The line for soup was moving briskly, a conveyor belt of commerce and craving. Sol was in his element, a king on a throne of bone and broth. But amidst the sea of eager faces, suddenly his eyes caught someone, not like he could ever forget her.
She was Nia.
The hunter’s wife, the first woman he wrec... Ahem! had sex with.
She stood near the back of the queue, half-hidden behind a large warrior. She wasn’t holding a scrap of meat or a bone. Her hands were empty, clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles were white. She was trembling... a real fine, continuous vibration that rattled her shell necklaces.
Sol watched her out of the corner of his eye as he served an elder. She looked... wrecked. Her eyes were rimmed with red, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. She looked like a woman who hadn’t slept in two days. She looked like an addict in withdrawal.
She stepped forward, fighting her own body with every inch. She would take a step, stop, look like she was about to run, and then take another step, drawn by a gravity she couldn’t escape.
When she finally reached the front, she didn’t look at the soup. She looked at Sol. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the silver irises, making her eyes look like black voids of need.
"I..." she stammered, her voice a dry rasp. "I don’t have... trade."
"Then you can go get them, we still have plenty," she stiffened, and looked at him with wrongful eyes, as if her tears would come out any sound, he looked at her calmly. He didn’t even smile or offer her soup.
He felt the Ash Gray energy in his chest stir, ready to command her, but he paused. He wanted to see something.
She looked at him, hesitated, but eventually left. Sol watched her go calmly, and continued pouring, then suddenly he handed the ladle to Arelia.
"Take over," Sol said loudly enough for the line to hear. "I need to fetch more water from the reserve. The bottom of the pot is getting thick."
Arelia nodded, happy to be in charge. "Okay, Sol!"
Sol grabbed two empty water skins. He stepped out from behind the stone table, walking right past Nia. He didn’t stop. He didn’t touch her. He just caught her gaze for a split second and tilted his head toward the tall grass at the edge of the village perimeter... the shadow of the great stake wall.
He walked away, heading into the deepening twilight.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He could hear the soft, hesitant crunch of footsteps following him.
He reached the designated spot... a secluded alcove formed by the roots of a massive tree and the high grass, hidden from the eyes but close enough to hear the distant hum of the crowd. He dropped the water skins and leaned against the rough bark of the tree, waiting.
A moment later, Nia burst through the grass.
She stopped when she saw him. Her chest was heaving, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She looked wild, her hair escaping its braids, her skin flushed with a feverish heat.
"Sol, I know you are called Sol," she choked out.
Sol stood still, his arms crossed. He didn’t use the energy. He didn’t command her. He just waited.
"What..." Nia took a stumbling step forward, her hands reaching out as if to grab him, then pulling back to clutch her own stomach, as if she was in pain "What did you do to me?"
"I don’t know what you mean," Sol said softly, feigning ignorance.
"Liar!" she hissed, tears spilling over. "Ever since... night... my body... it’s not mine anymore."
She shuddered violently, her legs shaking so hard she looked like she might collapse.
"I tried," she sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush of shame and desperation. But still, I felt nothing. I felt nothing!"
Sol watched her, his expression neutral. "What about your husband?" he asked calmly. "Didn’t the hunter return to take care of his prize?"
Nia shook her head violently, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"He isn’t my husband yet," she whispered, her voice trembling, eyes darting to the side as if afraid someone might hear the scandalous admission. "We haven’t completed the Sacred Union yet. We were betrothed, but the ceremony... it hasn’t happened. The Shaman hasn’t blessed us."
She hugged herself, looking down at the dirt, shivering despite the warmth of the evening.
"And... I don’t know where he is. He never came back. After he ran out of the alley that night... he just vanished. And hasn’t come back since."
Sol raised an eyebrow. He never came back?
He remembered the command he had given the man in the heat of the moment, coated in the raw, uncontrolled Prismatic energy: Stop. Get the hell out of here.
He hadn’t realized the command was that potent. Had the hunter just kept running? Or had he run blindly into the jungle and been eaten? Either way, the "husband" was out of the picture.
"So," Sol said, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. "He’s gone. Then what about tomorrow? Weren’t you supposed to do the sacred deed then? I thought you two were..."
"No, no," she stammered, shaking her head violently. "We can’t do that since we haven’t been blessed yet. It... it was just him trying to force me, after he came back from the hunt. He was drunk on bloodlust. And of course, I didn’t want it. I resisted."
Sol froze. His mind replayed her words, and then it replayed the memory of their first encounter in the dark alley.
We haven’t been blessed yet.
A heavy realization crashed into him like a falling rock.
That means... she was a virgin.
He thought back to that night. He remembered pushing inside her. He remembered a distinct, tight resistance... a barrier that he had shoved through with the rough impatience of a man seeking relief. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, and it was his first time, he thought all the pussies are like that and he remembered that she hadn’t bled, or maybe she did, and it was lost in the fluids and the darkness.
But suddenly, looking at her... this sturdy, resilient tribal woman... he had the urge to facepalm himself. Damn, this wasn’t the modern world. This was a primitive era where survival was the only constant theme. The women here climbed trees, ran from beasts, and did all the stuff a man did, from the moment they could walk.
Naturally, their bodies were different... tougher, more elastic, built for endurance. The delicate physiology of a modern woman didn’t apply here. Her body was robust enough that losing her maidenhead hadn’t resulted in a delicate bloodstain on the sheets.
So, I really took her virginity, Sol realized, a knot forming in his stomach. And I didn’t even know it.
That meant he had fundamentally misunderstood everything about that night.
He felt a pang of genuine guilt. He remembered how he had treated her... pushing in her body, using her body with the rough arrogance of a man who thought he was dealing with an experienced, loose woman. He had judged her based on his own "cultured" knowledge.