The pyres burned low by midday, turning the air thick with the acrid bite of charred flesh and silk. I stood at the edge of the central courtyard, what was left of it, watching embers drift upward like lost souls. My hands still ached from hauling bodies, knuckles raw and split. The golden light inside me felt distant now, a dull hum rather than the roar it had been during the fight. I was exhausted in ways that went beyond muscle and bone.
The surviving Circles had gathered in the remnants of the Heart-Chamber, a cracked shell of its former grandeur. Stone walls leaned at odd angles, tapestries reduced to ash. The Second Circle was there: Kaelith leaning on her glaive, Thorne sharpening a dagger with mechanical precision, Vesper coiling and uncoiling her whip like a nervous tic, Riven standing silent as a statue, Liora huddled close to her with red-rimmed eyes.
And now the First Circle had arrived, summoned from whatever hidden sanctums they'd sheltered in during the breach. Morgana led them, her crimson robe torn at the hem but her posture still commanding, black hair matted with dust. Behind her came Veyra, the cinnamon-skinned one with orchid-braided hair, her usual smoky confidence dimmed; Sylvara, the red-haired sadist, lips curled in a perpetual sneer; Lirien, pale as ever with her leaf-green eyes, clutching a bloodstained cloth; and Kaia, full-breasted and dark-eyed, her robes stained with ichor from tending the wounded.
They formed a loose semicircle around a low stone table that had somehow survived intact. Morgana's eyes found me first, dark and appraising, like she was measuring how much of me had broken.
"Chosen," she said, voice low and even. "You live. Good."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet. I dropped onto a cracked bench across from them, feeling like an intruder in my own story.
Kaelith cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "We've tallied the dead. Or what's left to tally. The commoners took the worst of it: ninety percent gone in the outer rings. Attendants, laborers, the ones who kept the water flowing and the hearths lit."
Morgana inclined her head, expression unchanging. "A necessary loss, in the grand scheme. They were not integral to the rituals. No sorceresses among them, no vessels of true power. Their roles were supportive. Infrastructure, if you will. Easily replaced once we stabilize."
I blinked, the words landing like a dull thud in my chest. "Necessary? Easily replaced?"
Veyra leaned forward, her orchid braids swaying slightly. "They kept the Haven running, yes: the cleaning, the cooking, the basic wards against minor incursions. But they lacked the essence. No deep magic in their veins. Their deaths weaken us logistically, not existentially. We can train new ones from the survivors, breed more if needed."
Sylvara smirked, her cruel mouth twisting. "Think of it as pruning a tree. The branches fall, but the trunk endures. They were fodder, Chosen. Useful fodder, but fodder nonetheless."
I felt a twist in my gut, something sour and uneasy. These were people, women I'd seen laughing in the halls, some I'd even fucked during that endless orgy. Reduced to "infrastructure"? It sounded cold, calculated, like they were just numbers in a spreadsheet. Back on Earth, I'd been the nobody, the programmer grinding away in obscurity. Hearing them dismissed like that hit too close.
"Why say it like that?" I asked, keeping my voice level. No anger, just confusion. "They were still people. Part of this place. Why act like their lives were worth less?"
Morgana's gaze sharpened, but her tone stayed measured. "Because in the balance of our world, they were. We've survived a millennium without men like you by prioritizing the core: the sorceresses, the Circles. The commoners served, and served well, but their loss doesn't unravel the magic. Ours would. It's not cruelty, Alex. It's survival."
Lirien nodded, her green eyes soft but unyielding. "We mourn them, in our way. But grief without pragmatism leads to extinction. Their infrastructure kept us fed, sheltered. Without them, we rebuild slower. That's the wound we feel most."
Kaia crossed her arms, voice husky. "And we need to fill that wound fast. Which means you, Chosen. Many of us still show no signs of pregnancy. The rituals demand renewal. You need to train: fuck us, flood us, until the magic stabilizes. It's how you cultivate more power. How we all do."
I stared at the table, tracing cracks in the stone with my finger. Depression had settled over me like a fog since the pyres, thick and unrelenting. The idea of sex now felt absurd, grotesque. Bodies piled in my mind, pale and broken. But they were right, in their twisted way. This world ran on that cycle: seed for power, power for survival. Refusing would just make the losses mean less.
"Fine," I muttered, standing. "Let's get it over with."
Morgana arched an eyebrow but said nothing. They led me to an adjacent alcove, one of the few intact spaces, silk sheets still draped over a low bed despite the dust. A young survivor was already there: an attendant who'd escaped the worst, pale and slender like the rest, silver hair tied back, eyes wide with a mix of fear and feral hunger. She stripped without a word, lying back and lifting her legs high, knees bent to her chest, exposing everything. Her pussy was already slick, lips swollen and parting slightly, glistening with desperate need. She whimpered softly, hips shifting, craving it like air after drowning.
I positioned myself between her thighs, holding her ankles in my hands, spreading her wider. She moaned at the touch, arching up, her entrance twitching in anticipation. "Please… Chosen… fill me… I need it so bad…"
I tried.
Pushed forward, willing myself hard.
Nothing.
My cock hung limp, unresponsive, even as her heat brushed against it. The golden light flickered weakly in my veins, but the spark wouldn't catch. Her whimpers turned frustrated, hips grinding against me uselessly. The Circles watched from the edges: Morgana's gaze cool and assessing, Veyra frowning, Sylvara smirking like she'd expected this.
"Pathetic," Sylvara murmured, not unkindly. "Even after all that power, still can't rise to the occasion."
I dropped her legs, stepping back, face burning. Humiliation twisted in my gut, sharp and familiar. Here I was, the so-called savior, unable to even get it up for a girl who was practically begging. Depression clawed deeper: I'd killed a Titan, but couldn't perform the one thing this world needed from me.
"Why now?" I asked, voice small, not looking at them.
Morgana stepped closer, her hand resting on my shoulder. "The mind lags behind the body. Grief dulls the edge. But we'll sharpen it again. Rest. Tomorrow, we try with one of us."
I nodded, numb, and left the alcove without another word.
The fog didn't lift.
But under it, something stubborn stirred: a quiet resolve to push through, even if it meant fumbling like the idiot I still was.
Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped lower and the light turned bloody, the Circles gathered again in the central courtyard. The pyres had been abandoned hours ago, the flames too weak, the wood too green, the smoke too slow. Hundreds of bodies still lay in neat rows across the cracked stone, pale limbs tangled, silver hair fanned out like broken halos. The smell was starting to turn.
Morgana stepped forward alone.
Without a word, without even a glance at the rest of us, she raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
A single, sharp sound.
Flame erupted everywhere at once.
Not the slow crawl of ordinary fire. This was a white-hot inferno, born in an instant, leaping from body to body in perfect, synchronized waves. The flames were silent at first, then roared upward in a single deafening whoosh that shook the remaining walls. Heat rolled over us like a furnace door flung open. The bodies ignited in unison, skin blackening and curling away in seconds, bones glowing cherry-red before collapsing into ash.
No one flinched.
No one spoke.
Kaelith watched with arms crossed, expression blank. Thorne kept sharpening her dagger, the scrape of steel the only sound besides the fire. Vesper coiled her whip slowly, eyes reflecting the blaze. Riven stood motionless. Liora looked down at her hands, tears drying on her cheeks without a sound.
The First Circle showed the same indifference: Veyra's orchids wilted slightly in the heat but she didn't move; Sylvara's sneer softened into bored curiosity; Lirien simply closed her eyes for a moment; Kaia exhaled once, like releasing a held breath.
I stood frozen, mouth open, words stuck in my throat.
The fire lasted less than a minute.
When it died, only fine gray ash remained, drifting in slow eddies across the courtyard. The rows of bodies were gone. No bones. No traces. Just clean stone and a faint metallic aftertaste in the air.
Morgana lowered her hand.
She turned and walked away without a single word, crimson robe trailing through the ash like blood on snow.
I stared after her, speechless.
The others began to disperse quietly, as if nothing remarkable had happened.
I stayed there until the ash settled completely.