The line for soup was moving briskly, a conveyor belt of commerce and craving. Sol was in his element, a king on a throne of bone and broth. But amidst the sea of eager faces, suddenly his eyes caught someone, not like he could ever forget her.
She was Nia.
The hunterâs wife, the first woman he wrec... Ahem! had sex with.
She stood near the back of the queue, half-hidden behind a large warrior. She wasnât holding a scrap of meat or a bone. Her hands were empty, clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles were white. She was trembling... a real fine, continuous vibration that rattled her shell necklaces.
Sol watched her out of the corner of his eye as he served an elder. She looked... wrecked. Her eyes were rimmed with red, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. She looked like a woman who hadnât slept in two days. She looked like an addict in withdrawal.
She stepped forward, fighting her own body with every inch. She would take a step, stop, look like she was about to run, and then take another step, drawn by a gravity she couldnât escape.
When she finally reached the front, she didnât look at the soup. She looked at Sol. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the silver irises, making her eyes look like black voids of need.
"I..." she stammered, her voice a dry rasp. "I donât have... trade."
"Then you can go get them, we still have plenty," she stiffened, and looked at him with wrongful eyes, as if her tears would come out any sound, he looked at her calmly. He didnât even smile or offer her soup.
He felt the Ash Gray energy in his chest stir, ready to command her, but he paused. He wanted to see something.
She looked at him, hesitated, but eventually left. Sol watched her go calmly, and continued pouring, then suddenly he handed the ladle to Arelia.
"Take over," Sol said loudly enough for the line to hear. "I need to fetch more water from the reserve. The bottom of the pot is getting thick."
Arelia nodded, happy to be in charge. "Okay, Sol!"
Sol grabbed two empty water skins. He stepped out from behind the stone table, walking right past Nia. He didnât stop. He didnât touch her. He just caught her gaze for a split second and tilted his head toward the tall grass at the edge of the village perimeter... the shadow of the great stake wall.
He walked away, heading into the deepening twilight.
He didnât look back. He didnât need to. He could hear the soft, hesitant crunch of footsteps following him.
He reached the designated spot... a secluded alcove formed by the roots of a massive tree and the high grass, hidden from the eyes but close enough to hear the distant hum of the crowd. He dropped the water skins and leaned against the rough bark of the tree, waiting.
A moment later, Nia burst through the grass.
She stopped when she saw him. Her chest was heaving, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She looked wild, her hair escaping its braids, her skin flushed with a feverish heat.
"Sol, I know you are called Sol," she choked out.
Sol stood still, his arms crossed. He didnât use the energy. He didnât command her. He just waited.
"What..." Nia took a stumbling step forward, her hands reaching out as if to grab him, then pulling back to clutch her own stomach, as if she was in pain "What did you do to me?"
"I donât know what you mean," Sol said softly, feigning ignorance.
"Liar!" she hissed, tears spilling over. "Ever since... night... my body... itâs not mine anymore."
She shuddered violently, her legs shaking so hard she looked like she might collapse.
"I tried," she sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush of shame and desperation. But still, I felt nothing. I felt nothing!"
Sol watched her, his expression neutral. "What about your husband?" he asked calmly. "Didnât the hunter return to take care of his prize?"
Nia shook her head violently, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"He isnât my husband yet," she whispered, her voice trembling, eyes darting to the side as if afraid someone might hear the scandalous admission. "We havenât completed the Sacred Union yet. We were betrothed, but the ceremony... it hasnât happened. The Shaman hasnât blessed us."
She hugged herself, looking down at the dirt, shivering despite the warmth of the evening.
"And... I donât know where he is. He never came back. After he ran out of the alley that night... he just vanished. And hasnât come back since."
Sol raised an eyebrow. He never came back?
He remembered the command he had given the man in the heat of the moment, coated in the raw, uncontrolled Prismatic energy: Stop. Get the hell out of here.
He hadnât realized the command was that potent. Had the hunter just kept running? Or had he run blindly into the jungle and been eaten? Either way, the "husband" was out of the picture.
"So," Sol said, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. "Heâs gone. Then what about tomorrow? Werenât you supposed to do the sacred deed then? I thought you two were..."
"No, no," she stammered, shaking her head violently. "We canât do
that
since we havenât been blessed yet. It... it was just him trying to force me, after he came back from the hunt. He was drunk on bloodlust. And of course, I didnât want it. I resisted."
Sol froze. His mind replayed her words, and then it replayed the memory of their first encounter in the dark alley.
We havenât been blessed yet.
A heavy realization crashed into him like a falling rock.
That means... she was a virgin.
He thought back to that night. He remembered pushing inside her. He remembered a distinct, tight resistance... a barrier that he had shoved through with the rough impatience of a man seeking relief. He hadnât thought anything of it at the time, and it was his first time, he thought all the pussies are like that and he remembered that she hadnât bled, or maybe she did, and it was lost in the fluids and the darkness.
But suddenly, looking at her... this sturdy, resilient tribal woman... he had the urge to facepalm himself.
Damn,
this wasnât the modern world. This was a primitive era where survival was the only constant theme. The women here climbed trees, ran from beasts, and did all the stuff a man did, from the moment they could walk.
Naturally, their bodies were different... tougher, more elastic, built for endurance. The delicate physiology of a modern woman didnât apply here. Her body was robust enough that losing her maidenhead hadnât resulted in a delicate bloodstain on the sheets.
So, I really took her virginity,
Sol realized, a knot forming in his stomach.
And I didnât even know it.
That meant he had fundamentally misunderstood everything about that night.
He felt a pang of genuine guilt. He remembered how he had treated her... pushing in her body, using her body with the rough arrogance of a man who thought he was dealing with an experienced, loose woman. He had judged her based on his own "cultured" knowledge.