For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the soft, fading hum of the energy that still crackled between them. Isylia lay limp against the throne, her body glowing with a soft, satisfied flush, her eyes fluttering closed. She was no longer just Primordial. She had been touched by the mortal, and for the first time in eons, she felt heavy, grounded, and gloriously alive.
Sol lay there, his mind drifting in the afterglow. He was exhausted. Not the physical exhaustion of the deed, but a deep, spiritual fatigue. The sheer intensity of mating with a Goddess, of processing the Divine feedback, had drained his mental focus completely.
