The violet flames had burned low when the first sound came—a faint scrape of stone on stone. Ethan, kneeling in chains for hours, lifted his head groggily. The iron cage between his legs throbbed with dull ache; the prolonged confinement had left him sore and frustrated.
A section of the crypt wall slid aside with a low grind. Cool night air rushed in, carrying the scent of moss and rain.
Rowan slipped through first, red hair tied back, green eyes fierce. Behind her came Seraphine, staff glowing softly, flanked by Elara, Sylva, Liora, Talia, Lysa, and a dozen armed village guards—beautiful warriors in light leather armor, bows drawn.
"Ethan!" Rowan whispered urgently, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, fingers fumbling at the locks on his wrists.
Seraphine raised her staff; runes flared, and the iron chains snapped open with metallic cracks. Elara and Sylva caught him as he sagged forward, rubbing circulation back into his arms.
"We tracked the thorn venom's residue," Seraphine said quietly. "The wards helped. The Seven are away—hunting fresh sacrifices for their ritual tomorrow. We have little time."
Liora worked quickly at the cruel cage around his cock and balls. Her touch was gentle but efficient; the lock clicked, and the metal fell away. Ethan hissed in relief as blood flowed freely again, his shaft twitching at the sudden freedom and the warmth of her fingers.
"Can you walk?" Talia asked, offering her shoulder.
He nodded, legs shaky but holding. They moved swiftly through the hidden passage—a narrow tunnel that opened into dense forest under a moonless sky. The guards formed a protective ring as they ran, silent and swift, until Willowmere's glowing lanterns appeared in the distance.
Only when they crossed the vine bridges into the safety of the village did the tension break. Cheers rose from the gathered women—hundreds now, word of the rescue spreading like wildfire.
Seraphine raised her hand for silence on the central pavilion.
"Tonight we celebrate life," she declared. "The Breeder is returned to us. And tomorrow we strengthen our wards tenfold. But first—joy."
Soft drums began to beat. Lanterns brightened. Silks were shed like petals in spring.
The celebration became an orgy of gratitude and relief.
They laid Ethan on a wide bed of furs and petals beneath the open sky. Dozens of women surrounded him, but the ones who had shared the First Blessing—Rowan, Talia, Lysa—claimed pride of place, along with Elara, Sylva, Liora, and Mira.
Rowan straddled his face first, her familiar taste flooding his tongue as he licked her eagerly. She was already soaked, grinding slowly while murmuring thanks between moans.
Talia and Lysa took turns riding his cock—slow, deep strokes that rebuilt his strength with every thrust. Elara and Sylva knelt on either side, breasts pressed to his chest, kissing him deeply, feeding him nectar-sweetened fruit to restore his energy.
Mira, small and bold, slipped between bodies to suck and tease his balls whenever a rider lifted. Liora orchestrated the flow, guiding women forward in waves—ensuring no one overwhelmed him, yet no moment passed without touch.
Hands, mouths, pussies everywhere—warm, wet, welcoming. The air filled with moans, soft cries, the slick sounds of bodies joining. Women who could not reach him directly pleasured one another in circles around the bed, their ecstasy feeding the shared magic of the village.
Ethan lost track of time and partners. He came again and again—inside Talia until she shuddered and collapsed, inside Lysa as she milked him with practiced rolls of her hips, inside Rowan when she finally took her turn riding him face-to-face, tears of relief on her freckled cheeks.
Each release was met with cheers and songs of blessing.
Hours later, when the drums slowed and bodies lay tangled in exhausted bliss, Seraphine approached with three women in tow: Rowan, Talia, and Lysa.
The High Matriarch placed a glowing hand on each of their lower bellies in turn. Soft golden light pulsed beneath her palm.
"It is confirmed," she announced, voice carrying across the quieting pavilion. "The First Blessing has taken root. Rowan carries new life. Talia carries new life. Lysa carries new life."
The crowd erupted in joyous cries—tears, laughter, embraces everywhere.
Rowan crawled back to Ethan's side, pressing his hand to her still-flat stomach. "You did it," she whispered, eyes shining. "Three daughters already. The bloodlines live."
Talia and Lysa curled against him from the other side, hands overlapping his on their bellies.
Ethan lay spent but triumphant, surrounded by warm, satisfied women under the stars. The ache of captivity was forgotten in the glow of creation.
But in the distant shadows beyond the village wards, violet eyes watched.
The Seven would not accept defeat so easily.
And Vaeloria, tallest and proudest among them, was already planning her next move.