Round 10

Silra guided Julia into the antechamber, closing the heavy door with a soft thud that seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence. The space was cramped, stone walls ancient and worn, a single high window letting in slivers of cold moonlight that did little to penetrate the oppressive gloom. She positioned herself casually against one wall, arms crossed, teal eyes gleaming with barely contained anxiety as she studied the woman before her.

"Alright," Silra began, voice low and measured, "you caught us at... an interesting moment. But you need to understand something—what we do here isn't for public consumption." She gestured vaguely toward the main chamber beyond. "It's private ritual work, deeply personal stuff that gets messy if outsiders start asking questions."

Jeane watched from the shadows of the main chamber, her crimson eyes fixed on Silra and Julia. She made no move to join them—let the elf handle this particular fire she helped kindle. The sorceress's mind raced through contingency plans: how to neutralize this witness quietly, how to secure their unconscious party members before they woke with questions of their own.

In the main chamber, Hera stirred groggily on the cold stone floor, her naked form slowly registering the chill against her skin as consciousness returned. The events leading up to her current state began to reassemble themselves in her mind—Jeane's hands, Silra's lips, the overwhelming pleasure that had consumed her until everything went dark.

"Seven minutes are nearly up," Jeane said coldly to Halie, who still cowered against the wall. "Hera's condition?"