The days passed by quickly while the atmosphere inside remained a constant storm of rose-colored mist.
Quinlan lost track of the hours as the trial pushed him beyond the limits of primordial endurance.
He fell into a rhythm of repeated failure and recovery that would have broken the sanity of a lesser man.
Whenever his concentration slipped, and he lost his seed to her relentless grip, Nyxara would cradle his head to her bosom with affection. She whispered that he was a brave warrior and that he could do even more.
She told him that his resistance was the most delicious spice she had ever tasted and urged him to try again so she could savor him more.
Quinlan did not react to her taunts with anger or frustration. He swallowed his arrogance and viewed her mockery as a tactical opening.
While she was busy enjoying the situation and elongating the trial for her benefit, he sank into his internal world and accelerated his mana intake.
