(KOTG) Ch 16: The Awaiting Place!

The wind whispered across the bridge, carrying the scent of ancient stone and something older. Each of Kyvareth's heavy footfalls echoed across the chasm as she strode confidently along the wide stone path, her gleaming silver armor catching the light of the sun that barely reached down into the great crevasse. Thron sat nestled in her open palm, gripping the edge of her fingers as he stared up at the tower that loomed ever closer.

He had thought the buildings in Vorshalda were big.

But this... this was impossible.

The First Tower stretched into the sky like the world's spine. Its black stone walls shimmered with veins of silver and gold that pulsed faintly, like the tower was alive. Arched windows dotted the impossibly high walls, though they looked more like gaping mouths than anything else. The closer they got, the more Thron could feel it—a hum beneath the stone bridge, a vibration in the air. Like the tower was waiting. Watching.

And then he saw them.

At the end of the bridge, just before the towering gates carved with symbols in a language Thron didn't recognize, stood a semicircle of towering figures—giant women, like Kyvareth, but dressed in pure white robes that clung to their powerful forms. The fabric was so thin, it may as well have been mist. Each woman wore a hood, her face hidden behind a veil made of thin white mesh that rippled in the breeze. Their hands were clasped, their bare feet silent upon the stone.

All except one.

She stood at the front of the group, her robe no less revealing than the others', but her face... it was uncovered.

And Thron's breath hitched the moment he looked at her.

She was radiant—not in the way statues or paintings were beautiful, but in a real, earth-shattering way. Her skin was a warm, glowing white kissed by sunlight. Her eyes were a piercing shade of blue, like the sky itself  he had ever seen, and framed by lashes so long they almost brushed her cheeks. Her hair was light brown—to the point that it was almost silver, and it had a wildness to it as it cascaded down her back. Her smile was calm, kind... and just a little amused.

She was easily one of the tallest women he had seen yet—taller even than Kyvareth by a few feet—and her presence felt like standing in front of a temple carved from fire and starlight.

Kyvareth slowed her steps and bowed her head slightly—not just in respect, but reverence.

"They are the Onlookers," Kyvareth said quietly, voice laced with the kind of awe one rarely heard from a warrior of her strength. "The ones who see the will of the Creator."

Thron blinked. "The Creator?" he echoed, as if the word had been plucked out of myth.

Kyvareth nodded. "The One who made us. Who forged our bodies from stone and wind and gave breath to our people. The Onlookers were the first born of his blessing. They carry his voice. His wisdom."

Thron glanced back at the woman with the unveiled face. "And... her?"

"She is the First Among Them," Kyvareth said. "High Onlooker Naeloria."

Naeloria took a step forward, her movements smooth and elegant like flowing water. Her gaze was locked onto Thron, not unkindly, but with a kind of quiet certainty. As though she'd been waiting for this moment her entire life.

Thron cleared his throat and tried not to shrink under her gaze. "S-She's looking at me," he whispered.

"She has been watching you since the moment you arrived in Vorshalda," Kyvareth said softly. "They all have."

That didn't help.

Naeloria finally spoke, her voice like the chime of glass in warm wind—ethereal and distant, but somehow comforting. "So this is the boy-king who made the mountains kneel."

Thron blinked.

"Mountains kneel..." The words echoed again in his mind, quieter this time, but no less strange. What did she mean by that? It was poetic, sure, but also kind of terrifying if he really thought about it. He remembered the battle from earlier—the screaming, the blood, the way the warriors of Vorshalda didn't just fight their enemies... they erased them. The ground split beneath their steps. The sky itself seemed to shiver with every leap they made. That kind of power... maybe that's what she meant. Maybe it wasn't just mountains that knelt. Maybe everything did.

A shadow moved over him, pulling him from the spiral of his thoughts. The soft glow of the lake dimmed briefly, and instinctively, Thron looked up.

Naeloria.

She had bent down, her towering form lowering with a graceful ease that didn't match her size at all. Her shimmering blue eyes locked onto him with a quiet interest, and Thron suddenly felt like a tiny animal under a magnifying glass. Her gaze wasn't cruel or mocking—just curious. And somehow, that made it worse.

"Ah—" he managed, though nothing coherent followed.

Naeloria's smile widened just slightly. She leaned in a little closer, and the scent of vanilla wrapped around him, warm and clean and completely distracting. Her long, light brown hair spilled forward, framing her face and falling like silken ropes to the stone bridge. She was dressed in flowing white robes that shimmered faintly in the light, and though the robe was modest in some ways, it didn't do much to hide her curves. She was stunning. Completely, utterly stunning.

"You were right, Ky," Naeloria said casually, glancing sideways without taking her eyes off Thron. "He really is a cutie."

Thron's face went red. Not slightly red. Full, tomato-faced, ears-burning red.

"I—uh..." he tried to say something smart, something dignified. Instead he just kind of stood there awkwardly on Kyvareth's palm, frozen.

Kyvareth gave a quiet chuckle from above. "He blushes easily."

"That's a good sign," Naeloria said, a teasing glint in her eye.

And then, without warning, she lowered herself further. Naeloria bent her legs beneath her and knelt smoothly onto the stone bridge. Her robes shifted as she did, spreading around her like a pool of moonlight. One by one, the priestesses behind her followed, dropping to their knees in perfect unison. Their heads bowed, faces still hidden behind their soft veils. Only Naeloria remained looking up at him, her smile gentler now, more sincere.

"I welcome you, my king," she said, voice calm, and steady, and loud enough to carry across the bridge without ever rising above a soft tone.

Thron swallowed hard. "Um... thanks," he managed.

He had no idea how to respond to a group of otherworldly women kneeling before him like he was some kind of chosen hero. Hell, he barely knew how to respond to compliments. This? This was next level awkward.

Still, he tried to straighten his posture a bit. He figured it was the least he could do.

Kyvareth remained quiet behind him, letting the moment settle. She didn't need to say anything. The way she held him in her palm, high and steady, told him she believed this moment was important. Not just for him—but for them.

Thron looked from Naeloria to the priestesses behind her, then back to Kyvareth. He could feel the weight of their eyes, even the hidden ones. He wasn't sure if he was ready for this whole king thing. But they were looking at him like he already was. Like it didn't matter how many doubts he had.

Maybe he'd never feel completely ready. But maybe... that wasn't the point.

He scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "So... this is the First Tower, huh?"

Naeloria nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. And it has waited a long time to be opened again." Her smile lingered, like she knew something he didn't. "We are honored to have you here."

Thron tried not to panic. "Right... well. Glad to be here."

He glanced behind him at Kyvareth, who offered a small, proud nod.

It was official. No more interviews. No more couches. No more begging for minimum wage jobs.

He was in the middle of a kingdom of giants... standing on the palm of a warrior who could probably bench-press a mountain... being welcomed by a group of mysterious priestesses...

...and somehow, against all logic, this was his life now.

And the weirdest part?

It didn't feel like a dream.

It felt like the beginning of something big.