Theron stood still, watching the majestic lion in front of him, who was roaring intensely, as if demanding something.
"What is it, friend?" Theron asked, trying to calm the beast with his calm voice.
The lion, Bartolomeu, gave him a piercing look, his roars diminishing but still charged with emotion. Theron sighed, realizing the meaning behind those gestures.
"Ah... I see. You want me to accept my role, don't you?" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "But, Barto, I'm not the one who should be here. I need to go."
The lion roared again, this time lower, like a mixture of lamentation and insistence. His imposing posture seemed to reinforce the message: you are the king now.
Theron raised an eyebrow, almost incredulous. "Your Majesty, huh? Who would have thought you would be my advisor."
