Allen sat upon his throne, the seat still damp with sacred fluids, and his breath had only just begun to even out when the silence shifted. It wasn't sound that changed—no clang of armor, no scuffle of feet—but a pressure in the air. Like someone had knocked on the temple walls from the inside. His girls were still splayed around him—some collapsed in the throes of aftershocks, others swaying, overstimulated but desperate for more. The air was thick with sweat and sex and power. But underneath it all… there was something older watching.
He didn't rise, not yet. His fingers flexed along the armrest as the golden glow from the womb chamber behind him pulsed once, then again. The Core still rested there, filled with his seed, glowing with the warmth of divine pregnancy—but even she seemed to be holding her breath. Because something was coming. Not from outside. From beneath. From beneath her.
