(KOTG) Ch 14: Royal Awakening, Kyvareths Warning!

Kyvareth knelt, the massive plates of her armor creaking softly as she brought herself low to the torn earth. All around her, the battlefield was still and breathless—ashen clouds hung thick in the sky, casting a pale, eerie light across the destruction. Shattered weapons, broken bodies, and stunned silence lay like scattered petals after a brutal storm.

But none of that mattered to Kyvareth.

All she could see was him.

Thron, her king, small in form but impossibly vast in power, rested in her palm. His tiny chest still rose and fell with rapid, confused breaths. His golden aura had dimmed, and the lightning that once danced along his skin was now little more than a memory.

She stared at him for a long moment. And then, gently, she leaned forward and pulled him close.

Her hands curled inward, protective, and she pressed him softly to the smooth steel of her chestplate—right where her heart would be. The hug wasn't tight, but it was firm, reverent. Kyvareth's eyes closed, and a quiet breath left her lips as she embraced him fully.

He had come back to her.

He was hers again.

"My king," she whispered, her voice barely carried on the breeze, "don't scare me like that again."

She could feel his small hands against the cold curve of her armor, his form twitching slightly, still dazed from what had happened. But he was warm, and alive. And that was enough.

Footsteps crunched through the cracked dirt.

Kyvareth opened her eyes and looked down to see Lysera approaching. The captain's posture was proud, as always, though her movements were slower—her arm still bore burns from the cannon blast, and blood streaked across her face like warpaint but soon these wounds would disappear as if they where never their. Her eyes were steady as they met Kyvareth's.

"Take him back," Lysera said. Her voice was calm, but there was a quiet urgency beneath it. "The king needs rest. We'll handle the rest of this."

Kyvareth nodded, understanding without needing another word. She glanced down at her king again, then looked to the battlefield—to the surviving soldiers of Vytharion who stood frozen in fear, scattered among the wreckage. Wide eyes followed her every move.

She rose to her full height, her massive frame casting a long shadow over the dazed soldiers. The wind caught the edge of her cloak, flaring it behind her like the wings of a hawk. In one arm she cradled Thron, in the other she let her fingers curl slightly into a loose, warning fist.

"Listen well," she called out, her voice carrying like thunder across the dead field. "Your lives are spared—not by your strength, not by your worth—but by the mercy of our king."

Gasps and murmurs broke out below, but none dared speak over her.

"Do not mistake that mercy for weakness," Kyvareth continued, her tone as sharp as a sword's edge. "This land is ours. This kingdom is his. And if you ever step foot in it again without his leave—there will be no forgiveness."

Silence.

Not a soul moved.

Satisfied, Kyvareth turned from the battlefield. Her golden hair whipped around her shoulders as she crouched down, knees bending low against the cracked soil.

And then—without so much as a countdown—she leapt.

The air thundered as her armored boots launched from the ground, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and debris. The very earth cracked where she had stood, and the few remaining soldiers could only shield their faces from the force of it.

Up, up she soared—skyward like a missile, her figure quickly shrinking against the heavens.

In her hands, cradled close to her chest, the little king slept.

***

(Thron)

I woke up in red.

Like, not blood red or sunset red—but a deep, rich, velvet red. The kind you see in royal curtains or the old storybooks they give you as a kid when they want you to think royalty live some kind of magical life. The sheets beneath me were soft. Too soft. Like cloud-soaked-in-silk soft. I stared at them for a long second, blinking slowly.

Was I... back?

I pushed myself upright, groggy, confused, and probably still radiating "just-woke-up" energy. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, and there was this dull pressure in the center of my chest, like I'd run a marathon without realizing it.

The room was massive—massive even for normal people. But for someone like me? Tiny me? It was absurd. The bed alone was bigger than most barns. Crimson silk sheets, dark wood carvings on the posts, and above me, a chandelier bigger than a carriage. A breeze stirred the curtains—gold-trimmed ones, of course. Everything screamed palace.

"Vorshalda..." I whispered, barely audible. "Am I really back?"

Before I could process that, the door swung open with a low groan.

And in walked Kyvareth.

Now, let me just say—seeing someone as huge and powerful as her walk in carrying a tray of food like a housemaid was... surreal. Her armor was gone, replaced by something simpler—dark fabric, trimmed with silver, and she was barefoot. It was probably the most casual I'd ever seen her.

She looked up, and the moment our eyes met, she beamed.

"My king!" she said, practically gasping, and before I could even sit up straight, she rushed toward the bed—those long legs of hers crossing the room in just a few steps. She reached the edge and, with more grace than I expected from someone so big, gently set the tray down on the bed near me.

She crouched low, bringing her face closer to mine. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft and full of concern. "Does anything hurt? Do you feel sick? Cold? Hungry?"

"Whoa, whoa," I said, holding up a hand. "Easy. I'm fine. Just..." I rubbed my temples. "Exhausted. My body feels like I went three rounds with a volcano."

Kyvareth let out a breath—like she'd been holding it since I passed out. "That's understandable," she said, kneeling beside the bed now. "You pushed yourself far beyond what anyone could've expected. What happened... it wasn't ordinary."

I leaned back a little, propping myself up on one elbow. "What did happen?"

She tilted her head. "What do you remember?"

I furrowed my brow, closing my eyes as I tried to piece it all together. "I remember being angry. Like... really angry. Everything felt hot and heavy. Like something inside me just snapped. Then I was glowing? There was lightning—gold and red—and I was yelling things I didn't even know I had the guts to say."

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Lysera!"

I sat straight up, almost falling out of the bed in the process. "Is she okay? She—she jumped in front of that blast. She got hit—"

"Shhh," Kyvareth reached out and gently pressed a finger against my chest, easing me back down into the pillows. "She's fine."

I exhaled, hard.

"She's resting," Kyvareth said, "and recovering quickly. She's far tougher than most. You know that."

"Yeah," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "Still. I didn't want her getting hurt because of me..."

There was a short silence. Not heavy—just... thoughtful.

Then Kyvareth said, "The enemy forces have retreated. After your outburst, they didn't need much convincing. We made sure they understood not to return."

I blinked. "Wait... so they're gone?"

She nodded. "Gone."

I let that sit for a moment. For once, there wasn't a sword over my head or a death machine aimed at my kingdom. I didn't know whether to celebrate or collapse again.

Kyvareth smiled then, standing up to her full height once more. "After you eat, there's a place I'd like to take you. A place of great importance."

I raised an eyebrow. "Another battlefield?"

She chuckled. "No. I promise. This one's... different. Special."

"Well... sure," I said, grabbing the little fork and poking at something that smelled like roasted mushrooms and buttered meat. "Just give me a minute to remember how to chew."

She placed a hand over her heart and bowed slightly. "Thank you, my king."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, already halfway through a bite. "Don't bow. You'll knock the roof off again."

She didn't respond.

But I swear—I saw her smile grow just a little wider.