The Asterilthos Grove shimmered under the glow of celestial woods, their soft golden light casting dreamy reflections upon the clear, mirror-like ke surrounding the lively banquet. Twisting vines adorned with blooming silver roses wove through the marble like tree pilrs, while the gentle hum of music and ughter filled the air. It was a night of revelry, a gathering of gods and nymphs in celebration—and, in truth, an unspoken matchmaking event.

  Handsome gods arrived in droves, their divine features sculpted with perfection, their scents enticing, their auras glowing with an allure that made even the most composed goddesses flush. And among them, Xyliades, the renowned handsome god, was the crown jewel of desire. Yet tonight, his spotlight dimmed.

  Because of Krataigón. Te God of Whirlpools.

  ________

  Goddest of Mist Catherina arrived with her newly sworn follower, Krataigón, her fingers ced with his as they stepped onto the banquet floor. At first, Krataigón had intended to escort Nancy, but Catherina had commanded otherwise.

  "No pregnant woman at such a frivolous event. Now, Hold my hands.That is an order."

  The weight of that command still sat uneasily in his chest. It was a reminder of the bond they now shared—his fealty, her authority. And yet, as he strode through the grove, irritation curling at the edges of his thoughts, the gods and nymphs around them whispered.

  “His muscles are unreal…”

  “Look at his veins—so vigorous.”

  “His face when he’s angry… gods above.”

  Krataigón could hear them, feel their eyes drinking in the sharpness of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the sculpted ridges of his abdomen beneath the open folds of his tunic. He wasn’t ignorant of his own appeal—but he had never enjoyed being gawked at like a prized beast.

  Then, Catherina did something unexpected.

  She rested her hand against his abdomen, slowly dragging her fingers across his bare skin. Her head leaned against his broad shoulder, feigning intimacy as she whispered, "I don’t want unwanted gods trying to flirt with me. Pretend to be my pair, Krataigón. And that, too, is an order."

  His jaw clenched. A fsh of heat surged through his body, an unwelcome mixture of irritation and… something else. Her fingers, featherlight yet possessive, trailed along the hard lines of his stomach. His entire being tensed, as if her touch sent ripples of energy straight to his core.

  Catherina smirked.

  Her voice rang loud enough for the gossiping goddesses to hear. “Back off, Godesses. He’s mine.”

  A collective wave of disappointment swept through the gathering. Some goddesses sulked, others cursed under their breath. Glykaia, ever the mischievous one, cackled in delight.

  “You see, goddesses? My friend got the spicy one! Hah! I told you, you lewd bitches. Pay up!”

  Catherina arched a brow, amused. Had Glykaia really bet on this? Silly girl.

  _________

  Then, as if sensing the competition, Xyliades entered st.

  And gods, did he make an entrance.

  Sun-kissed skin, sculpted physique, his broad chest partially exposed through a teasingly loose robe. The scent of wildflowers and a mix of rich, earthy, and woody fragrances clung to him, an intoxicating blend that turned heads. His biceps flexed as he adjusted his golden bracers, his effortless stride radiating confidence.

  But his smile faltered when he noticed the crowd’s attention wasn’t on him.

  Instead, it was all on Krataigón and Catherina.

  "Now, now," Xyliades pouted dramatically, stepping between them with his arms crossed, mock offense in his golden eyes. "I am the host, yet somehow, your pair has stolen my spotlight. Not fair."

  Catherina, emboldened by her victory, smirked and leaned closer to Krataigón, whispering something in low, sultry tones that made even Akridion shift uncomfortably.

  Akridion cleared his throat, stepping closer to divert her attention. "My dy, must you truly funt your prize like this?" His voice was smooth, pyful, yet lined with a flicker of irritation. He, too, had eyes on her. And tonight, he wouldn't let Krataigón have all of her.

  Glykaia, delighted by the brewing tension, lifted her cup. "To Catherina! The reigning queen of scandal! "

  Thysime, too shy to contribute, nearly vaporized from embarrassment. But Xyliades, ever the gentleman, rescued her, gently guiding her hand to rest on his. "Don’t worry, sweet one," he whispered. "Let them make fools of themselves. We can enjoy the night in peace."

  ______

  Then, it happened.

  Catherina, eyes dancing with mischief, tipped her horn cup.

  The Celestial Elixir—a rare, golden nectar rumored to enhance one’s divine essence—spilled directly onto Krataigón’s bare abs, glistening like molten honey.

  For a moment, silence.

  Then, Catherina dragged her fingers across his stomach, smearing the elixir across every sculpted line. The motion was slow, sensual, deliberate. Krataigón's breath hitched, his muscles twitching under her touch. His deep, manly scent thickened, filling the air with something utterly primal.

  A few goddesses gasped. Some gripped their horn cup tighter. Others looked ready to throw theirs in frustration.

  And then—Glykaia, the agent of chaos, shouted.

  "If you’re going to make a scene, Catherina, at least do it properly. Use your tongue!"

  The entire banquet froze.

  A collective gasp rippled through the hall.

  Krataigón stiffened. His fists clenched. "Don’t you dare—"

  But Catherina did.

  Her tongue flicked over his abs—once, then again, lower, lower still—until a deep, throaty groan rumbled from his chest.

  The goddesses turned green with envy.

  Krataigón moaned, his breath ragged. "Catherina… you—"

  Before he could speak further, Xyliades threw his hands up. "Come on, Catherina! Must you always steal the show?" He looked utterly pitiful.

  Thysime, cheeks afme, shyly kissed Xyliades on the cheek. "D-Don’t be sad. I’ll give you all my attention…"

  Meanwhile, Akridion, exasperated beyond belief, turned to Glykaia, who was howling with ughter.

  "You’re too stiff and slow," he teased, leaning into her personal space with a smug grin.

  "And must you always drape yourself over things like a zy slug?" Glykaia snapped back, shoving him away.

  A pyful argument erupted, their barbed words thrown like daggers, yet beneath the surface, an undeniable spark burned.

  And thus, the banquet raged on—filled with lust, ughter, and scandal.