Unbuckling his plate armor, Marcus dropped the steel chest piece onto a velvet chair inside their private palace suite. He aggressively unlaced his gauntlets and threw them onto the stone floor, desperate to shed the physical burden after the disastrous summit.
"Voranthar completely lost his mind, Elena," Marcus muttered while running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "He was just throwing a tantrum to scare Kronos. Rambling about nonsense."
Elena paced near the grand fireplace. Her interwoven silver battle-robes swished against the ground as she nervously wrung her hands. "He specifically said someone from our world, Marcus. Someone discarded who served nothing."
'It means absolutely nothing. The king is insane,' Marcus thought, trying to forcefully push the creeping dread out of his mind.
"It means nothing," he argued defensively, refusing to meet her gaze.
