Sylia, the Dark & Light Saint

*** [Sexual Content ahead]

(Sylia as an adult)

Sylia was finally enjoying a moment of peace. Pullina was asleep, safely tucked away in another apartment, and the new Kullen was resting under a sweet-dream spell she had personally cast. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.

She had begun dispatching some of her Divisions to visit a few of her overeager boyfriends. They deserved a bit of attention, and since she was in such a generous mood, she had added a few extra services—special dishes, carefully chosen entertainment. Even those she was not visiting tonight were not forgotten. After all, life wasn't just about sex.

Tonight, though, she indulged herself. Glirek Syrendor lay beside her—a recent indulgence, grandson of Tamren Syrmundi and son of her former lover Banten Syrmundi. The latter had drifted away years ago, lost to his own tangled mess of wives. He was happy, and that was all that mattered. She hadn't even liked him that much to care.

However Glirek? Glirek was different. She was with him for a reason. The boy had begun circling the edge of ruin, entangled with several young women whose influence she found concerning. One in particular posed the greatest threat to him. His main girlfriend, the one he seemed to be most drawn to, and the one most likely to lead him to self-destruction. Still, the others were no better, all distractions pulling him further from what little future he might still salvage.

She couldn't save him. Not entirely. Some Souls simply inched toward their own endings, no matter who intervened. Still, she could delay it. A little longer.

The boy—barely an emancipated adult at fifteen, just five months past—hadn't been hard to seduce. He might have been way over eighteen years in Civil Calendar but he was still a bit immature. Sylia preferred men in their fifties or forties.

Glirek had spent most of his life in the city, rarely visiting his extended family in the Capital. Maybe that was why he'd fallen in the Slums so quickly. Or maybe it had been the fallout from his half-brother turning rotten, and his mother taking her own life. Either way, he was lucky to have been stationed near the Slums' edge, where the air still carried a trace of Gentry civility. Still, he hadn't adapted. That much was obvious from the suit—far too expensive, far too formal even for Gentry. Likely one of those awful gifts from his aunt, meant to impress that new girlfriend from the Controlled Gentry Districts. It had almost cost him his life. Just an hour ago, he'd nearly died because of it. If not for one of her Summons, he'd be bleeding out in a gutter. Given that, a little "thanks" as he called it seemed natural. She hadn't needed to coax him into anything. He was ready and willing. She hadn't expected anything less. However, after all that time with other women, his technique was still lacking. She almost wondered if he didn't deserve that quick, stupid end after all.

Sylia was in the middle of directing Glirek through yet another clumsy kiss when that smooth voice reached her ears—a voice that still managed to send a chill down her spine. That voice had always done more to her than any of the boy's fumbling efforts ever could. Not that she intended to show it.

The voice echoed through the small room they were using, sharp enough to make Glirek's head jerk up in fright.

Tamren stood in the doorway, gaze cast down on the scene he had all but predicted.

"I see you were busy… with someone else."

Sylia shot back without missing a beat, voice sharp and defensive.

"I was going to send you a Division! I just didn't want you boys to miss out on tonight's entertainment. There are fireworks."

Tamren didn't flinch.

"I'd rather have this version. Fireworks be damned."

Sylia glowered. She was well aware of how incriminating the scene must have looked. She had just been kissing Tamren's grandson.

He crossed the distance to the bed with purposeful strides, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled beside her.

"Can you stop harassing the kid? Glirek, get out." Tamren's voice was low, almost amused.

The young man nodded and slipped away ashamed.

Sylia didn't miss a beat. "I was doing him a favor. He might actually learn something useful."

Tamren gave a short huff. "Maybe, like Banten, he's just better off with his girlfriend. You lured him in with Glisro and then left that poor thing stranded in the other room."

"Hardly." she replied coolly. "He's writing letters of apology. Very touching ones, too."

"I saw that." Tamren muttered. "He looked ready to cry, surrounded by those Summons you unleashed on him."

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Sylia's smile curled at the edges. "You don't understand the situation. Not really. If he'd stayed with me, he might've truly enjoyed what I had in mind—with Kadrin."

Tamren's tone shifted, sharpened. "Kadrin?"

"Yes." Sylia said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "He's in the other room. With one of my Sub-Servial servants learning how to perform properly."

Tamren's hands slid down with no warning, gripping her backside firmly. Sylia gasped, caught off guard but not displeased. She heard his low chuckle just before and again after he pressed a few slow, deliberate kisses over her skin.

The Mana compatibility had already done its work. Her body was pulsing with overflow—too much energy, too much sensation. She could feel her wombs leak, subtly at first, then undeniably. Her new form wasn't used yet to hold that much sensation and Mana feedback. Warm trails had already begun to soak the sheets beneath them. And Tamren had, of course, noticed.

"My, my." he drawled. "You've been working on a new body like you promised. But why this size? Looks more like Sasha's. Maybe even smaller. I'd expected you to go for something closer to Sanae's willowy build. Maybe even older like Sasha's body."

Tamren sighed and gave her a firm squeeze, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. Her body trembled, already reacting to the touch, to the inevitable. She could feel it—pressure building, her magic misfiring with each pulse of sensation. Her form, newly reshaped and honed for this purpose, was straining to contain it all. He knew exactly how to undo her.

Without a word, he lowered his head and began to explore her with practiced intent. Her breath hitched. That alone tipped her over the edge—a release she'd been holding back for some time, frustration mixing with need.

However, Tamren didn't give her space to recover. He was already pushing further, fingers finding their way with maddening precision, coaxing her open in more ways than one. She cursed the layered intricacy of her form—having multiple wombs and thus multiple centers of pleasure and pain, all vulnerable under his touch. He toyed with her, savoring the way she clenched under him.

All she heard between her own cries was his voice, sharp and dismissive, sending the boy away again without ceremony.

His grip tightened, the rhythm building. One moment, he teased; the next, he overwhelmed. She barely registered the moment he replaced fingers with something far more commanding. Her mind blurred as he claimed her, methodically, one leaking opening at a time. Her rear was filled last making her gasp as he proceeded it to give it to her just the way she liked.

It took her a long while to stop feeling and start thinking again. Tamren's rhythm, his touch—everything had carried a desperation she hadn't expected. He had been on edge, driven by something more than just lust. She had teased him too far this time. And yet, it pleased her. After all these decades, he still sought her with that same raw intensity, never fully questioning her motives, never turning away. So predictably cute. So stubbornly hers.

Sylia lay sprawled on her back, legs parted as Tamren adjusted his position between them. He was already hard again, though not quite as engorged as before. The raw surge of Mana had receded, and with it, that almost overwhelming physical dominance. He was holding back this time, she knew. Teasing her with restraint, coaxing her to beg. He always liked it when she asked.

By now, she understood his need for control and she didn't mind it one bit. She admired a man with a spine. A weaker one wouldn't have lasted a year in the Capital, let alone thrived. Not with his bloodline.

She tilted her head, breath still shaky. Then murmured. "Please. Wait."

Tamren paused, his brow lifting with deliberate calm. "What is it? You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

Sylia responded slowly and deliberately. "I wasn't looking for pleasure with Glirek."

His brow rose. A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You could have fooled me."

Without another word, he flipped her over with practiced ease, pressing her down. He pushed forward, claiming her again in one fluid motion, and she could do nothing but brace herself. Her body responded immediately, the sudden pressure and rhythm overwhelming her senses once again. Her muscles clenched, trembling. She gasped. He knew her body too well. Knew how little teasing it took to unravel her completely. Just a brush at the right place—his hands, his fingers, his lips, the heat of his breath—was enough to send her spiraling.

Her moans climbed rapidly, each wave cresting into the next, until her thoughts blurred again. She came more than once, her body surrendering to the rhythm and familiarity, the unbearable sensitivity that now accompanied his touch.

However, even as the sensations crested, she realized something was wrong. Her body wasn't balancing. Not this time.

Tamren's voice came low, almost a murmur against the rising tension in the air. "Sylia… do you need to divide again, baby? You're losing control. The others are here—or nearly here. Send some Divisions to handle them."

Sylia, trembling, gave a sharp nod. With a flick of her fingers and a pulse of will, multiple versions of herself shimmered into being. They vanished quickly, dispatched to greet Glentak Syrmundi and the handful of Tamren's relatives who had already arrived at the apartment.

She exhaled, breath ragged. "Will you listen to me now?"

"I will." Tamren answered, pulling her closer. "But we need a bigger room. The way you are now…" His gaze swept over her flushed form. "We might need help just managing you. Why compress so much power?"

"To hold her off." she said quietly. "Maybe I overdid it. Or maybe you did."

Tamren lifted her with careful strength, coaxing her legs around his waist. She flinched slightly as her stomach brushed against him, raw mana flickering like sparks between their skin.

"I'm leaking too much Darkling and Lighling Mana." she murmured, pushing lightly against his chest. "Your body, starting with that part, is responding to it too strongly."

He smirked faintly, adjusted his hold, but instead of heading toward the door, turned toward the nearest wall and pressed her gently back against it. Her eyes widened, a breath caught in her throat as the motion reignited the Mana tension between them. With careful gentleness, he entered her again. She gasped as her body stretched with the contact, her legs elongating as her magic surged through her, reshaping her body.

The transformation wasn't just physical. It was layered in power, layered in memory of him. Fully adapting to him.

Her body trembled, stretching between one self and the next, a Divinity barely held in flesh. Against the cool surface of the wall, Sylia wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her breath shallow. The pressure of everything—her leaking power, his anchoring grip, the flood of compressed magic—coiled between them like a storm.

Cradled in Tamren's arms, Sylia let herself forget if only for a moment the weight of her mission, the dangers pressing in from every side. For that fleeting instant, she allowed herself to feel, to hope, and to imagine a gentler future for them all.