somehow it still felt... unreal. Everything around him was oversized—the sky seemed wider, the clouds fluffier, and the very air carried a weight to it, like the world itself acknowledged the presence of the Titan-born.

Below him, the grand kingdom of Vorshalda sprawled out like a living, breathing tapestry. Towering homes carved from marble and obsidian, streets paved with smooth gray stone wide enough to fit castles from his old world, and above all, the people—no, the giantesses—going about their day with surprising grace for beings who could crush mountains beneath their heels.

Some hauled tree-trunk-sized tools over their shoulders. Others walked in groups, armored or robed, speaking in low, melodic voices that sometimes rose in laughter. A group of children—if you could call something the size of a silo a child—ran through a courtyard, one tripping and knocking over a giant fruit cart, which caused a cascade of golden, apple-like orbs to roll through the street. The chaos only lasted a second before a gentle laugh rippled from a passing woman who knelt and began helping.

Then they saw him.

And just like that, everything stopped.

Heads turned, massive hands paused mid-task, voices quieted. As Kyvareth carried him down the broad avenues, the women of Vorshalda began to kneel, placing fists to their chests, bowing deeply with reverence that made Thron's face go warm.

He scratched the back of his neck, watching as even a woman easily five stories tall who was previously hammering stone dropped her tools just to kneel.

"Is this... normal?" Thron asked, still blinking at the surreal image of an entire civilization halting just because he happened to be passing by.

Kyvareth smiled softly, her blue eyes focused ahead. "Of course," she said, her voice a calm rumble. "To see the king is the greatest gift a Vorshaldian could receive. You are not just a ruler, Thron. You are the anchor of our history. The fulfillment of a sacred promise."

Thron turned his eyes away from the sight below, not really sure how to respond. "Still feels weird," he muttered. "Not in a bad way. Just... I dunno. I'm still getting used to all of this."

Kyvareth chuckled, a deep, soothing sound that vibrated through her palm and up into his spine. "And yet, you carry the weight of kings better than any could have hoped. You stood up to an invading army. You protected your people. You held back your wrath when you could've let it consume us all. I think you're doing wonderfully, my king."

Thron felt himself blush. Again. He was starting to wonder if it would ever stop happening around her.

"Thanks," he muttered, eyes dropping to the curled edge of her thumb where he balanced his foot. "But don't expect speeches out of me every day. I'm still figuring out what half this stuff even means."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," she said, her voice soft.

They reached the white gates of Ingram, the massive twin doors etched with swirling runes and symbols glowing faintly with blue light. With a small nod to the guards posted outside—each one armored head to toe in glimmering silver—they stepped through.

Thron looked back one last time as the gates began to close behind them. The white towers of the city faded into the distance as Kyvareth strode out onto the open green plains, her bare feet making soft thuds against the earth. The breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and tall grass. The sun hung low in the sky now, casting golden light over the hills.

He shifted in her hand. "So... where exactly are we going?"

Kyvareth didn't look down at him this time. Her expression changed, just slightly. The smile faded—not with coldness, but with quiet seriousness. "Someplace important," she said. "A place that only a true king may walk. A place you must see with your own eyes if you are to lead us."

That wasn't ominous at all.

Thron leaned back, gripping her fingers a little tighter as her pace picked up slightly. "And you can't just tell me where it is?"

Kyvareth finally looked down, and that small smile returned—but it didn't reach her eyes. "If I told you," she said, "it wouldn't mean the same."

"Right," Thron muttered under his breath. "Cryptic giant wisdom. Got it."

The wind tugged at his shirt as she pressed forward through the sea of green, the horizon wide and wild ahead of them.

Whatever was waiting, it wasn't just another throne or battle or ceremony.

The wind whispered low across the plains as Kyvareth came to a gradual stop, her long legs drawing still at the edge of a massive drop in the earth. Thron blinked, adjusting his position in her palm to get a better view. What he saw made his mouth fall slightly open.

Below them yawned a colossal chasm—an enormous canyon carved not by water or time but something older, deeper, and more deliberate. It was wide enough to hold a dozen castles side by side and so deep the bottom shimmered faintly with the reflection of water—an underground lake that glittered like a mirror touched by starlight.

And there, rising from the center of the lake like a crown forged from obsidian and memory, was a tower.

A tower so tall it vanished into the cavern's distant ceiling, as if even the stone above feared to halt its growth. It was ancient—no, timeless—its outer walls formed of smooth black stone streaked with glowing silver veins that pulsed like veins in a living body. Around its base coiled long bridges of stone, thin as threads from above but wide enough to carry even the largest of the Titan-born.

And right now, Kyvareth stood before one of them.

A stone bridge, weathered by ages, stretched across the chasm from the ledge where they now stood. Cracks and moss clung to its edges, but the core of it was sturdy—intentionally so. Its structure was flawless despite its age, like it had been waiting patiently all this time.

Kyvareth dropped to one knee, lowering Thron gently to the ground with care.

The bridge seemed small from up on her palm, but once his boots touched stone, Thron realized it was anything but. Each slab beneath his feet was wider than a banquet table, carved with old markings and symbols that glowed faintly blue beneath the setting sun.

"I welcome you, Your Majesty," Kyvareth said, her voice soft but heavy with weight. "I welcome you to the First Tower."