Lyra sat in a gap of a parapet on the edge of the Horn Goblin Tower nursing a sore crotch and contemplating the sweet release of death. 

The tower was tall enough to render her dizzy if she looked directly down, and the sharp rocks below, shrouded in mist, looked vicious enough to ensure the job was done should the fall alone not kill her. She’d fall for perhaps three seconds? Five? She wasn’t sure. Either way it wouldn’t take long. It warmed her to think just how angry the Warden would be to lose his most valuable “flesh sack” as he called her. A princess of High Dawn, his most sought after piece of merchandise. 

The thought alone almost made Lyra smile. Almost.

The sun inched above the horizon, painting her pale skin a soft pink. A gust of wind blew up through her linens, once a red summer dress now reduced to tatters. She leaned against the parapet and let her bare feet dangle over the edge, tapping the backs of her heels against the stone. They were so dirty she wondered if they could ever be as clean as they once were before … all this. Before that Archon betrayed her.

Her hands and face were no better, covered in dirt and encrusted blood. And her hair, once as fiery as the sun, was now muddied brown and tangled into knots impossible to work out without severe intervention. Worst of all, she could feel layers of dried horn goblin semen in nearly every crevice of her body. They practically bathed her in it daily. No matter how hard she scrubbed in the pools that pocked the tower roof where they kept her, the feeling of being caked in that disgusting scum never left. It probably never would. 

She snapped her fingers and a flame ignited on the tip of her thumb. She held it up, the flame dancing in her orange eyes until another gust of wind extinguished it. It was a simple trick any Fire-Kin Elf could do but keeping it alive atop a gusty tower was another thing entirely. 

She gazed out past the edge of the island. Something distant in the sky caught her eye and sent a nervous, excited shiver down her spine. From here, it was nothing more than a dark speck on the horizon. Even still, she instantly recognized it for what it was: High Dawn, the floating city-island of her people. Her home. It had finally come ‘round on its endless course once again to cross paths with Gog. And accompanied by the morning sun, no less. How beautiful a torment—so close and yet always so far away. It would take a couple days to arrive but once it did, High Dawn would tower over Gog with its majestic green mountains, spilling its endless white mist over this godforsaken pimple of a floating rock she was trapped on. 

Today would mark the fourth cycle and second year of her imprisonment on Gog. That damned Archon. What she would do to the boy if she ever saw him again. 

Lyra held her finger and thumb up to her eye and pinched the distant island. The vast ocean below blended so perfectly into the sky that High Dawn almost appeared to be floating in the water. What a silly notion, islands floating in water. It would make it much easier to get home if all she had to do was jump in and swim there, that was for sure. But unfortunately, the only way back was to cross the border during the hours Gog crossed paths with High Dawn in the sky. And that wasn’t going to happen with any ease. Before she could even get to the border, she had to figure out how to escape this damned tower. Perhaps the only answer really was to jump? Everyday she entertained the idea a little more. Was today going to be the day she actually acted on it? 

Another gust of wind blew up from below. She pulled her knees into her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and leaned back against a stone wall. 

“Are you thirsty?” said a soft and familiar voice. Lyra looked up as Jovi sat down beside her, slipping a plump, brown breast out of a torn corset and offering her a dripping nipple. If Jovi wasn’t a Dryad of the Ancient Wood, this would have been a strange gesture. But unlike elves and humans, Dryads stored pure water in their breasts instead of milk for their young. It was common for them to offer it up as a form of greeting to anyone.

Lyra watched Jovi place her hand on a thick swatch of moss growing on the wall. It only took a moment for the dryad to absorb the moisture the moss contained, leaving nothing but shriveled remains. Seconds later, Jovi’s breasts swelled, the water having passed through her veins, now purified, ready to drink.

“I’m okay, but thank you,” said Lyra, nodding to her friend and tutor. 

Jovi smiled sadly and pulled her corset strings tight over her now elevated bust. Just like Lyra, Jovi was dressed in a thin, summer dress, torn to tatters over time by countless horn goblin hands and splattered with who knew what. Her smooth dark skin, the patches not covered in grime at least, glistened in the morning light. Her hair reminded Lyra of a bird’s nest wrapped on the top of her head. Jovi was a prisoner here, just as she was.

“Ah, there it is,” said Jovi, pointing towards High Dawn. 

“There it is,” Lyra said in melancholy agreement. She put her forehead against her knees for a moment, then looked at Jovi. The dryad was more than two hundred years old but had a body just as youthful, thin, and supple as her own. Such was a perk of being a dryad, she guessed.

“I’m sorry,” said Lyra, letting out a breath.

“For what, sweet flame?”

Lyra massaged the bridge of her nose and wiped hair out of her eyes. “Again, for … everything. For all of this. I just …” She waved a hand around. “I hired that Archon against Father’s will to teach me swordplay, and you were just … swept up in it all and I—”

“Lyra, I’ve told you. I’ll hear no more of your apologies. Every time High Dawn comes around you start this again. What’s done is done.” Jovi touched Lyra’s cheek and offered a tight lipped smile. “At least I can still do what your father hired me to do,” she said. Her eyes opened wide. “Teach!”

Lyra rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. She was about to protest when Jovi cut her off. 

“Speaking of Archons,” said Jovi, “let’s see how many facts about them you’ve retained since we last spoke of them.” Jovi cleared her throat and sat up straight. She had been an esteemed professor of cultures and races at High Dawn University before she came to work for Lyra’s family many years ago. Teaching was her passion, Lyra knew, especially when it came to the study of all the different cultures, creatures, and races that inhabited the hundreds of islands that soared past one another in the sky.

“I hate Archons,” said Lyra flatly.

“You hate one Archon,” said Jovi. “And with good reason. That doesn’t mean the rest of them are bad.”

“They’re all human men,” said Lyra. “I hate human men too. All of them. They’re almost as bad as horn goblins.”

Jovi let a soft giggle escape then shrugged. She couldn’t argue with that. “And what is the word for a race with only one gender?”

“A half race. Yes, I know. They mate with their own kind but only males can produce wings. Blah blah blah.”

Jovi nodded. “Yes and no, my flame. Yes, they can mate with their own but they rarely mate at all. And their wings are not hereditary. There’s never been any record of an archon being born of another archon. Trust me I know. The university works in tandem with the archons to keep a very detailed genealogy, or at least they used to when I was there. No one knows how it happens. Some say it’s completely random. Others say the gods pick and choose. One day you’re a normal human boy coming of age and the next you have a strange lump growing on your back. A few weeks later and … poof,” said Jovi, blowing her cheeks out and opening her arms. “Wings are born.”

Lyra nodded her head agreeably. It was nice to see her teacher and friend so animated in a place like this. If lecturing to her about men with wings kept her in good spirits, then she would continue to listen and play along.

“But all that aside,” said Jovi. “Tell me, what is the single most interesting fact about Archons. The reason they are so … so sought after.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “You’re not talking about … no, I thought that was just a rumor. A joke.”

Jovi shook her head.

“You’re telling me an archon’s … seed can heal any wound?”

“Instantly,” said Jovi. “Ailments too. It’s the world’s most effective panacea. And not only that, but it provides the … recipient, shall we say, with an unparalleled euphoric sensation that can be quite addicting. Which is why there are groups that hunt them. It’s also why the gods gave them wings, some say.”

Lyra laughed out loud.

Jovi frowned. “Something funny?”

“If that’s true, Jovi, then why do they hide from everyone on their little archipelago off the coast of High Dawn? You know how hard it was to get what’s-his-face—”

“Rolo,” said Jovi.

“Rolo, whatever. You know how hard it was to get him to give me private fencing lessons? Had to pull the princess card and you know how much I hate slinging that around. You’d think they’d be much more, I don’t know … social, spreading their seed all over the place if it really was so magical.”

“Ah,” said Jovi, nodding. “You see, my dear, the reason they tend to be more reserved is because unlike every other male creature in existence, the simple act of … ejaculation for an archon is the single most excruciating event they can experience. It’s pleasurable for them right up until that point, and then … poof!” said Jovi, blowing her cheeks up once again. “I’ve never seen it happen, but I’ve read that it’s quite the dramatic show.”

Lyra blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Well, uh, I guess that would explain why the horn goblins tried to capture Rolo as well when he sold us to them. And why he never tried to, uh, take advantage of me during our lessons.”

Jovi nodded. “You did give this Rolo ample opportunity. I remember,” she said. “I was there. And if I was a discerning woman, I might even suggest your intentions for lessons had nothing to do with swords at all. No doubt if he wasn’t an Archon, you would have convinced him to give you a very different kind of lesson in swordplay.”

Lyra snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Let’s keep the discerning to a minimum, shall we? If I would have known he’d trick us into slavery for a bag of money, I would have taken his sword and stabbed him in the back, right in between those big, golden wings of—”

Lyra was cut short by an ugly litany of high pitched laughter crescendoing behind them. Both Lyra and Jovi spun around. The roof of the tower was a large, flat circle encompassed by a parapet wall. And in the very center of it was a spiral staircase jutting up from within. Most of the time it was locked from the inside. They only opened it up when they captured more females, to bring them food, or when it was time to … play.

Horn Goblins, in all their variety of sizes, were making their way up and out onto the roof, and they were doing it very noisily, as they did everything. Horn Goblins ranged in size and weight, anywhere from three heads tall to seven, and could be as fat as a boulder or as skinny as a rod. What they all held in common, however, were their pale green skin and sharp facial features, particularly of the ears and nose. 

They were also all hairless, like Trolls, even on their heads and pubic areas. And the males tended to flaunt their cocks the way women would their cleavage. Before she was captured, Lyra thought Horn Goblins were called as such because they possessed horns like a bull. But, she quickly realized the horn in the name came from an entirely different extremity. It was very common for Horn Goblin to wear trousers with a hole in the crotch to showcase his … equipment. It was a source of hanging pride. It was also very common for them to break into spontaneous orgies in the streets of their cities, which often ended in bloody fights. Such was the way of the horn goblins.

The Warden was a rather large horn goblin as horn goblins went. Much fatter then the average Joe. His job, appointed to him by the Horn Goblin King, was to manage the island’s prisoners, and that included the women, or chattel as he called them, they kept on the roof. He’d also found a way to monetize his assigned position. Every now and then he’d bring a group of high paying horn goblins up from the city that surrounded the tower, and let them … do as they pleased with his livestock.

The warden looked around, tentatively eyeing each woman in turn. There were a handful of races but most were either human or elven. Most of whom were clinging to the parapet or hiding near the garden boxes. There was a cat girl running around for a while up here, but Lyra hadn’t seen her for a couple days. No doubt she gave in and jumped. She never knew why the Warden made it so easy to kill themselves, but perhaps in his mind he was providing them mercy. If Lyra ever got a hold of the warden, she would love to show him how merciful the edge really could be.

“I count eighteen,” said a short horn goblin, standing next to the Warden, holding a tallyboard. Lyra didn’t know what they called this one so she just referred to him as the Warden’s little bitch. He kept track of all the little details the warden had no time for, like how many girls didn’t kill themselves the night before and whether or not they’re getting fed. And who paid the most for first “pussy pickings.”

The Warden grunted to himself. “Lost two last night, I see. Well, at least we still have my favorite elven princess.” He smiled at Lyra as he made his way over to her, a large, yellow smile across his face. He spoke in the elven tongue for her benefit. “Morning, my pretty pretty,” he said, scratching the base of his cock, which hung freely through a hole. To Lyra, it looked more like a flat egg than a normal horn goblin cock, but the Warden felt no insecurities about it, obviously.

“Go fuck yourself, Warden” said Lyra, standing up.

Jovi followed suit, taking a step in front of her. Motherly instincts kicking in and all.

The Warden chuckled at that, then looked beyond her, over her shoulder. “Hmm,” said the Warden, licking his lips. “I see High Dawn is nigh approaching. I do wonder how your father will attempt to get you back this time.”

The Warden’s little bitch stepped in front of him and held up his tally board. “We’ve all taken bets, eh, eh. Some say he’ll try to buy you back again. A chest full of treasure would be quite nice.” He snorted. “Most think he’ll send assassins like last time. Oooh, I do hope he does that again. That was quite … fun, nay? I wish I could have seen your father’s face when he opened the treasure chest we sent back.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Warden, now stroking his cock absentmindedly. “I am greatly anticipating our crossing with High Dawn this cycle. But until then, we have paying customers to attend to. Don’t fret, little fire-kin. I will instruct them not to hurt you … too much.”

Lyra sucked in a breath and eyed the group forming around the top of the staircase. She counted nine, no ten. Three of them were fairly small but the rest were very large. There was one in particular that stood out above the rest. He had to be at least seven heads tall and had a cock the size of her forearm.

Lyra sighed as Jovi embraced her. “We’ll get through it,” said Jovi, stroking her back. “Remember what I taught you about the mind. You can go anywhere, be anywhere whenever you want to. Leave your body behind.”

Lyra didn’t respond. Instead she picked up the stone she’d been sharpening and hid it behind her back.

The Warden’s little bitch began collecting payments from each horn goblin in turn. Each of them dropped sacks of whatever it was they used as money on Gog into a large burlap sack. 

“Welcome, my friends,” said the Warden in Goblin Tongue, addressing the newcomers. The language was full of screeching sounds and guttural vowels. An ugly language for an ugly race. “Oh, you are all in for quite the treat. A few rules to set down before we set you loose, however, that you must pay strict heed to.” There was laughter from the group, but from who and exactly what was funny, Lyra wasn’t sure. “First of all, if there are any … damages done to my inventory while you’re in my keep, you will be responsible for compensating me in full. Second, as you know, those of you who paid extra to be here have the field for a good solid ten minutes before we let the rest of you go. If you leave this circle around the staircase before I let you out, you will be charged triple the entrance fee. Third, the bitch in red over there is my personal favorite, and just so happens to be the very princess of High Dawn. If anything happens to her, it will be your head, not your money purse I’ll be after. And finally, my dear brothers. Above all else … have a fucking good time.”