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Isuara PT1
🕑 Added 2025-06-16 18:51:01 +0000 UTCIn the year 4690, a famine swept through Nasmar. With supplies running dangerously low, families began selling their children, as the country was desperate to increase its dwindling population. Birth rates had been in decline for years. Isuara was among those sold—to a breeding factory.
As the eldest daughter of a merchant family, Isuara had always been crude, greedy, and vain. She believed without a doubt that she was destined for greatness. Growing up, she’d often hear tales of a poor farmer’s daughter whom a former ruler of Vathilia had fallen in love with. Against all odds, that prince had swept the girl off her feet.
Isuara would always imagine herself in that story—dreaming of a life far from trade stalls and soot. But the day she was sold to the breeding factory, something inside her shattered. Her dreams, her vanity, her hope—broken into a thousand pieces. Because she was still a virgin, blessed with beauty and a soft, wide waist perfect for childbearing, she was marked as a top-tier product. On countless evenings, Isuara sat alone in her tiny room, washing her face with tears.
Then came the year 4691.
One evening, the doors of the breeding factory opened to a mysterious guest. A figure cloaked from head to toe, offering 50,000,000 Riuunea for one night with Isuara. And this person didn’t want just anyone—he wanted a virgin. At first, the owner of the breeding factory was hesitant, as he had planned to offer Isuara to the Emperor as a New Year’s gift. But the figure handed him half the payment as a deposit—25,000,000 Riuunea in crisp, paper notes.
The man began to weigh his options. From the Emperor, he’d receive nothing more than a few words of gratitude—maybe a nod if he was lucky. But this—this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make millions. And so, greed tipped the scale. He took the deal.
The owner of the breeding factory, well aware that Isuara was a rabid animal at the mere mention of serving a guest, had her force-fed a dose of Pnogamis—a drug known to dull the senses while redirecting sensation to a single part of the body, amplifying pressure, pain, or pleasure.
With the keys to Isuara’s room in hand, the figure wasted no time.
He entered, shut the door behind him, and removed his cloak—revealing what he truly was.
Thick, ink-black hair framed his face, topped with a pair of gnarled horns. His mouth stretched wide, lined with teeth so long they reached his shoulders. Most would assume it was high-bottom shoes that gave him such height—but no.
He stood tall because of his hooves.
In the haze of her mind, Isuara could only see this creature approaching her, its length already twitching in response to her voluptuous form lying in the bed.
She wanted to scream. Run. Do anything. But the Pnogamis had taken hold, dulling everything except the heat that bloomed low in her stomach. Her limbs refused to budge. All she could do was writhe, helplessly caught between dread and a hunger she did not fully understand.
That night, Isuara's small bedroom was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, soft mewls of pleasure, and grunts and groans from both parties. Throughout it all, the figure was overjoyed because Isuara was an excellent breeding subject.
By morning, a deal had been struck. Isuara wouldn’t be returned just yet. He wanted her… for two more nights.
A decade later, during the first uprising in the eastern province of Nasmar, chaos swept through the streets. Amid the uproar, a fire broke out—and in that fire, Isuara, already in her first trimester, finally escaped the breeding factory.
At the same time, Idor—seeking to test whether Ragriel was worthy of his granddaughter—sent him to quell the rebellion. If successful, Ragriel would be named High Minister of Nasmar and granted an estate of his own. On his journey, he crossed paths with a disheveled woman, who seemed to be fleeing from something or someone. Yet something in his soul stirred. It called to her, and a feeling of possessiveness settled deep in the pit of Ragriel’s stomach.
Without an ounce of hesitation, he decided to help her.
Isuara, however, kept her true circumstances hidden. With the uprising happening in the same area, she spun a careful lie—claiming she was the daughter of a minor official, murdered by the very rebels Ragriel was sent to deal with.
Ragriel believed her. Of course he did. And so he took her in, protective from the start—though at the time, he didn’t quite understand why.
All he knew was her name: Isuara.
