The week had passed in a blur of iron, blood, and ink.
The frantic energy that had gripped the Ant Tribe since Antares's bold declaration had reached a fever pitch, then settled into a grim, disciplined silence. The transition was complete. Spring was no longer a distant promise — it was a cold, wet reality seeping through the tunnels and caverns, bringing the turning point the tribe had waited centuries for. Antares sat behind his heavy obsidian desk, the surface covered in parchment maps, scout reports, and half-finished supply ledgers. The office was quiet, lit only by a single crystal lamp whose soft amber glow cast long shadows across the carved stone walls. He closed his eyes and focused on his hearing, sharpening it with the communicator ability that had become second nature. He could hear the footsteps of servants moving through the corridors, their numbers and positions clear in his mind. He intensified his focus further and caught the distant clatter of the army and foraging units making their final preparations before the march — the low murmur of voices, the clink of armor being buckled, the scrape of whetstones on blades.
He opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, which he had kept tied back since his intense sparring session with Eli and Levi. His bones and muscles felt stronger, harder, his speed noticeably increased. The raw power he had developed in the training arena hadn't fully settled within him yet. It sat just beneath his skin, waiting for the perfect chance to be unleashed. The surface and the enemies above would be the perfect test subjects.
A soft chime echoed at the door.
"Enter," Antares said, his voice gravelly from lack of sleep.
Yanrid stepped into the room. The commander of the foraging units looked weathered. His leather armor was damp, and a faint scent of pine and thawing mud clung to him. Today he wore lighter gear for easier movement rather than his full battle armor. He bowed — not the deep, formal bow of a courtier, but the sharp, respectful nod of a soldier to his commander.
"Sire," Yanrid began, his voice steady. "The final scouting rotations are complete. The perimeter around the tower and our temporary camp are safe for now. No signs of monsters or any kind of danger."
Yanrid had been gone for a week with a small team, scouting the surface on Antares's orders. The report was exactly what the King had hoped for.
"And the weather?" Antares asked, leaning back in his chair. "Is the cold still a major threat to us?"
Yanrid shook his head. "Winter is dying, Sire, but it's not completely gone. On the surface, the snow has turned to heavy, grey slush. The rivers are tearing big chunks of ice from the banks. The air is wet enough to seep into your bones, but the deep freeze is over. The earth is soft, almost muddy. It's going to be a messy season, Sire. The forests and meadows nearest to us are quiet but still dangerous. Some monsters and beasts are still sluggish in their dens, but the scent of life is returning. It's the best time for us to move."
Antares nodded, visualizing the scene. He could almost feel the damp wind on his face. "Good. We strike while the world is still shaking off its slumber. Anything else?"
"The greenery is starting to grow abundantly, Sire," Yanrid added, a rare hint of sentimentality crossing his stoic face. "It has attracted large herds of herbivorous monsters as well as some of the fiercest predators like demon wolves. We'll most likely have to keep the line tight and our defenses on point." He paused, letting the news settle, then continued, "Then we have to—"
Before Antares could finish the thought, Yanrid cut in respectfully. "I've taken the initiative to leave a few men on the surface to prepare the camp and start working on the defenses. I doubt they'll finish the full fortifications in time, but I have no doubt the camp will be ready for us."
"Good job, Yanrid. Now go and get some rest. You'll be the one taking us to the surface, and I need you at your best."
Yanrid nodded and left swiftly, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Antares stood up. He felt a strange restlessness. For the last week he had been a whirlwind of motion — training, planning, shouting orders, and reviewing Ian's endless ledgers. Now, in the final moments before the Great Ascent, he found himself alone in his office. He began to pace the spacious room. It was a magnificent chamber, but he realized with a start that he barely knew it. He had been so focused on other matters that he hadn't truly inhabited his own home.
He trailed his fingers over the carved stone walls, feeling the intricate reliefs that told the history of the Antis line. He saw depictions of great hunts and ancient battles painted on the walls. He felt a strange resonance with the stone. The "Original Antares" — the prince who had died to give him this life — wasn't entirely gone. His memories were like faded ink, whispering through his mind.
As he turned a corner near a heavy bookshelf, his boot caught on something solid and immovable.
"Dammit," he hissed, stumbling forward.
He turned back to see what had tripped him. Tucked away in a dusty alcove, half-hidden by a moth-eaten tapestry, sat a heavy black chest. It was made of wood so dark it looked like solidified shadow, reinforced with bands of cold iron. In the center of the lid, a crimson ant head was carved into the wood, its mandibles wide and threatening.
Curiosity piqued, Antares knelt. The lock had broken when he tripped over it. He gripped the lid and heaved. It opened with a long, agonizing groan of protesting hinges.
Inside, resting atop a bed of yellowed parchment, was a bundle of heavy, dark cloth.
Antares reached in and pulled the fabric out. It was long — longer than his height — and heavy with the weight of history. He unfurled it slowly, his breath catching in his throat.
The banner was a masterpiece of old-world craftsmanship. The background was deep, blood-red silk so fine it felt like water against his calloused palms. Stitched into the center in shimmering black thread was the silhouette of a Great Ant, seen from above, its mandibles flared in a permanent snarl. Above and below the icon, the words were embroidered in gold that had faded to a dull, dignified bronze:
**"GLORY TO THE ANT KINGS AND THE ANT GOD"**
It was the war banner of his forefathers.
He felt a sudden, violent jolt of memory — not his own, but the prince's. He saw his grandfather, a titan of a man with a white beard, holding this banner high as he told the young Antares stories of old wars. His grandsire had died in his bed, a rare mercy for their kind. But then the memory shifted. The red of the banner became the red of fire. He saw his father, the previous King, charging into a wall of green skin and jagged steel. He saw the banner falling into the mud, soaked in the blood of the Antmen as the goblins swarmed over them.
Antares's hands began to tremble. A hot, searing wave of rage boiled up from his gut, turning his vision red. *Goblins.* The word felt like a curse in his mind. Those filthy, parasitic scavengers. They hadn't won through honor; they had won through numbers and treachery. Their mages had made blood sacrifices and summoned demons that possessed their soldiers, turning them into grotesque beings that slaughtered the Antmen with utmost savagery. Thousands fell that day, and his father was one of them. To make matters worse, before retreating to their lands, the goblins had used a combination of curse, dark, and plague magic to leave a virus-like disease on the members of the Ant Tribe who had strong mana, resulting in the near extinction of the Arcanis clan.
The original Antares's soul screamed for vengeance — a high-pitched, vibrating need for retribution that merged perfectly with the Earth-born Antares's protective instincts.
"They will pay," Antares whispered, his voice vibrating with a power that caused the crystal-lamp to flicker. "War-chief… I will turn their caves and settlements into their tombs."
"Sire?"
Antares snapped his head toward the door. Ian was standing there, holding a stack of final logistics reports. The old butler's eyes dropped to the cloth in Antares's hands, and his breath hitched. The reports slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the floor like wounded birds.
"The… The Sovereign Banner," Ian whispered, his voice cracking. He stepped forward, his legs shaking. "I haven't seen this since… since the day your father rode out to fight the goblins."
Ian reached out a withered hand, his fingers hovering just inches from the fabric, afraid to touch it. "We thought it was lost in the retreat. To think it was here, in this chest, all this time…"
Antares saw a single tear track through the deep wrinkles on Ian's face. The old man wasn't just a butler; he was a survivor who had seen three generations of Ant Kings, Antares being the third. He was the bridge between the glory of the past and the uncertainty of the future.
"Prepare it, Ian," Antares said, handing the heavy silk to the old man. His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Clean it. Repair what needs repairing. I am taking this with us. When we emerge on the surface, I want the sun to hit this banner first. I want every creature on the surface to see it and know that the Ant King is back."
Ian took the cloth with the reverence one would show a holy relic. A small, trembling smile touched his lips. "It shall be done, Sire. It shall be as if the Old King himself were riding with us."
Ian turned to leave, his pace more hurried than usual, but Antares stopped him.
"Ian? Who did the sewing back then? Do we have anyone left who can work silk like this?"
Ian paused, his shoulders drooping slightly. "In the old days, Sire, we had a whole team of Silk-Weavers and Seamstresses. We have a few elders who can patch a tunic or mend a sail, but a specialist who can weave mana-thread or repair royal silk? No. We are a tribe of warriors and foragers now, Sire. The arts we once had have… faded."
Antares looked at the bare stone walls of his office. "We're going to fix that, Ian. A kingdom isn't just a sword. Once we secure the surface, I want you to start a census. Find anyone with even a spark of talent for the crafts. We're going to build more than just an army."
Ian gave him a soft smile. "You truly are your father's son," Ian murmured, bowing one last time before disappearing into the corridor.
Antares stood in the silence of his office for a moment longer, the anger at the goblins settling into a cold, hard stone in his chest. He looked at his hands — the hands of a King, but also the hands of a soldier. He left the office, walking through the halls of the palace. The guards snapped to attention as he passed, their new iron armor gleaming in the crystal light. He felt the weight of their expectations. Thousands of souls were counting on him to lead them back into the light.
He reached his private quarters at the top of the tower. He was exhausted, his mind spinning with the logistics of the 4,000-man march, but he remembered Zarah's words. She had promised him a surprise before he left — something to mark the occasion of the Great Ascent.
He pushed open the heavy oak doors to his room.
"Zarah?" he called out. "I'm here. What's this about a—"
He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes wide open, surprised by the sight he was blessed with.
---
The room was not illuminated by the harsh, cold light of crystal lamps. Instead, it was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of dozens of scented candles that lined the shelves and the floor. The air was thick with a heady, intoxicating aroma of jasmine, spiced wine, and the faint, sweet musk of desire.
"Zarah?" he breathed, his hand slipping from the hilt of his sword.
"You are late, my King," a smooth, melodic voice answered.
Antares blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. In the center of the room, near the massive fur-lined bed, stood his two wives. And they were not dressed for council meetings or childcare.
Zarah sat on the edge of the mattress, her posture relaxed and inviting. She wore a black slip of translucent spider-silk gauze that shimmered like moonlight against her skin. It was delicate, held together by thin straps of silver, leaving little to the imagination. The fabric clung to her full breasts and the curve of her hips, the dark material a stark, erotic contrast to her smooth skin. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders in a dark river, and her eyes held a playful, knowing glint that promised both comfort and sin.
Standing beside her, holding a goblet of dark wine, was Solara. The Ant Queen looked nothing like the fierce mama bear he had left with the Red Suns and the Cradle-Wardens. She wore a white lace gown that matched the fire in her eyes, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. The garment was open at the front, revealing the pale, flawless skin of her torso and legs, accentuated by the soft glow of the candles. Her golden curls framed her face, and the faint golden glow of her awakened Queen aura made her look like a living goddess.
Antares felt his mouth go dry.
"I… I wasn't expecting to see you two here."
Solara stepped forward, the crimson silk rustling softly. She reached out and placed a hand on his chest, her touch cool against his feverish skin. "You have done enough, Antares," she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Tonight you need to rest. You have spent the last week forging steel, drilling soldiers, and planning a war. You carry the weight of the survival of our race on these shoulders."
She began to undo the clasps of his tunic, her movements slow and deliberate. "Tonight," Zarah added, standing up and approaching him from the side, her hand tracing the line of his jaw, "you are our husband. Let us take care of you."
Antares let out a long, shuddering breath. He hadn't realized how tense he was until this moment. The pressure of the expedition and what it meant for the tribe had all been a tight knot in his chest.
"I leave at dawn," Antares murmured, looking between them. "And I don't know when I'll be back."
"That is why tonight matters," Zarah whispered, pressing her body against his arm. "The surface is cold, Antares. It is a place of mud and blood. Let us fill you with warmth before you go. Let us remind you what you are fighting to protect."
Solara took the goblet of wine and brought it to his lips. He took a sip; it was rich and spiced, warming his throat. As he swallowed, Solara leaned in, her golden glowing eyes locking with his red ones. There was no royal haughtiness there, only a fierce, possessive desire.
Antares allowed them to strip away his tunic, his boots, and the heavy belt of office. With every piece of clothing that fell to the floor, he felt lighter. The war he had to wage against the goblins, the fear for the tribe — it all receded into the background.
He pulled them both close, marveling at the contrast. Zarah was soft and yielding, a comfort he had known since his awakening. Solara was firm and intense, a fire that matched his own.
"You are my sanctuary," Antares said, his voice rough with emotion. He kissed Zarah on the forehead, then captured Solara's lips in a deep, searing kiss that tasted of wine and promises.
They guided him to the bed, the silk of their garments brushing against his skin. As he lay back, surrounded by the scent of jasmine and the warmth of their bodies, Antares closed his eyes. For the first time in a week, the King didn't think about the future. He didn't calculate resources or anticipate enemy movements. He simply existed in the present, lost in the touch of the women who loved him.
The candles burned low, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls as the storm outside the mountain raged on. But inside the room, there was only the soft sound of whispers, the rustle of silk, and the beating of three hearts as one.
The war could wait for the sun. Tonight belonged to them.
---
**Antares POV**
"Which one of us will you pick, Antares?"
I look at the two of them for a few seconds before my eyes land on Solara. I pull her close and kiss her deeply. I can feel her tongue dancing alongside mine, hungry and eager, and after a few seconds I release her, both of us breathing hard.
"I will choose you. You have been waiting long enough, no?" Since the seeding ritual, Antares had not had any physical contact with Solara — she had stayed in the tower to look after the Red Suns.
"Y-Yes." Solara looks at me with eyes full of lust and need. "Take me, my King~ Make me yours once again."
"With pleasure."
I pick her up and throw her onto the bed. She lands with a soft gasp, her white lace gown riding up her thighs. I walk toward her and kiss her once again, deeper this time, my hand sliding down her body. My fingers find her already soaked pussy and start to play with it. I move my middle finger inside her, curling it just right while my thumb circles her clit with firm, steady pressure. I can feel her body react to every movement — her walls clenching, her hips bucking against my hand. It does not take long before she releases a loud, desperate moan and squirts, soaking my fingers and the sheets beneath her.
I pull away and see her panting, chest heaving, eyes glazed with pleasure.
"T-That was amazing…"
"And we have not yet started."
I take position between her legs, rubbing the head of my hard cock against her dripping pussy, teasing her entrance. I feel her juices coating me, her body trembling with anticipation.
"P-Please…"
"Hmm? What is it?"
"P-put it in."
"I cannot hear you, Solara."
"PUT YOUR DICK INSIDE MY WET PUSSY, ANTARES! USE YOUR HUGE DICK TO FUCK ME!"
"Good girl."
I thrust my cock inside her in one smooth, powerful motion. Her pussy grips me like a velvet vice, hot and soaking wet, pulling me deeper. "Your pussy holds my dick for dear life. You have been waiting for this, huh?"
I look to the side and see Zarah climbing onto the bed, her own pussy glistening and dripping with need. She straddles Solara's face and says, "Use your tongue."
She then looks at me with a wicked smile. "Now… use your big dick to make her into a blabbering mess, dear~ I am eager to taste your dick after it has been inside my co-wife."
I lean over and kiss Zarah deeply, our tongues battling as I start to move my hips. I begin slow, savoring the way Solara's walls flutter and squeeze around me, then gradually increase the pace until I'm pounding into her with deep, powerful thrusts. I grunt with each stroke as her pussy gets tighter the faster I go. While my mouth and hips work, my hands land on Zarah's full breasts, fondling them, pinching and rolling her hardened nipples. She moans into my mouth, grinding her wet pussy against Solara's eager tongue.
I release a low moan as I feel Solara's pussy clamp down hard, ready to squirt again. I pull out just in time to watch her body convulse, a powerful gush of her juices spraying across the sheets.
"On all fours, Solara."
The golden-eyed woman nods obediently and gets on all fours while Zarah opens her legs for her. Like the good girl she is, Solara buries her mouth between Zarah's thighs, licking and sucking with desperate hunger. I push my cock back inside Solara's dripping pussy, but this time I thrust hard and fast from the start. My eyes land on her swaying breasts — bigger and fuller than Zarah's, her nipples rock-hard and begging for attention. I grab them, squeezing and tugging as my hips slam into her ass with wet, obscene sounds. I slap her ass hard, the sharp crack echoing through the room.
"Hmmm~" Solara moans into Zarah's pussy, the vibration making Zarah cry out in pleasure.
I increase my pace, fucking her relentlessly until I feel my own climax building. With a deep growl I bury myself to the hilt and shoot my load deep inside her, filling her completely. I slap her ass one more time before pulling out, watching my cum drip from her well-fucked pussy.
Solara collapses onto the bed with a large, satisfied grin on her face.
Zarah walks toward me, kissing me deeply. "Now… it is my turn."
I grin at her words, and my cock hardens again instantly.
For the rest of the night I kept going at it with both of them — switching positions, taking them one after the other and sometimes together, their moans and cries filling the room until the candles burned low and the first hints of morning light began to filter through the crystal vents. By the time both women finally tapped out, exhausted and glowing with satisfaction, the sky above the mountain was just beginning to lighten.
Antares lay between them, breathing hard, his body spent but his spirit renewed. The war could wait a few more hours. For now, he had everything he needed right here.