Too Much Sex for the Grand Shaman

The next morning the pride climbed the path to Citlali’s isolated house again.

This time the door opened after the second round of knocking.

Citlali stood in the entrance looking distinctly unimpressed. She was smaller than most of the women in the group, wrapped in layered shamanic garments that still managed to leave an impression of deliberate, self-indulgent style. Her expression sat somewhere between irritation and theatrical superiority.

“I am the ancient Grand Shaman of the Masters of the Night-Wind,” she declared, voice already climbing. “I do not take unscheduled visitors. I do not host travelers. I do not care what glowing Flame or distant Archon sent you. Leave.”

The speech had the polished feel of something she had delivered many times — a practiced, slightly over-the-top performance designed to make people give up and go away so she could return to whatever quiet routine she preferred. The tsundere edge was obvious; every lofty claim of status carried an undercurrent of “just leave me alone already.”

Rosaria started to answer with equal bluntness. Xilonen cut in first, tone carefully neutral.

“We’re not here to demand anything from the Grand Shaman. Only to request a short audience. Several of us are… curious about certain futures that touch on personal matters. Intimate ones. We were told you sometimes see such things.”

A calculated angle.

Citlali’s eyes narrowed. The grand posture held, but a flicker of reluctant interest crossed her face at the mention of reading futures — especially the kind that involved sex. She clicked her tongue, crossed her arms, and made a show of considering it while still blocking the doorway.

“Hmph. Fine. You may enter. Briefly. And if any of you waste my time with pointless questions I will throw the entire lot of you down the hillside myself.”

She stepped aside with clear reluctance, already radiating the energy of someone who fully intended to make the visit as short and uncomfortable as possible so they would not return.

The pride filed in under her sharp gaze, careful to keep the conversation pointed toward the “sexual futures” pretense that had bought them a foot in the door. None of them yet understood the real reason the Grand Shaman’s own Flame had long since gone cold .

Citlali had them sit in a rough half-circle on the floor of her sparsely furnished main room.

She worked methodically, taking one woman’s hand at a time, closing her eyes, and letting the vision settle. Her ability never showed clear faces or identities of partners — only the shape and volume of what was coming: frequency, intensity, duration, the heavy recurrence of pregnancy, the general tone of the encounters. Vague in detail, overwhelming in quantity.

The first few readings already made her eyebrows climb.

By the time she finished with Rosaria, Lisa, Yelan, Dehya and Xilonen the Grand Shaman looked openly flabbergasted. She released the last hand and stared at the group as if they had personally offended the natural order.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “Every single one of you. The sheer volume… the constant pairing, the repeated pregnancies, the way it simply never slows down for decades. Do you have any idea how much sex you’re going to have? Each of you will experience more than I have in my entire lifespan. And I have lived a very long time.”

She looked faintly offended by the math.

When Ganyu and Cloud Retainer offered their hands in turn, Citlali immediately pulled back and crossed her arms.

“No. Absolutely not. Immortals and near-immortals are off-limits. An open-ended timeline with no natural cutoff turns the reading into an endless flood. I would be sitting here for hours trying to parse an infinite sequence of the same activity. I refuse. Find another shaman if you want that headache.”

She waved them off with clear finality, still visibly processing the absurd density of carnal future she had just witnessed in the mortal and long-lived but still finite members of the group.

The Grand Shaman of the Masters of the Night-Wind had seen a great many things across the centuries.

A traveling harem whose sexual futures dwarfed her own accumulated experience was apparently still capable of leaving her temporarily speechless.

Citlali’s curiosity finally overrode the last of her theatrics.

She had watched the pattern form across every reading — the sheer volume, the repeated pregnancies, the way each woman’s future bent around the same overwhelming density of sex. By the time the mortal members of the group were finished, the Grand Shaman was openly eyeing Aether with sharp, reluctant interest. The suspicion sat plain on her face: whatever was driving those futures almost certainly started with him.

She crossed her arms, looked away, and still managed to sound imperious.

“Hmph. Fine. Since you’re clearly the common factor in all of this nonsense, I suppose I should examine the source. Hand. Now. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The demand was pure tsundere cover. She wanted to keep reading the same fascinating, ridiculous series she had just discovered, and his future was the next episode.

Aether held out his hand without comment.

Citlali took it.

The moment skin met skin the reaction was instantaneous and violent. Her eyes flew wide. Color flooded her face from throat to hairline in a deep, uniform beet red. Whatever she saw hit her with enough force that she made a small, choked sound and immediately slapped his hand away as if it had burned her.

(https://im.ge/i/QMKZaxS)
(artist: Toromiya)

“Out!”

She was already on her feet, voice cracking with sudden volume.

“All of you — out of my house! Now! Get out!”

There was no room for argument. She herded the entire pride toward the door with rapid, agitated gestures, face still blazing, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. The moment the last of them crossed the threshold she slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame and threw the bolt.

Inside, Citlali’s back hit the wood. She slid down until she was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, still panting, both hands pressed to her burning cheeks. The visions refused to leave. Whatever she had glimpsed in the Traveler’s future had punched straight through centuries of bored detachment and left the ancient Grand Shaman flushed, breathless, and thoroughly shaken on the wrong side of her own door.