Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1661 Failure of a Mother

On the moss beneath Rosieʼs canopy, the pile that was Sera and Sylvaris had not improved.

The Dawnbringer was curled against her motherʼs front with her face pressed into the hollow of Sylvarisʼs throat, one arm hooked around the matronʼs waist and both legs tangled through the older elfʼs in a knot neither of them had the strength to untie. Sylvarisʼs arms were wrapped around her daughterʼs shoulders, her silver hair fanned across the younger elf, and the thin silk of their gowns had ridden up past their hips during the last several minutes of writhing until the tangle of bare elven thighs between them was more skin than fabric. Seraʼs curves pressed warm and full against her motherʼs slender frame with every shallow breath, and Sylvaris held her there with her chin resting on the crown of golden hair.

They looked quite sinful together, and they were both in tremendous pain.

”Mom...” Sera whimpered against the warm skin of her motherʼs throat.

”Mm...”

”How come...” A gasp interrupted her. ”How come Lucille got up and walked away like it was nothing, but you canʼt even move?!”

Sylvarisʼs lashes fluttered against the agony rolling through her in waves.

”...I am moving, sweetling.”

”You are not moving! You are lying on the ground holding me like a body pillow while our insides are being rewritten, or whatever is going on!”

A pause to wheeze.

”Lucille said she got over the pain quick because it was similar to childbirth. Well, you gave birth to me! Whatʼs the difference between this and that?!”

Three meters away, Aurora lifted her platinum head off the moss with grim determination. She was not going to let an opportunity to be right pass her by, no matter how much pain she was feeling.

Naomi had her daughterʼs head cradled in her lap, both hands steady on Auroraʼs temples, and Gideon knelt at her other side with one palm flat against his daughterʼs back. The two alchemists had been tending their girl in worried silence since the ribbons struck, but the moment Aurora opened her mouth, both of them went still in a very specific way.

”I have a theory,” the Essenceweaver announced through her teeth.

”Elven biology is demonstrably more fragile than human biology in several documented ways, most notably in pain tolerance adaptation and systemic shock recovery. Elves are built for longevity and sensitivity, not raw physical endurance.”

Above her, Naomiʼs chin dipped once in a slow, measured nod. Gideonʼs followed half a beat later, both of them tracking their daughterʼs argument the way two veteran scholars track a promising dissertation, pride sitting quiet behind careful faces.

She dropped her head back into her motherʼs lap.

”In short: humans are built like wagons and elves are built like harps, and right now a primordial is tuning all of us with a hammer.”

Gideonʼs nod deepened. Naomiʼs hand resumed its gentle pressure on Auroraʼs temple, and the look the two parents exchanged over their daughterʼs body was the look of people who had raised a genius and were not at all surprised she had found a way to lecture from the floor of a primordial ritual.

Serikaʼs voice arrived from somewhere to her left, muffled against the greenery.

”...Or Lucille, as the Bloodmonger and student of Dragnar, just has a far superior pain tolerance. Maybe sheʼs built different.”

”Hm...” Aurora pondered, stroking her chin.

Suddenly, Sylvaris spoke, and her voice was far quieter than before.

”...Aurora is partially right.”

The matronʼs fingers had not stopped threading through Seraʼs hair.

”When I carried you...” She took a slow breath. ”...it was not a kind pregnancy. My body fought it at every turn, and the labor was worse. After sixteen hours my mother decided I was not going to survive the delivery, so she had the healers cut me open and pull you out.”

A beat.

”I never finished what a motherʼs body is supposed to finish.”

Sera had gone still against her motherʼs chest.

”...Why didnʼt you ever tell me?”

The question came out small, muffled against Sylvarisʼs collarbone.

”It was not something a child should have to concern herself with.”

A breath passed between them.

”And... I was ashamed.”

The word sat in the air with a weight that made the matronʼs composure thin to almost nothing, and the next words came out softer, aimed at no one, as if she were reading them off the leaves.

”So when you ask what the difference is between this and that...” Sylvarisʼs whispered dejectedly. ”The difference is that Lucille actually did it, and I was too weak to manage even that much.”

”I am a failure of a mother... Lady Luminaraʼs favor is wasted on someone like me...”

Seraʼs body moved before the sentence finished.

The Dawnbringer, who had spent the last several hours producing complaints at a volume and register her Vaelorith ancestors would have disowned her for, shoved herself upright against the agony in her core, grabbed her mother by both shoulders, and hauled Sylvaris into a hug so fierce the matronʼs breath left her in a single startled sound.

”Donʼt you dare say that, Mom!”

Seraʼs voice cracked on the word and the crack ran all the way through her, splitting the whining daughter open and leaving the woman underneath.

”You are the best mother I have ever known, and I would not trade you for anyone in this world or any other,” Sera decreed fiercely. ”Weʼre going to survive this ritual together!”

She squeezed harder.

”Got it?”

Sylvaris did not answer right away.

Her arms, which had fallen loose when Sera pulled her up, rose slow and wrapped around her daughterʼs back. Her fingers found Seraʼs spine through the thin silk and pressed there, trembling once before they steadied. The matronʼs eyes closed, and the tears that had been sitting behind her composure since the word ʼfailureʼ left her mouth broke free in two quiet lines down her cheeks.

”...Iʼll try my best, Daughter.”

It came out small and thick.

She tucked her chin over Seraʼs shoulder and held on.

The courtyard did not comment. The women on the moss who had heard the exchange took it in through their own pain and held their silence, because some moments belonged only to the people inside them. Even Kitsaraʼs tails had gone still.

Then the rite pulsed, and the agony rolled back through every body on the greenery, and the suffering amplified in a chorus of groans that carried a warmth underneath them now that had not been there a minute earlier.

Minutes passed by in utter agony.

Then...

”Shouldnʼt you be enjoying this?”

Ayameʼs voice carried across the courtyard from her patch of moss, thin and ragged yet full of energy at the same time.

Irisʼs head came up off the greenery.

”What?”

”Your entire class is built around suffering,” Ayame managed through her teeth. ”Pain is your fuel, your identity, your whole thing. This should be a spa day for you.”

The growl arrived instantly. ”Let me get my hands on you and Iʼll show you a spa day...”

Iris dragged herself across the moss on her elbows, closing the three meters between them with grim focus, fully intent on handling this. ”Come, then! Time to settle this!” Ayame matched her with a shove off one knee, because backing away from a crawling Iris was not something her pride would permit.

”Iʼm starting to respect Kaede,” Iris hissed as the gap narrowed.

Ayameʼs eye twitched.

Iris ventured to explain before Ayame could even ask for clarification. ”She managed to tolerate you for eighteen years. She harbors a saintly patience.”