(KOTG) Ch 7: Kyvareth And Lysera Stern Talk!

Thron struggled with the last few straps of his armor, grumbling under his breath. The silver plates were surprisingly light, but getting th

Thron struggled with the last few straps of his armor, grumbling under his breath. The silver plates were surprisingly light, but getting them all to sit right was another thing entirely. He'd never worn anything like this before—hell, he'd never even considered wearing armor before today. Yet here he was, gearing up like he was about to charge into battle.

Outside his chambers, Kyvareth stood with her arms crossed, her piercing blue eyes locked onto Lysera, who leaned casually against the stone wall. The tension between them was thick, almost suffocating.

Lysera arched an eyebrow, crimson eyes flicking toward Kyvareth. "You've been staring at me for a while now. If you have something to say, say it."

Kyvareth took a step closer, her tone edged with steel. "You need to show him respect."

Lysera let out a sharp breath through her nose, barely hiding a scoff. "Respect?" she repeated, shifting her weight against the wall. "For what? He has done nothing to earn it."

Kyvareth's expression darkened. "He is our king."

Lysera pushed off the wall, standing to her full, intimidating height. "We don't need a king. We never have." Her voice was quiet but laced with conviction. "We have ruled ourselves just fine for centuries. We have fought, bled, and survived without someone sitting on a throne telling us what to do. I won't let all of that crumble because of one little mite who was plucked from another world."

Kyvareth took another step forward, closing the space between them. Her presence, normally warm and confident, turned sharp—dangerous. "You forget yourself, Lysera," she said, her voice a low, warning growl.

Lysera held her ground, but there was a flicker of something in her crimson eyes—hesitation, perhaps.

"Our kind was never meant to rule," Kyvareth continued, voice unwavering. "We were created to serve—to protect, to follow the will of the one chosen by the Great Summoning. And now, after all these centuries, our king has finally arrived." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "I will not allow anything to harm him. Not the enemies at our borders... and not you."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Kyvareth's voice rose, echoing through the stone halls like rolling thunder. "Is that understood?"

Lysera's jaw tightened. She looked away, exhaling through her nose. "Understood."

Before Kyvareth could say anything else, Thron's voice called out from inside his chambers.

"Uh... Kyvareth? I think I'm ready."

Kyvareth's expression shifted in an instant, the harshness in her eyes melting away into something far more gentle. She turned on her heel and pushed open the enormous wooden doors. "Coming, Your Majesty!" she called, her tone light and cheerful, as if the previous conversation had never happened.

Inside, she found Thron sitting exactly where she'd left him—on the grand bed, dwarfed by the sheer size of it. His silver armor fit well, though it looked comically small compared to the giant warriors of Vorshalda. He gave her a somewhat awkward smile, shifting uncomfortably in the unfamiliar metal.

Kyvareth approached, kneeling beside the bed so that her face was level with him. Her blue eyes scanned him up and down before a warm smile touched her lips. "You look magnificent, Your Majesty."

Thron scratched the back of his head, clearly flustered. "Thanks... though I feel like I'm about to fall over every time I move."

Kyvareth chuckled, but the lightness in her eyes dimmed. Her expression turned more serious, and Thron caught it immediately. His own smile faltered.

"What?" he asked, looking down at his armor. "Did I put it on wrong?"

Kyvareth shook her head quickly. "No, it's not that." She hesitated for only a moment before sighing. "I have to ask you again, Thron. Please reconsider staying here in the castle. There is still so much you do not know about this world. This is dangerous."

Thron exhaled slowly. He did agree with her—he was in way over his head. But if he was supposed to rule this place, then sitting on a throne while other people fought for him wasn't an option. He wasn't even sure if he wanted this whole king thing, but if he was stuck with it, he had to at least try.

"I get what you're saying," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if I'm really going to be the ruler of this place—which, to be honest, I'm still kinda wrapping my head around—I need to at least try to stop a war before it happens." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Worst case scenario, I get to see you guys in action and try not to get stepped on."

Kyvareth blinked at him, clearly taken aback. She studied him for a long moment before something in her gaze softened. Slowly, she bowed her head.

"I understand," she said, her voice quieter this time. When she lifted her gaze again, she was smiling.

Then, with a practiced grace, she extended her hand, palm facing upward, an invitation.

"Shall we be off, my king?"

Thron glanced between her massive hand and the open door beyond, where he could already hear Lysera muttering something under her breath. He exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk.

"Well," he muttered to himself, stepping onto Kyvareth's palm. "No turning back now."