Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

There was no time to comprehend what had just happened, no moment spared to understand the nature of the skill he received or what it truly did—for the instant Nyxaria's voice faded into silence, it was as if something unseen wrapped around him, pulling his consciousness into a strange trance. His body froze, not in fear, but in surrender, while a warmth enveloped him, creeping along his skin and seeping into his bones. Yet it wasn't the warmth of comfort, not motherly or divine—it was heavier, deeper, something more passionate and dangerously intimate, like the touch of someone who knew your weaknesses and wanted to feel every single one of them.

And then, something unexpected stirred him awake. Just slightly...

"Hic… ahh… Sylvaris...."

The sound cracked the silence, trembling and wet, each note like hot drops of sorrow falling onto cold stone, sharp enough to pierce through his trance and sink straight into the marrow of his bones.

Who's calling to me…? the thought drifted through his mind like a whisper carried on smoke, soft and uncertain, yet heavy with weight.

The sobs didn't echo—they clung to the air, raw and shaking, burning into his awareness with a heat that felt far too real, far too close. He didn't see the tears. He didn't need to. The sound alone was enough to drag his mind from the dark, to stir something buried deep inside him.

It sounds like a woman's voice… but then who? And why? His mind strained through the fog, every thought dragging like chains through water. Ugh… my head's a fucking mess… but still, the voice kept echoing—soft, aching, familiar in a way that twisted something inside his chest. I think… I think I know that voice from somewhere…

His thoughts swirled, still suspended in the haze between illusion and waking, as if he were floating in the emptiness of space, but those sobs, every single one, fell on him like fire dripping onto bare skin, igniting sensation, forcing his heartbeat to pick up pace. Each broken breath she released struck him harder than any blade, and without even opening his eyes, he already knew.

He finally knew, the voice was close, achingly close, and as his senses returned, he felt her there beside him, breath trembling, shoulders shaking. He finally understood—Aureve was crying.

"Sylvaris, I beg you… wake up… don't scare me like that…" she sobbed uncontrollably, her voice cracking with every breath, and when his eyes finally opened, the first thing he saw was her face—shaking, red, soaked with tears, hovering right above him.

His head was resting on her thighs, and the moment he became aware of it, he realized just how soft they felt—like the perfect pillow crafted by the gods themselves, warm and tender, a living cradle for his return. Her body heat wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing the chill that clung to his skin after waking from that frozen void, and he noticed then… the heat in the room was gone. Their bodies no longer warmed the air with sweat and lust. The fire of breeding had faded. But she had stayed.

"Aureve… what are you doing?" he asked with a soft laugh, voice still raspy, but calm—steady—and those words cut through her sorrow like a knife through silk. Her expression lit up the moment she heard him speak, a flash of life breaking through her grief, but the sobs didn't stop. They only softened, slowed, as if she needed to cry just a little longer, to finish bleeding the pain out.

And then his hand rose—firm, warm—and landed gently on her cheek.

She didn't flinch. She didn't speak.

She simply melted.

Melted into that palm like it was the only thing holding her together, like it was the only anchor she had left in a world that kept threatening to tear her apart. That hand was everything to her in that moment—a shield, a promise, a wall she could finally lean into without fear of breaking it. She let the tears fall. Let the weight of her regret pour out. And in that hand, in that gaze, in that touch—she found her heaven.

"Sylvaris!" she cried out, voice trembling, and in that instant, she snapped back to reality. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, throwing itself into his arms with such desperate speed that the fool didn't even understand just how lucky he was—this woman, who by all logic shouldn't have belonged to him, had embraced him like her truest lover, like her soul had chosen him before her pride ever could.

"I was so worried," she sobbed, her voice cracking between gasps, arms clinging to him like she was afraid he'd vanish again. "You suddenly passed out, and your heart stopped, and… and—!"

My heart stopped? The thought hit him like a splash of ice to the face. I was actually dead… during her memory? That idea twisted unease into his chest, dark and crawling. So if I failed… I wouldn't have come back? He didn't know, and not knowing made him restless—but her warmth, the press of her naked body against his bare skin, the soft curve of her chest rising and falling with each shaken breath… it was the perfect distraction, and for now, he allowed it.

He knew what he had to decide—Should I tell her what I saw? Let her know I know the truth? But there was another path. Maybe it's better to wait. Pretend I heard it from someone else… or wait until she breaks and confesses on her own.

He exhaled softly, lifting his hand to run his fingers through her hair as he whispered, "I'm okay now… calm down. I'm here…"

And for the next five minutes, he didn't move. He didn't speak again. He just let her hold him, let her body sink into his, her sobs softening against his neck until they finally faded. Her breathing steadied. Her trembling stopped.

And then, as if she had given him everything she had left to give, she fell asleep in his arms.

And Sylvaris—well, he just smiled, closed his eyes, and savored the softness that had once tried to kill him.