Dawn broke over Willowmere with a chorus of birdsong, but the village was far from peaceful. Rowan was the first to return to the tree-house bedchamber, carrying a tray of warm tea and fresh fruits. Her green eyes widened in horror as she saw Ethan lying pale and still, bruises blooming across his hips and chest like dark storm clouds.
"Ethan!" she cried, dropping the tray with a clatter. The sound brought the others running—Elara, Sylva, Liora, Talia, Lysa, Mira, and a dozen more who had shared in the night's celebrations.
They clustered around him, hands hovering, voices overlapping in panic.
"What happened?" Sylva demanded, gently pressing her fingers to his ribs. Ethan winced, breath hissing through gritted teeth.
"Vaeloria," he managed, voice weak. "She… disguised herself. Came in here. I couldn't… couldn't fight her off."
Gasps rippled through the room. Elara's blue eyes filled with tears. "That monster! How did she breach the wards?"
Liora knelt, her auburn hair brushing his arm as she examined the fractures. "His pelvis is broken—cracked clean through. And two ribs… gods, she nearly crushed him."
Rowan sobbed openly, pressing her freckled cheek to his hand. "We failed you. We left you alone…"
Seraphine arrived moments later, staff in hand, her silver-streaked hair disheveled from being roused early. She waved the women back and placed a glowing palm over Ethan's injuries. Warm light pulsed, but it only eased the pain slightly, not mending the bones.
"Shadow magic clings to the wounds," she said gravely. "Simple healing won't suffice. He needs time… and stronger aid."
The women were devastated. Tears flowed freely as they realized the extent of his injuries. Talia, the archer, clenched her fists. "That giantess will pay. But first—we care for him."
And care they did.
For the next week, Ethan was spoiled beyond imagining. The village turned its full attention to his recovery, transforming the tree-house into a sanctuary of comfort. Soft pillows and furs cradled his broken body; enchanted vines adjusted to support his weight without pressure. Women rotated in shifts, never leaving him alone.
Rowan stayed closest, feeding him by hand—sweet star-peaches mashed into nectar, honeyed breads, revitalizing elixirs that warmed his blood. She sang soft lullabies, her voice trembling with emotion, while stroking his hair.
Elara and Sylva bathed him daily with warm, scented cloths—gentle touches that avoided his wounds but lingered on unbruised skin, easing tension with feather-light massages. "You've given us so much," Elara whispered one afternoon, tears dripping onto his chest. "Only four pregnant so far—Rowan, Talia, Lysa, and now Mira confirmed this morning. But to repopulate Elysara properly… a thousand women need your seed. We can't lose you."
Sylva nodded, silver hair gleaming. "The world is vast—villages, cities, realms beyond count. One man for all of us… you must heal."
Liora organized the visitors: women from the village came in pairs or trios, sharing stories, offering gentle companionship. Some read from ancient scrolls of prophecy; others danced slowly in silk robes, their movements hypnotic but chaste. Talia and Lysa guarded the door, bows at the ready, vowing no shadow would slip through again.
Mira, now glowing with early pregnancy, curled against his side often. "Your child grows in me," she murmured, pressing his hand to her belly. "But we need more. So many more."
Ethan lay there, pain dulled by potions, heart swelling with their devotion. The injuries throbbed constantly—a reminder of Vaeloria's brutality—but the women's care made it bearable. He slept fitfully, dreamed of shadows and giants, but woke to warm bodies and loving eyes.
On the seventh day, Seraphine returned with a newcomer: a healer from the distant Crystal Spires, summoned at great haste. Her name was Elowen—a ethereal beauty with flowing white hair, luminous skin, and eyes like polished amethysts. She wore a robe of shimmering blue, embroidered with runes of restoration.
"I am a conduit of life energy," Elowen explained, her voice melodic and calm. The women gathered around the bed, watching anxiously. "To heal wounds twisted by shadow magic, I must draw out the corruption through… intimate means. He must release four times, back to back, into my mouth. Each climax will drain his life force temporarily, purging the darkness—but the act will replenish it tenfold, knitting bones and mending flesh."
The women murmured approval, though worry etched their faces.
Elowen knelt beside the bed, her robe falling open to reveal full, pale breasts. She leaned forward, white hair cascading like a veil, and took Ethan's soft cock into her warm mouth without preamble.
Magic hummed in the air.
She sucked gently at first—tongue swirling, lips sealing tight. Despite the pain in his hips, arousal stirred quickly under her enchanted touch. Her amethyst eyes locked on his as she bobbed slowly, building rhythm.
The first orgasm came fast—Ethan groaned, hips twitching involuntarily against the fracture. Thick ropes spilled into her throat; she swallowed greedily, a soft glow emanating from her skin.
But she didn't stop.
The second built immediately—her suction intensifying, one hand rolling his balls while the other traced glowing runes on his thigh. Fatigue washed over him like a wave, life energy draining, but pleasure crested again. He came harder, vision blurring.
Still, she continued.
The third was agony and ecstasy—his body weakening, breaths shallow from cracked ribs, but her magic forced the release. Cum pulsed weakly now; Elowen hummed approval, the glow around her brightening.
The fourth nearly broke him. He felt hollow, drained to the core—life force ebbing like sand through fingers. But as he spilled the last drops, a surge rushed back: warm, vital energy flooding his veins. Bones knit with audible snaps; pain vanished like mist in sunlight.
Elowen pulled back, lips glistening, her own body trembling with absorbed power. "It is done," she whispered, voice husky. "He is whole—and stronger than before."
The women cheered, crowding in to touch him, confirm the healing. Rowan kissed him deeply, tears of relief on her cheeks.
Ethan sat up—pain-free, invigorated. The road to a thousand pregnancies stretched ahead, but with these women at his side, it felt possible.
Yet in the shadows beyond the wards, Vaeloria waited, her promise echoing in his mind.
She would be back.