Loop of Continuity

Chapter 1 : The Village of Eldoria

Vibrant Heart of Eldoria’s Environment

Nestled within the Verdant Vale, a sprawling wilderness alive with the pulse of raw magic in a 3rd-dimensional realm, the village of Eldoria thrived as a testament to nature’s unbridled embrace. Towering trees, their bark shimmering with glowing veins of mana, doubled as homes, their thick branches laden with luminescent fruit that bathed the village in a soft, ethereal glow each night. The air thrummed with iridescent mist—the breath of the realm’s latent power—while the ground beneath buzzed with life: moss that sang faintly underfoot and flowers that bloomed to reveal tiny, watchful eyes of light. Anya, a robust woman of Eldoria, emerged from her tree-home into the humid dawn, her muscular frame already glistening with sweat. As she raised her sinewy arms to stretch, the thick, bushy hair in her armpits gleamed faintly, damp and musky from the night’s warmth. Her scent, earthy and potent, drifted as she moved, her saggy breasts swaying freely beneath a translucent tunic that clung to her sweat-soaked skin, revealing every curve and contour in the morning light.

Eldoria’s culture mirrored its wild surroundings, a society reveling in shameless authenticity. The villagers embraced their existence with radical openness, their lives a vibrant tapestry of the raw and unfiltered. At the village’s core, communal hearths roared day and night, their flames casting flickering shadows as neighbors gathered to share meals—sometimes baskets of sweet, juicy berries paired with roasted nuts, other times the musky, earthy tang of feces, savored with the same gusto as any feast. Anya often lingered at these gatherings, her sweat-drenched tunic hugging her powerful frame, the scent of her exertion blending with the smoky air. Conversations flowed freely, as unrestrained as the rivers that snaked through the Vale. It was routine to see villagers squatting in the open, relieving themselves into the fertile soil while chatting about the latest tales from beyond—rumors of warriors and sorcerers vying for True Divinity, the ultimate power in their realm. Anya, wiping sweat from her brow and exposing her hairy armpits, would chuckle at their stories, her saggy breasts shifting as she waved a dismissive hand.

The villagers’ clothing epitomized their ethos: translucent garments spun from the silk of mana-worms, shimmering like liquid light against their skin. Every detail of their bodies—every muscle, every hair, every bead of sweat—was proudly displayed, a living testament to their vitality. Anya’s tunic clung to her muscular build, her saggy breasts hanging loosely beneath, while the wild tangle of hair in her armpits and pubes spilled beyond the fabric’s edges. Women like her were born lean and strong, their bodies honed by labor and ritual combat, moving with the fluid power of the Vale’s predators. Men varied widely—some shared the women’s brawn, while others, like Anya’s son Lior, bore a softer, more delicate beauty, their forms a gentle contrast to Eldoria’s rugged spirit.

A Day Unfolds: Labor and Laughter

Anya greeted the sunrise with a stretch, her powerful silhouette framed against the amber rays filtering through the leafy canopy. Her armpits, thick with bushy hair, released a musky aroma as sweat trickled down her sides, soaking her tunic. A gardener and warrior, she split her days between tending the village’s mana-rich crops and training with her spear to repel the Vale’s mana-beasts—creatures lured by the garden’s potent energy. Today, she planned to reinforce the garden’s thorned barriers and inspect the soil for blight. Lior stirred more slowly, his slim figure still wrapped in the translucent cloth he’d slept in, lingering in the cool shadows of their home. At sixteen, he was a stark foil to Anya—his body lean and soft, devoid of her hard muscle, his movements tentative and dreamy. His large, almond-shaped eyes, framed by lashes that fluttered like wings, shone with quiet innocence, his airheaded nature often leaving him adrift in his mother’s shadow.

“Mother, should I fetch water?” Lior’s voice pierced the morning hush, a soft, melodic trill that barely rose above the rustling leaves.

Anya turned, her fierce eyes—bright and youthful despite her years—locking onto his as she wiped sweat from her neck, her saggy breasts shifting with the motion. “Yes, sweet one. Take the clay jug by the door. Then join me in the garden—the vines are growing wild again.”

Lior nodded, darting off with the jug balanced on his hip. By the time he returned from the stream, its waters sparkling with flecks of mana, Anya was knee-deep in the garden, her powerful hands grappling with a tangle of thorned vines. Sweat poured from her, drenching her tunic and making her skin gleam. The earthy scent of her exertion filled the air as she grunted, her saggy breasts swaying with each forceful tug. They worked together in quiet harmony, the snap of vines and the distant hum of village life their only soundtrack.

By mid-morning, they joined neighbors at the communal hearth for a meal. An elder named Kael, his wiry frame draped in a tunic that bared a lattice of scars, handed them a wooden bowl brimming with mashed berries and a dark, pungent paste. Anya scooped a handful, her armpit hair glistening as she lifted her arm, the musky smell wafting as she savored the earthy bite.

“Tastes like the soil’s own gift,” she said, her saggy breasts swaying as she leaned against a tree trunk. “What’s in it, old man?”

Kael grinned, toothless and wide. “A bit of root, a bit of… well, you know. The usual.”

Lior hesitated, then nibbled, his nose wrinkling. “It’s… strong.”

“Strong’s good, lad,” Kael replied, clapping his shoulder. “You’ll need it if you’re to grow into those big eyes.”

Laughter rippled through the group, and Anya smirked, nudging Lior. Nearby, a young woman named Tira squatted to relieve herself, her conversation unbroken. “Heard Vexus took another fortress,” she said casually. “They say he’s bathing in blood now, chasing True Divinity.”

Anya snorted, wiping juice from her chin, her armpit hair catching the light. “Let him bathe in whatever he wants. We’re too far for his wars.”

“Not if he wins,” Kael warned, his tone darkening. “A True Divine could reshape the realm. Even our Vale wouldn’t stand apart.”

Lior tilted his head, brow furrowing. “What’s a Will, Kael?”

The elder scratched his patchy beard. “A Will’s a god’s core, boy. Their purpose, their drive. It fuels their power and bends the world if they ascend. Vexus craves control; Seraphine, harmony. Whoever wins decides our fate.”

Anya rested a sweat-slicked hand on Lior’s shoulder, her saggy breasts swaying as she squeezed gently. “Don’t dwell on it, sweet one. Gods are far from our garden.”

Their labor resumed, but soon Anya’s friend Mara approached, her massive arms glistening with sweat. A fellow gardener, she matched Anya’s strength, her body a tower of muscle beneath her shimmering tunic. “Your boy’s a ghost today,” she teased, ruffling Lior’s hair until he ducked, blushing. “Does he ever leave the shade?”

“He likes it there,” Anya said, grinning as she wiped sweat from her chest, her saggy breasts shifting. “Says the sun’s too loud.”

Mara’s laughter boomed, shaking the leaves. “Too loud? Lad, the sun’s a friend! Help me haul these roots.” She gestured to a pile of glowing tubers, their surfaces pulsing with mana.

Lior glanced at Anya, who nodded, her armpit hair gleaming as she waved him on. “Go. Mara won’t bite—much.”

“Only if he’s tasty,” Mara quipped, winking as Lior shuffled over. They hefted the tubers to a cart, Mara chatting away. “Ever think of training with us, Lior? A spear might toughen you up.”

Lior’s cheeks flushed. “I—I’m not good with fighting. I’d rather weave or… sing.”

“Sing?” Mara softened. “Fair enough. We need singers too. Sing me something while we work.”

Shyly, Lior hummed a tune—a melody from the moss—his voice trembling but sweet. Anya watched, her sweat-soaked tunic clinging to her frame, her earthy scent mingling with the soil as she dug.

Bodies and Bonds: The Bathing Ritual

Anya cut a striking figure, her mature years etched in the sagging of her breasts and the wrinkles creasing her skin below the neck. Yet her muscularity endured—arms corded with strength, legs thick and steady, her body a bastion of power. Her black hair cascaded past her shoulders, untouched by gray, and her eyes blazed with youthful fire. Hair adorned her body—fine strands on her arms, legs, and stomach, a bushy thicket in her armpits, and a wild tangle of pubes spilling beyond her tunic. Sweat flowed freely, a constant sheen that made her skin glisten, her scent earthy and strong.

Lior was her mirror opposite—slim and fragile, his chest flat save for oversized nipples like dark coins against pale skin. His slender limbs lacked her definition, his translucent garb revealing a form with only faint leg hair. His charm lay in his shyness, the way he ducked his head or fluttered his lashes, an airhead lost in reverie.

Hygiene in Eldoria was a relaxed affair, baths taken at whim in the Spring of Renewal—a steaming pool fed by underground magic. That afternoon, Anya and Lior waded in, shedding their clothes without hesitation. Anya’s saggy breasts hung free, her armpit hair matted with sweat, the water cleansing her skin but leaving her musky scent lingering. Lior giggled, splashing her, his slim form darting through the water as she scrubbed his back with moss, her hairy arms moving rhythmically.

Another villager, Seris, joined them, her muscular body slick with sweat from labor. “Anya, you’re fierce as ever,” she called, wading in. “How’s the garden?”

“Thriving,” Anya replied, rinsing her armpits, the thick hair glistening as water streamed through. “Though the vines are stubborn.”

Seris laughed, her saggy breasts bobbing as she dunked herself. “Stubborn vines make strong roots. You’ll tame them.”

“Or they’ll tame me,” Anya joked, her laughter deep, her scent rising with the steam.

Lior floated on his back, his slim chest rising, nipples peeking above the water. “Mother, will I ever be as strong as you?”

Anya’s eyes softened. “Strength varies, sweet one. You have your own gifts.”

Seris nodded, splashing Lior. “She’s right, lad. Not all wield spears—some wield songs.”

The Stones of Mystery

Late in the day, Anya knelt in their backyard—a patch of earth behind their tree-home where she grew mana-infused herbs. Her calloused hands dug into the soil, sweat dripping from her brow and pooling between her saggy breasts, which swayed with each motion. Her earthy scent hung heavy as she unearthed two stones, fist-sized and pulsing with golden light, their surfaces etched with shifting runes.

“Lior!” she called, wiping sweat from her face, her armpit hair glistening.

He scampered over, eyes wide. “What are they, Mother?”

“Don’t know,” she murmured, holding one up. Its warmth seeped into her palm, runes flaring. Lior touched the other, the glow intensifying across his puzzled face.

The runes shimmered, rising as golden wisps. Anya and Lior stared, mesmerized, as they pulsed with their heartbeats. Then, the symbols surged—straight into their foreheads.

Anya gasped as a rune sank into her glabella, warmth flooding her skull. Lior yelped, clutching his head as another entered him. A tingling heat coursed through them, dizzying and electric. The world spun.

“Mother…” Lior whimpered, collapsing, eyes fluttering shut.

Anya reached for him, sweat pooling beneath her as her frame crumpled beside him. Darkness claimed them