The first pale light of dawn crept into Alaric's opulent chamber within the Ice Heart Citadel, painting the scene in hues of soft gold. He lay amidst a tangle of silken furs and equally silken limbs, the three beauties of the Mystic Ice Sect – Elder Suyin, Disciple Lingfeng, and the innocent Liyue – sprawled around him in the deep slumber of utter, blissful exhaustion. Their magnificent bodies, marked by his relentless passion, were lax, their breathing deep and even.
Alaric, however, was awake. He had been for some time, his mind, as always, sharp and analytical even after a night that would have left any ordinary man, or even most Grandmaster Mages, comatose for days. He idly stroked Lingfeng's dark hair, which was fanned out across his chest, enjoying the soft, yielding weight of Liyue pressed against his side, and the way Elder Suyin's surprisingly voluptuous hip was nestled against his thigh.
