The golden tide receded from the Lustful Isles, not in weakness but in triumph, leaving behind a land forever changed. The sands gleamed like wet pearls, the trees dripped nectar instead of sap, and every womb beat with his warmth, swollen with his claim. The Queen lay chained in her throne of coral, belly round with his seed, a living monument to surrender.
But the flood did not rest.
It surged outward, riding the ocean's veins, faster than ships, heavier than storms. It rolled across archipelagos, swallowed merchant fleets, and broke coastlines. Where it touched, resistance drowned.
And then it found its way into the Drowned Kingdom.
A nation built beneath the sea, proud and ancient, ruled by women who had never bowed to gods of the surface. Their halls of glass and coral stretched for leagues, domes shimmering beneath the waves. Their warriors wore shells harder than steel, their wombs untouched by men for centuries. They had been brides only to the ocean, never to flesh.
