The walk to Eldoria Village took exactly fifty-seven minutes.
Jax counted every single one.
The elves—Liora leading, Mira scouting ahead, Elara glued to his side like a particularly devoted shadow—chattered in melodic Elvish interspersed with Common whenever they remembered he might not speak the tongue of ancient trees. They asked gentle questions: Where are you from? What powers do you wield? Do the stars in your world shine the same? Jax answered with half-truths and deflections, his brain too busy screaming internally to form coherent lies.
This is paradise. Actual paradise. Three 10/10 elf babes treating me like I'm Jesus 2.0. And I can't even get half-mast. Lustara, if you're watching—and I know you are—fuck you. Capital F. Capital U. Capital K.
Elara kept stealing glances. Every time their arms brushed, her pointed ears twitched like they had their own heartbeat. The flush on her cheeks never quite faded. Once she tripped over a root—graceful elf my ass—and caught herself against his chest. Her palm lingered. Her breath hitched. Jax felt the heat of her through the thin tunic.
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing.
By the time the village came into view—wooden platforms woven into massive ancient oaks, lanterns glowing like captured fireflies, bridges of living vines—he was a walking pressure cooker with no valve.
Liora led them straight to the central tree: a colossal oak whose trunk was hollowed into a grand hall. Waiting at the base was a small delegation of elders in flowing robes. The head elder—a silver-haired woman with eyes like polished jade—stepped forward.
"Chosen One," she intoned, voice carrying the weight of centuries. "The signs are clear. Your arrival brings hope to Eldoria. But first… you must be cleansed. The journey from another world leaves traces of the void upon the spirit."
Jax blinked. "Cleansed?"
"A ritual bath," Elara supplied quickly, voice soft but eager. "In the sacred springs beneath the Greatroot. It purifies body and aura. I… I would be honored to assist."
The elders nodded as one.
Jax's stomach flipped. "Assist. Right. Sure. That's… normal here?"
"Very," Liora said. "The Chosen must be attended. It is tradition."
Tradition. Of course it is. Fantasy world logic: naked guy + hot springs + beautiful attendants = mandatory harem scene.
He opened his mouth to protest. Closed it. What was he going to say? No thanks, I'm good on baths because my dick is on divine lockdown and this will be torture?
So he nodded.
The elders smiled serenely.
Elara's ears practically vibrated.
They led him down a spiral stair carved into the living wood, descending into warm, misty caverns lit by glowing crystals. The air grew thick with mineral steam and the scent of night-blooming jasmine. At the bottom: a natural pool fed by underground springs, water so clear it looked like liquid moonlight. Steam rose in lazy spirals. Smooth stone benches lined the edges. Towels—soft, leaf-woven—waited in neat stacks.
Liora and Mira bowed at the entrance.
"We will stand guard," Liora said. "Elara will tend to you."
Elara bowed deeper, cheeks scarlet. "This way, Jax."
Jax followed her into the chamber like a man walking to his own execution.
The door—more like a curtain of hanging vines—closed behind them.
They were alone.
Steam curled around their ankles. The water lapped gently against stone. Somewhere, a crystal chimed like distant bells.
Elara turned to face him. Her emerald eyes were wide, pupils blown. "May I… help you disrobe?"
Jax swallowed so hard it hurt. "I can manage. Thanks."
She looked almost disappointed, but nodded. "Then… please enter the water. I will prepare the oils."
He turned his back—again—and shed the borrowed tunic and cloak. The air was warm, but goosebumps still raced across his skin. He stepped into the pool.
The water was perfect: hot enough to melt tension, cool enough not to scald. It rose to his waist, then chest as he waded deeper. Minerals tingled against his skin like tiny electric kisses. For a second—just a second—he forgot the curse.
Then Elara stepped in behind him.
She had shed her outer armor, leaving only a thin linen shift that clung the moment it touched water. The fabric turned translucent, outlining every curve: the gentle swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the long elegant lines of her legs. Her silver hair floated around her shoulders like seafoam. Her ears—those sensitive, twitching ears—were flushed pink at the tips.
She carried a shallow wooden bowl filled with shimmering oil that smelled of sandalwood and something darker, more primal.
"Turn, please," she whispered.
Jax turned.
She was closer than he expected. Barely an arm's length. Steam beaded on her collarbones, trickled down between her breasts. Her nipples were visible through the wet linen—hard little points that made his mouth go dry.
She dipped her fingers in the oil. "The ritual requires… touch. To cleanse the aura."
"Right," Jax croaked. "Ritual. Got it."
Her hands found his shoulders first. Warm. Slick. Stronger than they looked. She massaged in slow circles, thumbs pressing into muscle he didn't even know was tense. Oil spread like liquid heat. His skin sang.
She stepped closer.
Her breasts brushed his chest.
A soft, involuntary sound escaped her—half moan, half sigh. Her ears twitched violently. "Your aura… it's so strong. It fills me. Like sunlight inside my veins."
Jax's heart slammed against his ribs. Blood roared in his ears. Every nerve ending was on fire. The pressure built—familiar, relentless, climbing higher than it ever had on Earth.
Come on. Just once. Just a twitch. Please.
He focused. Hard. Pictured every hentai scene he'd ever jerked to. Every doujin panel. Elara's wet shift clinging. Her ears twitching. Her lips parted. Her breath against his neck.
Nothing.
Not a stir.
The ache intensified—almost painful now. Like blue balls upgraded to violet. He felt swollen, heavy, desperate… and still, stubbornly, soft.
Panic clawed up his throat.
No no no no—
Elara's hands slid lower, tracing his pectorals, his ribs. Her voice was a breathy whisper. "You're trembling. Is the water too warm?"
"No," he managed. "It's… perfect. You're perfect."
She blushed harder. Her ears flicked forward like they were trying to hear his heartbeat. "You honor me with your restraint. Most men would… take what is offered. But you hold back. Noble. Pure."
Pure? I'm dying here. I'm literally dying of horniness in slow motion.
She pressed fully against him now—soft curves molding to his chest, wet linen sliding against skin. One hand drifted to the small of his back. The other cupped his cheek. Her lips hovered inches from his.
"Jax…" she breathed. "If you wish it… I would give everything."
The invitation hung between them, thick as the steam.
Jax's brain flatlined.
He leaned in—just a fraction—testing. Willing his body to respond. Begging whatever cruel goddess was watching to give him this one mercy.
The pressure peaked.
And then—
Nothing.
A wall. A hard, magical, mocking wall.
He jerked back like he'd been burned.
Elara's eyes widened in confusion. "Did I… displease you?"
"No!" he blurted. "God no. You're—fuck, you're incredible. It's me. It's… complicated."
She tilted her head. Ears drooping slightly. "You are modest. Chaste. It is… admirable. The elders will be pleased to hear the Chosen One possesses such discipline."
Discipline. Right. That's what we're calling terminal erectile dysfunction now.
Jax forced a smile. "Yeah. Discipline. Tons of it."
Elara stepped back reluctantly. "The ritual is complete. Your aura shines brighter now."
She turned to fetch a towel—giving him a perfect view of her wet shift clinging to the curve of her ass—and Jax took the opportunity to dunk his head underwater and scream silently.
When he surfaced, dripping and defeated, Elara was waiting with a dry robe.
As she helped him into it—fingers lingering on his arms, his chest—her ears twitched again.
"Jax," she said softly. "Whatever burden you carry… you need not bear it alone."
He met her eyes.
For a second—just a second—the frustration cracked, and something softer slipped through. Gratitude. Maybe even affection.
Then the moment shattered.
A sharp knock echoed from the vine curtain.
Liora's voice, calm but urgent: "Chosen One. The Elder summons you. There is word from the border scouts. Shadows stir in the east."
Elara's expression shifted instantly—wistful longing replaced by focused determination.
Jax exhaled through his nose.
Of course. Right when things were getting interesting. Or torturous. Same difference.
He tied the robe belt with shaking hands.
"Coming," he called.
As they stepped out of the steam-filled chamber, Elara walked close enough that their fingers brushed.
She didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
But inside, Jax's mind was one long, looping scream.
This world is going to kill me slower than the coffee table ever could.