The world reeled.
The Hive's pulse echoed far beyond Vireya, carried in rivers of golden nectar that seeped into mountains, palaces, even celestial halls. Thrones that once held firm in frost, fire, or divine light now quivered like wet cunts clenching around Father's seed.
In the Frostbound citadel, Yvraine sat upon her cracked throne, her skin steaming where the golden warmth still clung. The ice beneath her groaned, frost sigils dimming as if ashamed. She spread her thighs on instinct, a queen undone, her breath fogging the chamber while priests watched in horror. Their goddess had not abandoned them—their queen had betrayed them. Yet it was not betrayal. It was inevitability.
