"They didn't test him," another cut in with a smirk, "they tasted him."
But before the whispers could spiral any further, a single cough drew everyone's attention.
The Elder stood at the front, her posture straight and commanding. Her eyes flicked briefly to Julian—just enough for everyone to notice—before she turned her gaze on the crowd.
"So, everyone," she began, her voice different than usual, "the test is finally complete, and we have the results."
The restless noise died almost instantly. The women shifted forward, some holding their breath, others pressing hands together in anticipation.
"From the judgement of the runes," the Elder added, "it has been determined that the male with the most powerful seed still remains… Kain."
For a heartbeat, silence smothered the room. Then, as if something had cracked, waves of conflicting emotions rippled through the crowd.
Some faces lit with excitement—women exchanging quick glances toward Kain, clearly pleased with the outcome.
Others showed open disappointment.
And then there were those whose expressions carried something more complicated: hope tinged with uncertainty. After all, Kain's strength meant there was still a chance for someone to bear a son in the village… but it also meant that the prophecy had yet to be fulfilled.
(Prophecy mentioned someone among the newly born would hold the strongest seed to pull the village out of the curse.)
"But… how?" one woman finally blurted.
"Was Rael not supposed to be the savior?"
Her eyes were wide, as if the Elder had just announced the day of her death. She wasn't the only one—several others looked equally shocked, their gazes darting between Julian and Kain as though the results must have been read wrong.
"I thought it was foretold," another whispered harshly. "The youngest male, blessed with unmatched vitality."
"Yes," a third replied, her tone anxious. "If that's not him… what happens to the prophecy?"
Some women's eyes narrowed on Julian—not with anger, but with their last of the hope. If he hadn't surpassed Kain yet, perhaps his potential would still lie untapped.
Others began murmuring about second tests, longer trials, and different methods of evaluation.
The atmosphere was heavy.
Meanwhile,
Annie felt the tension in her chest finally loosen. She exhaled deeply as if she had been holding her breath since the moment Julian stepped into that hallway.
It was a strange kind of relief, like the first rainfall after months of relentless drought.
Thank God… My son doesn't have to breed like a wild beast, she told herself.
The thought was simple, almost noble, but she knew better. Somewhere beneath that motherly shield, there was another layer to her relief—one she didn't dare put into words.
Her gaze flickered briefly to Julian. He looked tired, yes, but not broken. There was still a glow in his eyes, still that stubborn spark of mischief that always made her uneasy.
But then the target of the whisper shifted.
The women's chatter had turned toward two particular figures seated near the side—Mira and Lira.
They weren't whispering to each other. They weren't paying attention to the Elder's word. They simply sat there, sluggish and satisfied, their expressions glowing in a way that was far too telling.
Their lips were curled into faint smiles, and their posture was almost lazy—as if they'd just come back from sipping the finest wine in the world.
A couple of women noticed first, then more followed, their glances narrowing in suspicion.
Even the testers who had evaluated Kain looked less pleased than Mira and Lira did right now.
"What's with those faces?" one woman whispered, her tone a mixture of curiosity and envy.
"They look like they've tasted heaven," another murmured.
Annie's relief wavered, unease creeping back in. She told herself she didn't care what had happened behind that door—didn't want to know. But as Mira lazily bit her lip and Lira's gaze drifted dreamily toward Julian, Annie felt a heavy pit settle in her stomach.
After a brief pause, the Elder's voice cut cleanly through the rising commotion.
"…and in second place—Allen."
A murmur rippled instantly through the room.
"Allen?"
"That doesn't make sense…"
"No, something's off."
Women began leaning toward one another, hands covering their lips as they whispered.
"They're hiding something. I'm sure of it."
"Mira and Lira looked too pleased for Allen to have placed second."
"Exactly. And Rael looked… well… drained."
"Then why isn't he second? Or first?"
A few pairs of eyes darted toward the Elder, silently demanding an explanation, but no one dared to raise their voice outright.
One woman finally muttered defeatedly, "But again… who are we to question the results?"
The quiet remark seemed to carry more weight than it should have.
One by one, the whispers died away, replaced by a watchful silence. No one wanted to openly challenge the Elder—not here, not in front of the entire village.
The Elder herself appeared unaffected, as though she hadn't heard a single word of the gossip. Her expression remained steady, her voice firm as she pressed forward.
"And finally," she said, her gaze sweeping over the crowd before settling deliberately on him, "we have Rael."
All eyes turned toward him.
"Since Rael has the weakest seed among the three… the prophecy still remains unfulfilled."
A heavy sigh passed through the crowd.
"We will have to suffer more under the curse," she continued, her tone neither bitter nor resigned. "And we must hope that in the future, there will truly come a time when a newborn with the strongest seed will arise to carry this village forward."
Some women lowered their eyes to the floor. Others exchanged small, unsatisfied glances.
"So it was all for nothing?"
"We waited, we prepared… and still nothing changes."
"The curse will keep taking from us."
Yet beneath the outward frustration, there was an unspoken curiosity. The seed of doubt had been planted, and Lira's smile did little to quiet that suspicion.
"But remember," the Elder's voice rose again, "this also means we still have chances for some of you to bear sons."