Tempest's beautiful brow remained furrowed, her erald eyes locked on Penelope.
The Siren tribe, nestled within the heart of Eden, were known for a multitude of abilities, not just enchanting voices and the power of sound.
If one of them had Foresight, the ability to glimpse into the future... then the possibility of it being true hung heavy in the air!
A weight even heavier than the storm clouds above.
"But what is The Feminist?" she pressed, her voice a mix of frustration and a flicker of dawning curiosity.
Penelope, her own features etched with a mixture of hope and disbelief, recited the cryptic lines of the prophecy.
"n..."
She began, her voice gaining a touch of theatricality, as one would recount a forgotten legend.
"Are by inherent nature useless, only capable of exploiting won, giving them pain. But The Feminist," she declared, her voice ringing with a newfound passion, "will be a man unlike any other!
He will break the cycle of exploitation created by generations of n, and bring such happiness to won that their expressions will twist, their voices will turn into groans, their breaths will turn shallow, their faces flush while their nerves will jolt with currents!"
Tempest stood agape, trying to visualize this prophesied happiness.
Were these won supposed to lt into quivering puddles of bliss?!
Was that the ultimate goal?!
Her warrior's instincts scread that such a state would leave them vulnerable, easy prey.
"What type of happiness will turn the won weak?!" she interjected, bewildered.
Sensing her confusion, Penelope sighed.
"You know how prophecies are, Tempest," she said, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice.
"Cryptic, mysterious... and frankly impossible for a normal person to understand."
A mysterious glint flickered in her eyes as she continued.
"But the Syren who prophesied… let's just say she had a dreamy look on her face afterwards. Claid the happiness The Feminist will bring will usher in a new dawn where won will be the ultimate winners, and n will drown in a sea of sorrow."
New Dawn?!
Tempest's lips twitched at the image of drowning n.
While the prophecy sparked a spark of intrigue within her, it was overshadowed by the scene unfolding before them.
The thunderous clouds in the sky mirrored the turmoil within their hearts. The electrifying power that had held them captive was fluctuating, on the verge of dissipating. The once formidable aura surrounding Kiba began to wane, replaced by a profound sense of vulnerability.
Looking at him now, he was a stark contrast to the powerful being who stood before them monts ago. His magnificent physique, once a testant to his strength, was now a canvas of crimson, his every breath a ragged gasp.
With a final gurgle, the whip of lightning dissolved away like wisps of smoke. His body crumpled, collapsing towards the earth...
In a blur of motion, Penelope and Tempest sprang forward. Gone were the days of prejudice and fear, replaced by a fierce protectiveness.
Penelope couldn't bear the thought of such a holy man, as she now considered him, to defile the earth with his fall.
This man, regardless of prophecies, was a saint! His nobility didn't hinge on so obscure prediction!
Her heart pounded, fuelled by an unfamiliar protectiveness. Even without so random prophecy, her feelings wouldn't have been any different.
He was a man who deserved respect, not a fall!
Tempest, too, felt an inexplicable urge to catch him. As one, they reached him just in ti, their bodies acting on a newfound instinct.
They caught his falling form before it could hit the unforgiving ground. His face, drained of color, smashed into Tempest's soft breasts, blood blooming like a macabre flower against her otherwise pristine attire.
One of his hands landed haphazardly on Penelope's chest, the weight montarily grounding her.
A faint murmur escaped his lips before the darkness fully claid him.
"I hope my death can earn forgiveness… Farewell…"
"!!!!"
A collective gasp tore through the air.
The weight of his words crashed upon them, shattering the last vestiges of their past beliefs.
This "demon," this "destroyer," had chosen self-inflicted tornt over harming them, even as they attacked him in their ignorance.
Sha, a searing brand, began to burn across their hearts."
Prepare treatnt for him, imdiately!" Penelope shouted, her voice heavy with a mixture of urgency and remorse.
Her tribe, initially hesitant, scrambled into action. n deserved hellfire, but not this one! They wouldn't let him die on their soil.
With a shared sense of urgency, Penelope and Tempest carried Kiba's unconscious form to a hidden chamber within the plateau.
Carved into the very heart of the rock, the room was a haven of natural wonders. Strange herbs and exotic incense burned, filling the air with a sweetly pungent aroma.
A woman in her mid-thirties with sharp green eyes and erald braids interwoven with vines materialized in front of them. This was Circe, the tribe's esteed healer and a master herbalist.
"A man!" she exclaid, her voice a mix of shock and horror.
Penelope and Tempest quickly explained the events, excluding the prophecy as it was neither relevant nor important.
Circe, though surprised, reluctantly acknowledged their story. But a frown creased her brow.
"While I can heal most wounds," she admitted, "I'm not familiar with the male anatomy. My knowledge might be… lacking."
Tempest, her own earlier prejudice dissolving, roared, "You have to save him!"
Her tone held a desperate urgency, the well-being of this supposed male suddenly outweighing her ingrained hatred.
Circe blinked, surprised by the raw emotion in Tempest's voice. But instead of taking offense, she found herself strangely touched.
"Very well," she declared, her voice firm. "Let's clean his wounds first."
Penelope, ignoring the initial protests of the other Dryads, stepped forward.
As their leader, she would be the one to oversee his care. She couldn't let them risk their health, especially for a man who was, as she kept reminding herself, not a demon, but a saint, a man beyond n!
The treatnt started in earnest...
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