Transmigrated Into A Women Dominated World

The moment her picture was displayed before them, the chamber's air grew heavy, dread settling like dust. Calyra muttered, "Unbelievable."

Even Valerie's grin faltered, her eyes darkening at the sight of Daphne Virellith.

"General," Valerie said, her playful tone gone, "Daphne's a loose cannon. Aegis Division can't handle her chaos."

Rostova leaned forward, her smirk fading into a frown. "Chaos? She's ruthless, efficient. Her work as the chief scientist in sector 7's Citadel is unmatched. She gets results."

Athea's voice cut through, cold and final. "No."

"But she is the most qualified candidate, Princess," Rostova insisted with a visible frown, a hint of frustration now in her voice.

"Qualified?" Athea's voice was dangerously soft, a silken thread of menace. "Her ambition, General, once led her down a path of forbidden science. She sought to create a new kind of warrior by fusing the sacred with the profane. She took the Vitae of a Warlady and the biology of a captured live fade... and she created an abomination."

A horrified silence fell over the chamber. The memory of the event lingered like a ghost in the room—an unspoken terror that chilled them all. It had happened, undeniably, and none of them could forget. Before Daphne Virellith became the Chief Scientist of the Citadel in Sector 7, she had been what many called a rogue scientist, wielding her brilliant mind for pursuits far beyond sanctioned limits.

"That 'catastrophic failure' cost us an entire research outpost and the lives of a dozen loyal scientists before you, General Rostova personally led the strike team that put the creature down," Athea stated, her voice devoid of emotion.

Another matriarch added, her voice low, "She is brilliant, yes, but she is reckless. Her ambition has no limits and no conscience. We should not place that danger at the heart of our most critical defense project. Who knows what other reckless experiments she would perform with a dead Vorthak?"

General Rostova could only stare, the horrifying revelation silencing any further debate.

Athea's gaze swept over them all, her authority absolute. "So that's it then. We all agree that we will not be discussing Dr. Virellith further. My choice is Sage. Her genius is tempered by a moral compass." She fixed her gaze on captain Nyx who stood off near the double doors, "If no one has any objections, then, Captain Nyx will extend the invitation to her."

Valerie raised a hand, her playful smirk returning. "Hold up, Athea. Let me do it. Nyx's all grim and Warlady-ish—Sage'll think she's being drafted for a death march. I'll make it fun, like an invite to the galaxy's coolest science club."

Athea exhaled sharply, her patience thinning. "Valerie, this is serious. But… fine. Make it quick, and no theatrics."

Valerie flashed a mock salute. "You got it, boss."

—-

When Zaeryn finally awoke, it was evening and the sun had set. His mind was a little clearer than before. He had managed to get a few hours of sleep, even with his head full of ideas on how to improve his stats and abilities.

His mood had improved, but not enough to distract him from the fact that he still needed a way to level-up. Maybe being a Prime Consort, as Arya had suggested, was inevitable. That way he would get stronger quickly. But there was also a possibility that it could backfire on him.

Surely, being a glorified gigolo would get him lots of intimate encounters, but that puts him at risk of running into people who might harm him.

"Nah, that's a small risk," he mumbled to the empty room. He might be disliked, but desire was a far more powerful motivator than hate in this world. And he was, as Arya had pointed out, a national treasure. 'It is practically my civic duty to share myself.' he told himself. 'I'm doing a favour by being a prime consort."

A slow grin spread across his face. The path to being a consort was clear. With a newfound sense of purpose that was equal parts absurd and exhilarating, he swung his legs off the bed and strode out of his room.

As Zaeryn descended the stairs, the cool polished steps silent under his feet, the low murmur of voices grew clearer.

The room was bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the evening lights, casting long, warm shadows across the room.

He saw them curled up on one of the plush, oversized couches.

Aeris was lounging with her characteristic, almost feline elegance, while Ravena sat across from her, leaning forward, her green eyes animated as she spoke. They seemed lost in their own world, a comfortable intimacy settling around them.

As he took the final step into the room, Aeris's gaze lifted, catching his movement over Ravena's shoulder. A slow, wicked grin spread across her lips, and the mischievous glint in her eyes was clear.

"Well, speak of the devil," Aeris purred, her voice dripping with amusement. She nudged Ravena's foot with her own. "Careful, don't look too happy to see him. You might scare him off with all that eagerness."

Ravena turned, and the serious focus from her conversation dissolved instantly. A radiant smile bloomed across her face, a soft blush warming her cheeks as the memory of his touch from just hours before flooded her senses. Her green eyes sparkled with a warmth reserved only for him.

"Hey," Zaeryn said, his own smile spreading as he took in the sight of her. "Am I interrupting some top-secret gossip session?"

"Hardly," Aeris drawled, taking a lazy sip from a mug. "More like a performance review. And you, my dear brother, received glowing marks."

The rich aroma of sautéed herbs and spices drifted from the kitchen, and Zaeryn's attention shifted. "Where are the others?" he asked, already moving toward the source of the delicious smell.

"Kitchen," Aeris called after him.

He walked into the warm, bright space. The air hummed with the soft sizzle of a pan on the mag-stove.

Kayla was perched on the edge of the sleek counter.

Across the room, Marceline was lounging on a plush seat in the kitchen's sitting area, legs elegantly crossed as she sipped from a steaming mug.

But Zaeryn's eyes went straight to Ysmeine.

She stood at the stove, her plump, curvaceous hips swaying with an almost hypnotic rhythm as she stirred the pan. The warm kitchen light traced the glossy waves of her dark hair, highlighting the gentle curve of her shoulders and the soft swell of her back. Every subtle motion seemed to pull him in, each sway teasing him without a word.

A sudden, primal urge surged through him, raw and undeniable.