The first rays of sunlight warmed the stone of the master chambers, sliding across sheets tangled like vines after a storm. The heavy pelts on the floor were scattered, pushed aside throughout the morning by bodies that had not bothered to stay still.
The air held that charged calm that follows when passion has burned itself out — not crude, not explicit, but unmistakably intimate, powerful, and shared.
Shadowheart lay on her stomach, hair flowing down her bare back like spilled ink, her breath slow and even — the kind of sleep she only ever found when resting with you. Her legs were draped over Minthara's, tangled in a way that suggested neither woman had been interested in boundaries or restraint.
Minthara, by contrast, slept like a victorious warrior after battle: one arm thrown over your chest as if staking a claim even in dreams, a faint, satisfied smirk lingering on her lips. She was never one to show softness, not in public — but here? Here she clung to you with something dangerously close to tenderness.
Everything smelled of warmth, devotion, and the faintest hint of incense you didn't remember lighting.
Another mark of the night — or morning — you had shared.
And yes…
Neither queen would be walking anywhere with ease until midday.
You knew it.
They knew it.
And tomorrow the entire Snake Tribe would know it the second they saw how slowly the queens moved.
You pressed a quiet kiss to each of their foreheads — Shadowheart's serene, Minthara's still-burning — and slipped from the bed.
As you stepped out, both queens stirred instinctively toward the warmth you left behind, a subtle proof of how deeply they belonged at your side.
🜂 THE COURTYARD — THE DRAGON AWAITS
When you stepped out into the cool morning air, you saw it instantly:
A gold dragon — smaller than Arcaeon, but still a colossus — waited with regal patience in the courtyard.
His scales shimmered like hammered sunlight, his wings half-furled with dignified grace, and his eyes — ancient, discerning — regarded you as one ruler addresses another.
A deep rumble echoed from his chest:
"Warchief Mamba.
I am Aurinox, emissary of the Eternal One.
I come to escort your new ambassador."
Behind you, Jaheira approached — wearing the chieftain's cape you had draped over her at the feast.
Her step was steady, true, proud.
The tribe emerged to line the courtyard, forming an honor guard:
Ogres with fists to hearts
Myconids glowing softly
Druids raising staffs in salute
Harper scouts kneeling with heads bowed
Shadowheart and Minthara watching from a terrace above, wrapped in robes, moved but dignified
This was not merely a farewell.
This was a sending of heroes.
Jaheira stopped before you, touching her forehead to yours — a druidic gesture of deep respect.
"Mamba," she murmured, her voice steady, "I carry our strength with me."
"And our trust," you answered.
Aurinox dipped his massive head.
"Let us depart."
And with a single sweep of his wings, he lifted Jaheira onto his back, her silhouette framed in gold.
The courtyard shook with the wind as the dragon launched skyward, the tribe watching until he vanished into the morning light.
🜂 THE CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS
When the courtyard finally settled, you turned toward your warriors — voice booming with authority and purpose.
"The blighted village we reclaimed — our village — has a problem."
Faces tightened.
Ogres leaned in.
Scouts straightened.
You continued:
"A spider matriarch has grown bold.
She nests beneath the well, where ogres cannot fit.
She has taken villagers — our people — right under our guards' noses."
The ogres rumbled with shame, heads bowing.
You raised a hand — stopping that shame immediately.
"It is not your fault. You are simply too large for what lies below."
A few ogres pouted… as ogres do.
You smirked.
"I need a small group of non-ogre volunteers for a strike mission.
Silent. Precise. Deadly."
Immediately, hands shot up:
A pair of Harper scouts
Two druidic knife-fighters
A tiefling archer with eyes full of fire
A Myconid spore-scout vibrating with readiness
Orpheus stepped forward as well, calm and commanding.
"I will join this strike team," he said.
"My blade owes these villagers justice."
The tribe murmured, impressed.
You scanned them all, the morning sun outlining your silhouette like a war-god risen from sleep.