Zena: the First Awakening
Copyright© 2025 by Man Of Myth
Chapter 2- The Aftermath
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 2- The Aftermath - Before the first stars learned to burn, the Pulse was born, a living rhythm of creation that binds gods, universes, and mortal thought. On the world of Zena, a single clash between two kings reawakens that forgotten power. The impact fractures the laws of reality, echoing through distant realms, awakening watchers, universes, and ancient minds that have slept since the dawn of existence. Now, as the Pulse stirs once more, time bends, empires tremble.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Fa/Fa ft/ft Mult Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual High Fantasy Military Mystery Science Fiction Aliens Space Politics Royalty
The moment the kings’ weapons met, the world seemed to have stopped. A single, perfect note rang through Zena, a sound too vast to hear, too ancient to name. For those watching from the plains of Siyara to the seas of Elmyra, all around the world, the strike appeared only as a blinding arc of white, a surge of light so pure it left no scorch, no ruin, no shadow. nothing.
The battlefield stood unbroken. The wind returned. The skies were silent. But beneath the ground, reality was already unravelling. At the exact point where the two kings stood, a ripple formed invisible, but alive, a pulse of unshaped power spiralling downward into the planet’s heart.
From every kingdom Siyara, Nezara, Wumyra, and Elmyra, the world’s Luma responded as if called home. Every living thing felt it, a sudden emptiness, as though their very essence had been borrowed by something far greater. Everywhere, energy drained rivers of colour bleeding from the air, drawn by some unseen gravity toward the planet’s centre. No one understood. Not the soldiers who dropped to their knees, nor the kings whose weapons dimmed in confusion, nor even the strategist’s in Wumyra who watched their readings vanish into static. All power, all life, all resonance was converging.
Deep beneath Zena’s crust past the strata of metal and stone, lies a vast chamber of luminous material that no tool can pierce. It is not molten rock, nor crystal, nor energy.
It is living symmetry a fusion of physics and consciousness, the planet’s hidden mind.
The ancients called it “the Core.” But that word is too small. The Core is not just the centre of Zena; it is the anchor of its reality. Every structure, every particle, every breath of air is bound by its rhythm. It regulates not temperature, nor magnetism but existence itself. It is the unseen conductor that keeps every atom in time. And when it stops time will too. Those streams of energy collided at the Core, the sleeping Pulse that had once been the breath of creation. It could not contain what it received. For one fraction of eternity, the entire planet held its breath.
Then, without warning, the light moved again. The energy that had vanished into the planet’s heart suddenly surged outward a reversal so immense that even the air seemed to recoil.
What had been drained from the four kingdoms now rose again, not in chaos, but in order as if the Pulse itself were breathing out. It came as threads of brilliance, thin lines of liquid light weaving their way through stone, water, and air.
The energy was the same yet not. It felt alive, deliberate, purified. Every living being felt it inside them a pulse that resonated not through their bodies, but through their souls. Soldiers on the battlefield clutched their chests, eyes wide as warmth spread through their veins.
Weapons hummed. Armors flickered with renewed glow. Even the wounded felt their pain dim
their blood cooling, their breath strengthening. The kings, standing amid the fading mist, felt it deepest of all. Siyazim’s armor flared red, then white, as streams of light traced the scars on his gauntlets. He looked to Nezamon, whose frost-blue energy now shimmered with an inner silver core a light that was not his own.
Their Luma had changed.
Siyazim lowered his spear. The weapon’s tip scraped against the glassy ground with a muted hiss. Across the field, Nezamon straightened slowly, his axe hanging at his side. Both men looked around. The soldiers behind them were motionless, waiting for orders, unsure if the fight was over or just paused.
“You feel that?” Nezamon Asked,
“Yeah ... it’s coming from under us.”.
Verynor came up beside Siyazim, armor scuffed and cracked, the red glow of his Luma suit fading to faint embers.
“They’ve stopped fighting,” he said quietly.
“So have we,” Siyazim replied, his voice flat.
Verynor’s gaze drifted over the empty no-man’s-land. The ground was split open in several places, white steam curling from the cracks.
“You want to push forward?”
Siyazim shook his head. “No. We’re done here. Nobody’s winning anything today.”
On the opposite ridge, Nezamon gestured for Rahean to hold position.
“Get the wounded out,” the king said, not raising his voice. “Keep your teams away from the centre.”
Rahean glanced toward the scorched plain. “Something under there still hot?”
“I don’t know,” Nezamon said. “Don’t test it.”
From somewhere near the middle of the valley came a hiss brief, sharp followed by the brittle sound of cooling glass. A patch of the ground was smooth and pale, as if molten rock had hardened in an instant.
Verynor frowned at it. “That wasn’t there an hour ago.”
Siyazim’s answer came after a beat. “Add it to the list of things I don’t understand today.”
Their eyes met across the haze two kings, both standing, both alive, both without a victory.
Neither spoke. Neither bowed.
After a long moment, they turned away from each other at almost the same time.
“Pull everyone back” Siyazim said to Verynor as he adjusted the grip on his spear. “No trophies, no scouts. We’re leaving.”
“Understood.”
On the other side of the field, Nezamon was saying almost the same thing.
“Break formation. Get everyone out of here.”
“What about the ... whatever that is?” Rahean wondered.
A few nervous laughs broke through the ranks.
The orders moved down the ranks. The army began to withdraw not running, not marching, just moving, slow and careful, like people walking away from something they shouldn’t have survived. There was no cheer, no victory call. Just the sound of tired feet dragging across cooling ground and the distant creak of metal.
When the last of the soldiers disappeared into the fog, the valley was empty again.
Siyara – The Crimson Sky Kingdom
The storm had never left the southern horizon.
Even after the armies withdrew, the Aeral Expanse still shimmered, a vast network of floating plateaus and crimson rock shelves drifting within turbulent wind currents. The air carried a faint metallic taste, charged with residual Luma. Lightning crawled silently through the clouds, red veins twisting across the heavens like the heartbeat of a sleeping god.
Below, the world breathed. The canyons exhaled long ribbons of mist that rose, folded, and vanished into the upper currents.
At the heart of the capital Siyara Prime, the Spire of Winds, King Saminah Siyazim stood at the observatory balcony, overlooking the motionless storm. His cloak whispered behind him, moved more by memory than air.
General Verynor entered quietly, his crimson armor repaired but dulled from heat and altitude wear.
“They say the winds haven’t shifted since the battle, sire.”
“I know,” Siyazim said. His voice was calm, barely rising above the hum of resonance coils embedded in the walls.
“The engineers say the pressure currents over the Expanse are ... holding steady. Not rising, not dropping. Almost like...”
“ ... they’re breathing,” Siyazim finished, turning slightly.
Verynor hesitated. “The air feels heavier. Some say the wind is waiting.”
Siyazim’s gaze returned to the sky. The upper clouds were glowing faintly soft red light pulsing in slow rhythm.
“Every soldier who returned,” he said quietly, “says the same thing. They heard something, just before it all stopped. Not thunder. Not wind.”
Siyazim’s reflection shimmered against the glass, fractured by the dancing Luma currents beyond.
“Let them rest,” he said finally. “Don’t chase ghosts carried on the air.”
“And if it’s not ghosts?” Verynor asked.
Siyazim’s expression didn’t change. His eyes remained on the storm’s core, where the clouds twisted around a faint white glow.
“Then we’ll listen when it speaks.”
Outside, thunder rolled softly not violent, but rhythmic, like the breath of a world rediscovering itself.
Nezara – The Kingdom of Fire
The sky over Nezara was alive streaked with glowing veins of blue flame that rippled like rivers in the clouds. Far below, the black ridges of the Molten Expanse bled light through their cracks, each fault line pulsing in rhythm with the distant thrum of the Pulse. The ground wasn’t cooling it was breathing.
Inside the Citadel of Embers, the air shimmered with residual heat. The walls hummed with low resonance, veins of Pyroluma pulsing just beneath their basalt surface.
At the center of the war chamber, King Nahmias Nezamon stood over a table of molten glass, the maps projected across it flickering and twisting from the warmth.
His council surrounded him, their armor still faintly glowing, vents along the shoulders releasing soft plumes of steam.
An engineer spoke hoarsely.
“It’s not fading, sire. Whatever the Pulse did ... it’s sustaining itself. The readings show stable combustion under the valley. No collapse. No decay. Just ... heat. Constant heat.”
Rhaen, his armor charred and cracked from battle, leaned against a support pillar. “So we didn’t win, we didn’t lose, and now the land is on fire for eternity. Perfect.”
Nezamon’s gaze didn’t lift from the glowing map. “That’s Pyroluma reborn. The flame’s pure it burns, but it doesn’t consume.” he said.
The room went quiet. Even the vents seemed to hush.
Rhaen frowned. “You think Siya did this?”
“No,” Nezamon said. “Fire doesn’t answer to air. It feeds on it.”
He looked up, eyes catching the reflected blue glow. “Whatever woke up down there, it used us both.”
Outside, the blue fires swayed in the windless night no longer wild, no longer chaotic.
They burned with purpose. And deep beneath the mountains, the Pulse hummed again low, rhythmic, steady like the heartbeat of something vast, and very much awake.
Wumyra – The Kingdom of Earth
The western sky was quiet too quiet.
While the other realms trembled with firestorms and winds, Wumyra simply listened.
Its vast forests of stone and root the Verdant Range stretched for thousands of miles, canopies so dense they blocked sunlight entirely. Beneath them, the true kingdom lay hidden: the Subterranea, halls and cities carved directly into the bedrock, pulsing with veins of Green Luma, Terraluma, the resonance of thought made solid.
The ground beneath those halls was no longer still.
Inside the Council, where crystalline data-roots climbed the walls like vines of light, the air was heavy with vibration. A low hum rolled through the stone not noise, but a deep, steady rhythm.
Strategist Najira Unajar stood beside King Winsais Wumran, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes tracing the holographic resonance graphs that floated above the great stone table. Each display flickered between readings of seismic movement and energy flux, all matching one pattern a slow, repeating pulse from the heart of the planet.
“It’s not tectonic,” Najira said, voice low but sharp. “The strata are moving in unison. Even the roots are shifting, but not breaking.”
Winsais frowned, the green glow from the table reflecting in his eyes. “So it’s alive.”
Najira didn’t look up. “It always was. We just never listened closely enough.”
The chamber’s walls rumbled faintly, sending dust spiralling from the carved glyphs of ancient gods reminders of the time when the earth spoke through symbols, not sensors.
“The resonance collapsed at the battlefield,” Najira continued, “but it’s reappearing under every major capital. Not above... beneath. The same frequency. The same rhythm.”
Winsais leaned forward, his palms pressing against the table’s surface. “And you’re certain this isn’t fallout?”
Najira finally turned. “Sire, if this were decay, the crust would be breaking apart. But instead...”
He raised a hand. The hologram zoomed in, revealing a lattice of luminous green lines threading through Zena’s crust like roots reaching outward from a single source.
“ ... it’s growing.”
For a moment, the king said nothing. The hum beneath their feet deepened, vibrating through marrow and metal alike.
“It’s spreading through the planet’s root network,” Winsais murmured.
Najira nodded. “Every mineral node, every buried Luma vein the Core is reclaiming them.”
“Then we’re not observers anymore,” Winsais said quietly. “We’re part of its structure.”
Najira’s gaze hardened. “If that’s true, then the Pulse doesn’t just connect life. It decides it.”
A long silence filled the chamber, broken only by the pulse of light flowing through the table slow, calm, relentless.
“Then you mean our strategy for this battle was for nothing?”
The king’s voice was calm, but the edge beneath it carried through the quiet chamber.
Unajar met his stare for a long moment before turning toward the projection flickering across the wall.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Whatever this was, it’s bigger than what we aimed for. Maybe we were a part of it knowingly or not.”
He paused, studying the faint white readings that still blinked across the map.
“For now, we may not have achieved anything. But I have a feeling, sire...” His eyes narrowed slightly. “ ... what happened out there will come back to us one way or another.”
The King leaned back, rubbing his temples. “And you think this is connected to Elmyra’s signals before the battle?”
“I think we should stop sharing everything with Elmyra,” Unajar replied flatly. “Their silence since the event tells me they know more than we do.”
Winsais didn’t answer, but the faint twitch in his jaw said enough.
Outside, the forests swayed without wind. The roots beneath the soil pulsed faintly, their green glow spreading farther west with each passing breath.
And in the silence that followed, deep within the earth, the Pulse whispered not through sound, but through movement.
Elmyra – The Kingdom of Water
The seas of the East were still, unnaturally still.
After the battle, the tides had refused to move. The world’s greatest oceans the Golden Veil Seas lay flat as glass, reflecting both moons in perfect symmetry. No wind, no current, no sound. Only silence that felt like listening.
In the distance, the towers of Elmyra Prime, the Tidal Spires, rose from the water like liquid gold turned solid. They were not built, but grown coral, crystal, and resonance fused together by Hydroluma over centuries. The city was a temple of light and reflection, where every surface mirrored another, and every truth had a twin.
Inside the Chamber of the Eight Veils, the air rippled faintly as the sea itself pressed against the transparent walls. In its center floated the Orb of Reflection, the holiest relic of Elmyra once golden, now pale white, its light pulsing with the rhythm of the Pulse.
Eight figures stood in a half-circle before it, robed in flowing fabrics that shimmered like waves under moonlight. The sea refracted through the chamber, painting them in endless patterns of light.
At the front stood High Lumarch Avelyn Elmana, her calm presence commanding the room more than any force of power could. Her golden eyes reflected the Orb’s glow soft, deliberate, unreadable.
“It has changed,” murmured one of the Veils, voice trembling. “The Orb has never pulsed before. It’s ... alive.”
“Not alive,” corrected another. “Responsive.”
Avelyn raised her hand gently, and silence fell.
She stepped closer to the Orb. Its surface rippled as she approached, distorting her reflection into hundreds of fragmented selves. “Everything that touches the world touches the sea,” she said softly. “And everything the sea touches becomes reflection. The Pulse is no different.”
“But the kings” began one of the younger priests.
Avelyn’s gaze shifted to him kind, but absolute. “The kings think they fought each other; the strategist’s think they engineered the battle. Let them believe it.”
The water behind her stirred faintly. The entire chamber seemed to breathe with it expanding, contracting, resonating with the same pulse that now echoed through Zena.
One of the elder Veils spoke, voice low, uncertain. “The energy signature under our waters matches what Wumyra detected beneath their roots. The same frequency. The same rhythm. The world is resonating in unison.”
Avelyn smiled faintly. “Then the world has remembered what it is.”
She turned toward the vast window, where moonlight danced across an unmoving ocean. Her reflection stood beside her identical, yet reversed, as though she were sharing the view with another self.
“The Pulse doesn’t awaken destruction,” she murmured. “It awakens awareness. The kings have seen fire and wind; the thinkers have felt the earth. But water...”
Her hand brushed the glass. The surface rippled, and for a heartbeat, the reflection behind it blinked not in sync.
“ ... water remembers before all things.”
The Veils exchanged glances, unease flickering across their faces. The Orb pulsed again steady, slow, hypnotic. Its light passed through the glass, spreading into the sea outside, igniting the water in soft yellow luminescence that stretched far beyond the horizon.
Beneath the surface, something vast stirred not violent, but immense. A shape moving slowly in the deep.
Outside, the still ocean began to move at last not in waves, but in spirals. From the depths, Hydroluma rose in thin streams of golden light, weaving upward through the water like veins of liquid sunlight.
After few days, the world of Zena remained silent. The storms had died. The skies were dull and grey. Not a single Luma engine hummed, not a single current stirred the air.And in that quiet, beneath the stillness of oceans and mountains, something moved again.
At the very center of Zena, where molten rock once glowed dim and red, the Pulse waited
silent, contained, alive. Then came the hiss. Soft. Sharp. Like the sound of air escaping between teeth.
A hairline fracture spread across the Core’s crystalline surface. Then another. Then a thousand more each one a thread of light, snaking outward like a spider web through the planet’s layers. From orbit, no one could see it. But inside the crust, the veins of light raced upward delicate, alive, reaching. At the surface, the first crack opened near the center of the Great Expanse a line no wider than a finger, glowing from within.
A moment later, the light emerged. White radiance poured from the fracture pure, clean, without sound. It wasn’t an explosion; it was release. The streams of light rose upward, twisting and folding around each other until they formed a perfect sphere, a miniature star hovering just above the ground.
Its glow was so bright it erased every shadow, yet the light didn’t burn. The sphere rotated faster and faster, until its shape blurred, its edges dissolving into rings of light that spun with impossible precision.
The hum returned low, deep, resonant the same tone that had once shaken kings and kingdoms alike. Then, without warning, four tendrils of light split from the sphere.
They stretched outward in four directions, thin, focused beams of brilliance cutting through air, water, stone, and flame alike. They didn’t destroy. They sought.
Each tendril raced across the world, moving too fast for the eye to follow but slow enough for the soul to feel. Every living being shivered without knowing why.
When the tendrils reached the borders of the four kingdoms, the light within them shifted. The white light had found resonance. Each tendril now carried the tone of its element a perfect harmony drawn from the heart of Zena itself.
From high above, the tendrils curved downward, arcing like comets falling toward their chosen lands. Each streak of coloured light sliced through cloud and storm, vanishing into the capitals below into the towers, the citadels, the sanctums searching, seeking, drawn by something unseen.
A tendril moved across the southern plains, its glow reflecting off the polished towers of Siyara, the capital of wind. Each tower shone red under the night sky, powered by dormant Luma cores still recovering from the battle.
For a brief instant, all of them came alive again red veins pulsing up their sides in perfect rhythm with the passing light. The air turned warm. The city’s great turbines began to spin on their own, drawing in breath. And for the first time in weeks, the wind began to move again.
The light slowed as it neared the heart of the capital the Spire of Winds, home to the royal family.
But it wasn’t drawn to the throne chamber. It drifted past it.
It fell lower, through corridors and halls, until it reached one of the quiet upper quarters where a single figure stood at an open terrace, unable to sleep.
Queen Ilyra Siyazim watched the dawnless horizon, her hair caught in the faint stirrings of wind.
For days she had felt the world grow still. Now, it was as if the air had remembered how to breathe.
Then she saw it a streak of white light descending through the haze, silent but impossible to miss. Her first instinct was to call for guards, but she couldn’t move. Something in the air held her still.
The light slowed as it reached her balcony. It hovered, pulsing faintly once, twice before it began to change. The pure white hue bled into red, not fiery red, but the deep glow of a sunset through glass. Wind swirled gently around it, drawn toward its center, forming tiny spirals of light that danced in the air.
Ilyra took a slow step forward. She didn’t feel afraid. The air around her thickened, charged, alive. She reached out not from courage, but from instinct. The sphere of red light drifted toward her hand, paused then dissolved, its glow folding inward until it sank into her chest like a slow exhale.
The air felt normal again. Only her breathing remained.
Far above the mountains of the north, the clouds still glowed faintly blue from the old fires that had scorched them during the war. The air was dense here, filled with the smell of ash and metal. The people of Nezara had returned to their forges, trying to rebuild what had been burned. No one noticed when the stars dimmed. Not right away.
The light came quietly this time a thin streak that glided out of the upper atmosphere, white at first, then burning pale blue as it cut through the frozen air. It didn’t fall fast. It drifted, like it knew exactly where it was going. Every torch in the capital wavered as it passed. The flames bent in the same direction, as if greeting something they remembered.
At the heart of Nezara, the Pyrelake churned beneath sheets of tempered glass a sea of molten fire contained by Luma fields, used to power the entire northern kingdom. Normally it roared. Tonight, it was quiet, its glow dimmed to a steady simmer.
Then the surface rippled. A single spark of blue fire rose from the lake, twisting upward not heat, not gas light. The tendril had arrived.
It hung there above the lake for a second, its color shifting from white to the same cold blue as the flames below. The surface of the Pyrelake rippled again, forming perfect concentric circles,
as if bowing to its own reflection.
Queen Serath Nezamon stood at the viewing bridge that overlooked the forge fields.
She’d been awake for hours, monitoring containment pressure a task she preferred to sleep.
When the lights flickered, she thought it was another power dip. Then the hum started.
A low, resonant tone rolled through the steel floor beneath her feet. She turned toward the lake and saw it. The orb hovered in midair, its surface shimmering like glass holding lightning.
The heat wasn’t unbearable; it was alive.
The Queen took a single step forward. The bridge rails vibrated under her touch. The light tilted slightly if light could tilt and drifted toward her. Every torch on the bridge extinguished itself.
Only the orb remained, glowing brighter as it neared.
When it reached her, it stopped. A single pulse ran through it, then through her chest.
The heat spread not burning, but filling. she pressed her hand against her chest,
where a faint warmth still pulsed slow, deliberate, alive.
Dawn hadn’t reached the eastern sea yet. The horizon was silver, not from sunlight, but from the faint Luma reflections drifting across the wave’s residue from the Pulse.
The people of Elmyra, the floating capital of the Eastern Kingdom, woke to still waters for the first time in living memory. No tide. No wind. The ocean was glass.
And then, beneath that perfect stillness, the deep began to glow. At first it was only a shimmer
a faint line of white pulsing far below, like lightning frozen inside the sea.
Then the surface rippled. The light broke through not as an explosion, but as a slow, spiralling ascent. A single orb of pure white emerged, lifting itself from the water, trailing droplets that hung in the air longer than they should.
For a moment, it hovered just above the waves. Then, as if remembering its purpose, it began to move drifting inland, toward the heart of Elmyra.
The orb glided through the open corridors of the Chamber of Reflection, its glow bending the glass walls into living mirrors.
Inside, High Lumarch Avelyn stood before the Orb of Reflection the ancient sphere that had guided Elma for centuries. She had been studying it for hours, searching for signs after the world’s silence.
Then the air in the room shifted. The sea outside stilled completely. The reflection in the sacred orb flickered for a heartbeat, she saw herself surrounded by light that wasn’t hers.
Avelyn turned and saw the light. It drifted into the chamber, silent, dripping faint streaks of luminescent water onto the floor that vanished before they touched the ground. The Queen’s every movement cautious, reverent. Her eyes reflected the glow perfectly one blue, one gold, the colors of the sea at dawn.
The orb hovered in front of her, white shifting to a pale golden hue that shimmered like sunlight through waves. No words. No sound. Only the soft rhythm of her breathing and the distant pulse of the sea.
Then the light moved slowly, as if asking permission. It touched her palm. The contact was soft, cool, weightless like dipping her hand in warm water. The orb dissolved into streams of light that spiralled up her arm and into her chest, sinking beneath her skin until all that remained was a faint shimmer under her collarbone.
She didn’t flinch. She simply closed her eyes. Outside, the ocean stirred a single, massive wave rising and falling in perfect silence. Then she looked out toward the horizon, where the sea had begun to move again slow, calm, alive.
The western lands slept beneath the cliffs of Wumyra a place where storms rarely came,
and when they did, they were scheduled.
In the Citadel of Mind, every spire hummed with quiet calculation. Machines ticked softly behind stone walls. Data streams pulsed through crystal conduits that glowed faint green, running deep under the mountain.
Even in the stillness after the great clash, Wuma’s cities didn’t stop. They observed. They recorded. They waited. And deep below them, the ground began to breathe. At first it was just a vibration so light it barely disturbed the dust on the Council’s floor.
Then, the vibration grew. Monitors flickered. The lights above dimmed. The hum from the Mind Nexus rose in pitch until it resonated like a living pulse.
In the lower archives, workers stopped what they were doing as the walls began to glow faint green veins of light spreading like roots through metal and stone.
One of them whispered,
“It’s coming from below.”
They were right. The ground cracked. Not violently it opened, like the earth itself was drawing a deep, slow breath. From the center of the chamber, light emerged not falling from above like the others, but rising upward, slow and deliberate.
The light passed through levels, floors, corridors, until it reached the Upper Council Hall,
where Queen Meria Wumran stood beside her king Winsais and advisor, Najira Unajar,
examining the planet’s new seismic patterns.
“Another tremor?” Najira asked. But Meria was already watching the floor.
The cracks beneath her feet glowed bright, alive, spreading outward in perfect geometric patterns. The entire chamber became a lattice of living light.
The sphere rose from the center of the hall white at first, then deep green, pulsing with slow precision. Its light wasn’t wild; it was focused, every flicker controlled.
Meria took one step forward, eyes steady. The orb hovered at her height, as if measuring her,
as if deciding.
Then, with a quiet hum, it moved closer. The glow washed over her face, gentle but heavy,
and when it touched her hand, the pulse ran straight through her body like a breath held too long.