Chapter 706: No Intention To Suppress Anymore

The impossible dilemma that had tortured her youth had been pulverized into dust. She had broken the ancient ceiling.

She stood as a sovereign of the Fifth Layer. With this newly forged power humming through her veins, the dangerous, untamed expanses of the deep wilderness were no longer death traps... they were hunting grounds.

She had the strength to hunt apex beasts, unearth and seize the grand resources needed to temper the bodies of her warriors and forge a new generation of powerhouses.

She wouldn’t have to flee alone, and she wouldn’t have to watch her people die in the frost. She would conquer the surrounding basins, subdue the clans, and weld this entire territory into an invincible spearhead.

Slowly, methodically, she would lead her people out of this forest, step by bloody step, until the banners of their tribe fluttered once more over the heavenly lands their ancestors were forced to flee.

The ambition that had once been an agonizing poison was now a roaring furnace beneath her ribs.

Yet, looking down at the man who had torn open the heavens just to pull her across the mortal threshold, she felt an absolute, unshakeable stillness settle deep within her core.

"Tonight," Veylara said, her voice dropping into a low, smoky murmur that made Kira’s ears perk up with sudden curiosity, "we will celebrate properly. No envoys. No elders. Just the meat, the brew, and the fire."

Sol’s grin turned slow and wicked, his eyes holding hers without an inch of retreat.

"I’ll be there, Chief," Sol drawled, letting his head tilt back against the elm trunk. "Make sure the fire is hot enough."

Neither Kira nor Zeyra were fools.

The smoky drop in Veylara’s voice, the explicit tension between her and Sol, and that shameless, wolfish smirk curled on his lips... it laid everything completely bare. The peaceful afternoon light suddenly felt too sharp, too revealing.

The coded language about a fire being "hot enough" wasn’t fooling anyone who had spent more than a single moon surviving in the wild.

Zeyra merely raised a brow, her fingers tightening against the shaft of her newly honed spear. Her lips curved into a quiet, wry smirk that was impossible to read.

While she had an obsessive, feral streak when it came to Sol, that madness began and ended with him belonging to her.

As long as she had her share of him, the rest of the world could burn to ash for all she was concerned.

Besides, the other woman wasn’t just some rival huntress; she was Veylara, the Warchief of the Veynar, the newly risen sovereign of the Fifth Layer who held the sky in her palm.

In this brutal, primal expanse, absolute power dictated every rule under the sun.

If the sovereign took a fancy to him, even if Zeyra had harbored objections... which she didn’t... she lacked both the suicidal stupidity and the standing to utter a single protest.

For Kira, however, the knot tightening in her chest was vastly more tangled.

Her knuckles whitened over the charcoal stick, freezing mid-stroke against the rough bark of her inventory slab. Her breath hitched in her throat, a scalding, turbulent heat rushing up her neck to burn the tips of her ears.

Even though she had already put the pieces together days ago and had already guessed what had transpired at the private pool.

The lingering marks on her mother’s skin, the intoxicating, unmistakable musk clinging to her hair, and the way Veylara’s rigid composure had softened afterward had painted a brutally obvious picture.

Yet hearing them arrange their rendezvous so openly in broad daylight was something her brain struggled to process.

In the Great Orrath, tribal customs and sexual bonds were primitive, fluid, dictated by need of procreation and raw survival. Bloodlines intertwined freely, mighty warlords claimed multiple mates, and there weren’t any taboos.

Sharing Sol with Zeyra was one thing. Kira had not only accepted it, she had actively nudged the pieces together, recognizing another fierce woman who could watch Sol’s back when the blood ran hot.

But this was her mother. Her actual flesh-and-blood, biological mother... the very woman whose womb had carried her, nurtured her, and birthed her into this world.

Now, the very same thick, hard cock that had stretched her wide, pounded into her and left her trembling and weeping in bliss across the furs was now relentlessly plunging into the woman who birthed her.

Imagining Sol’s hips slamming between her mother’s thighs, driving deep into her mother’s wet, tight cunt, burying himself to the root where her life itself had once begun... shook her with a shockwave so raw and dizzying that her mind stalled out completely.

It wasn’t outright disgust, nor was it pure anger; It was bizarre, thrilling, and completely bewildering all at once... a tangled knot of raw heat and utter disbelief that she couldn’t find a single word to describe.

Catching the sudden, unnatural silence and seeing the intense, burning flush plastered across her daughter’s face alongside Zeyra’s knowing, sardonic gaze... Veylara felt a rare spike of heat prickle behind her collar.

The words had slipped out because the hunger she had been suppressing for days had finally grown too sharp to contain.

For a split second, an instinctual pang of regret flashed through the Warchief’s mind. I should have waited until the girls left, she thought, her jaw tightening marginally beneath her sovereign poise.

Yet the hesitation lasted only a fraction of a heartbeat before her iron decisiveness took over.

Why hide it? She was the Warchief of the Veynar, the sovereign of the Fifth Layer who held the entire northern basin beneath her heel. More than that, beneath the cold armor of leadership, she was a woman whose blood had been set ablaze.

Ever since that wild, sky-shattering night beneath the weeping willows, her newly awaken hungry body had been screaming for more.

It had been days of agonizing restraint... days of choking down the fiery memory of his rough hands gripping her hips, his bruising mouth devouring hers, and the fiery heat that had broken her pride to pieces.

She had barely managed to suppress the craving while dealing with tedious administrative work and border treaties.

Now that she had tasted that relentless, world-shattering passion, she had zero intention of denying herself.

Kira and Zeyra were bound to know sooner or later anyway. In this primitive expanse, strength claimed what it desired, and there was no shame in sharing the bed of a god among men. If her daughter felt embarrassed, she would simply have to get used to it.