Ethan's back rested against the smooth trunk of an ancient flowering tree, its petals drifting down like soft pink snow. The meadow around him hummed with life—butterflies dancing in the warm air, distant birds calling in melodic harmony. Yet all he could focus on was the lingering throb in his groin and the pleasant ache of exhaustion settling into his limbs.
Sylva remained on her knees between his spread thighs, silver hair tousled, violet eyes half-lidded in quiet bliss. Her delicate silk garment still clung modestly to her body, though her lips were swollen and glistening from the thorough attention she had just given him. A single pearly bead of his release clung to the corner of her mouth. She had not swallowed everything immediately. Instead, she held the last thick drop on her tongue, eyes closed, as though performing a sacred rite.
Elara and Liora hovered close, barely daring to breathe. Elara's golden hair spilled over one shoulder, her hands clasped tightly beneath her chin. Liora's auburn locks framed a face flushed with hope, emerald eyes fixed on Sylva's serene expression.
The silence stretched, heavy with anticipation.
Finally, Sylva opened her eyes. A slow, radiant smile bloomed across her face—pure, unrestrained joy that lit her features like sunrise on fresh snow.
"It works," she whispered, voice trembling with emotion. She tilted her head back gracefully, letting the final warm pulse slide down her throat before continuing. "His seed lives. It is strong, abundant… perfect."
She turned to Elara and Liora, tears of relief gathering at the corners of her violet eyes. "I felt it—the spark of creation. The essence is potent. Fertile beyond anything the ancient scrolls described. He can give us daughters. Many daughters."
Elara let out a soft, choked sob of happiness, pressing both hands over her mouth as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Liora sank to her knees in the grass, clutching at her chest as though her heart might burst. "After all these centuries," she murmured, voice thick. "The bloodlines will not fade. We will be mothers again."
Word had already spread. While Sylva had knelt and worshipped him with slow, reverent devotion, more women had emerged from the surrounding woods and fields. First five, then a dozen, now nearly thirty. They formed a loose, respectful semicircle at the edge of the clearing—each one breathtakingly beautiful, each dressed in the same delicate silks and living vines that barely concealed full breasts, narrow waists, and rounded hips.
They had watched in hushed awe as Sylva took him into her mouth, as she coaxed his release with gentle, practiced strokes of tongue and hand. Now, at her pronouncement, a ripple of excited whispers passed through the gathering like wind through tall grass.
"The Breeder's seed is true."
"He is potent."
"Our wombs will quicken."
"The prophecy lives."
Sylva rose gracefully and turned to face the crowd, lifting her arms in quiet triumph. "Sisters of Elysara! Rejoice! The one foretold has come, and his gift is everything we dreamed. Ethan's essence carries life. Our long wait is over!"
A cheer rose—soft at first, then swelling into a joyous chorus that echoed across the meadow. Several women stepped forward eagerly, eyes bright with hunger and gratitude. One dark-haired beauty with sun-kissed skin began loosening the vine ties at her shoulder, letting the silk slip teasingly down one breast. Another with raven braids dropped smoothly to her knees, already crawling forward on the grass, lips parted in clear intent.
A third, a tall redhead with freckles across her chest, reached for the hem of her short skirt, ready to bare herself completely.
Ethan raised both hands weakly, his voice hoarse. "Wait—please, just… wait."
The advancing women froze mid-motion, concern instantly replacing desire on their faces.
Sylva spun back to him, dropping to her knees once more and placing a gentle hand on his thigh. "Are you hurt?" she asked, worry creasing her brow. "Did we harm you?"
"No, no," Ethan assured quickly, managing a tired smile. "Nothing like that. It's just…" He let his head fall back against the tree trunk with a soft thud. "That was incredible. Mind-blowing, honestly. But I'm only one man. I'm wiped out. I need rest. Food. Water. Maybe a nap before… round two."
A soft ripple of understanding laughter passed through the crowd, tinged with affection.
Elara moved immediately to his side, easing herself down and guiding his head to rest against the soft pillow of her breasts. The warmth and gentle give of her body was instantly soothing. "Of course, beloved," she murmured, stroking his hair. "We have waited generations. We can wait a few hours more. Your comfort comes first."
Liora nodded fervently, already rising. "I will fetch fresh spring water and the sweetest fruits—mangoes, star-peaches, honeydew from the lower groves." She glanced at a few of the nearer women. "Someone bring soft furs and pillows from the village. Prepare the shaded bower by the stream."
Several women hurried off at once, eager to serve.
Sylva remained kneeling, her hand still resting lightly on his leg. She leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. "Rest, Ethan. Recover your strength. When you wake, we will feed you, bathe you, massage every ache from your body." Her violet eyes gleamed with promise. "And when you are ready—truly ready—we will be here. All of us."
Ethan closed his eyes, the scent of flowers and warm feminine skin lulling him. He could hear the soft voices of the women organizing around him—gentle orders, excited whispers, the rustle of silk as they moved with purpose.
For the first time since the rift had swallowed him, the full weight of his new reality settled over him like a blanket.
He was the only man in an entire world of women.
Every single one of them needed him—not just for pleasure, but for the continuation of their entire civilization.
And they had only just begun.
As sleep pulled him under, he felt Sylva's fingers lace with his, her voice a soft, satisfied murmur against his ear:
"You are real. You are potent. And you are ours."
In the distance, more silhouettes appeared on the horizon—dozens more women drawn by the joyous cries now echoing across Elysara.
Word was spreading fast.
The Breeder had come.
And he would need all the rest he could get.