After the battle, the village spent the next day in recovery.
Barricades were repaired. Patrols doubled. Schedules were redrawn. But inside Kujo's quarters, something far more delicate unfolded.
He barely had time to sit down before Dimara was on his lap, arms wound around his neck like she never intended to let go again.
"I almost lost you," she whispered, her voice trembling with sugar and steel. "That would've broken me."
He held her close. She pulled back just enough to kiss him—deep and slow—and guided his hand to her waist, slipping it beneath her sash. Her body was warm, trembling faintly as her tendrils curled around his ankle possessively.
"I want to be yours," she whispered against his lips. "Tonight, if you let me."
She left the room with a lingering look that promised far more than words could say.
Next was Fiore.
She didn't knock. She walked in, sword on her back, eyes fixed on him with intensity that only softened when they were alone.
She didn't waste time.
"You should've let me take the final blow," she muttered, leaning against the wall. "I hated watching you push yourself that far."
Kujo looked at her gently. "But we won."
Fiore walked over, cupped his face, and kissed him like it was a vow.
"I want to stay with you tonight," she said quietly, resting her forehead against his. "Not as your bodyguard. As your woman."
She held his hand for a moment longer before walking out.
Then came Kyrie.
She swooped in from the balcony, folding her wings behind her and greeting him with a kiss before he could say anything. She sat on his lap and buried her face in his chest.
"You really scared me," she murmured.
He ran his fingers through her hair. She purred softly, then leaned up to kiss his neck.
"If you want… I could help you relax. You know. Properly."
She guided his hand between her wings, lower than was strictly appropriate, and whispered, "I'll wait. If I'm the one you want."
She vanished into the evening with a final glance over her shoulder.
Chusi arrived next, stretching with a playful growl.
"You looked hot out there," she said, grinning. "Covered in bruises, spitting magic… Damn."
She walked up and kissed him right on the mouth, hard and sudden, then grabbed his hand and placed it directly on her hip.
"You know I'm not shy. If you want to let loose tonight, pick me. I've been craving it."
She bit his ear gently, then backed off with a wink. "Think about it."
Zafira arrived later, more composed but no less intense.
She knelt in front of him and offered a ritual kiss to his hand, then pulled him close into an embrace that left no room for misunderstanding.
"You've given my people purpose," she whispered, voice trembling for the first time. "And you gave me something I'd buried a long time ago."
She pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone, then higher.
"I'm yours. I'll always be yours. And tonight… if you choose me, I'll show you just how deeply I mean that."
Finally, Setara.
She didn't say anything at first. Just sat beside him in the quiet.
Then, she reached over and laced their fingers.
"I'm not good at saying what I feel," she said, eyes staring forward. "But I keep writing your name into my future plans. Every long-term chart. Every blueprint."
He looked at her, and she turned, her robe slipping slightly off her shoulder.
She kissed him—softly, but deeply—and rested her head on his chest.
"I'm staying up late tonight," she whispered. "Just in case you decide you want to rest beside someone who thinks two steps ahead."
And then she left, calm and silent, her scent lingering behind.
Kujo stood alone in the hall.
Each girl had confessed something.
Each wanted him.
But he could only choose one tonight.
His heart pounded as he walked to his bedroom door.
He opened it slowly.
The lamp was lit.
And someone was already in his bed.
Waiting for him.
Kujo stood proudly on the polished stone edge of the newest addition to his growing village: the public relaxation pool and bathhouse.
Fed by enchanted subterranean springs and surrounded by smooth obsidian tiles and elegant marble pillars, the structure was a glistening centerpiece built for peace, recovery, and morale. A low mist rolled over the water's surface, infused with calming herbs and ambient magic. It was open-air, moonlit, and luxuriously warm.
He didn't expect company.
Or rather, he didn't expect all of them at once.
First was Kyrie, who landed gracefully from the sky in a tiny towel and immediately claimed the far corner of the pool, wings folded delicately behind her as she slid into the steaming water with a happy sigh.
Then came Dimara, sauntering in with barely a wrap covering her curves, giggling as she dipped a toe into the pool. "Oh my~ Master made this for us?"
Zafira appeared next, moving like a shadow, wrapped in translucent dark fabric that turned sheer the moment it met the mist. She didn't say a word—just stepped into the water with regal calm and closed her eyes, sinking in with all the elegance of a noble queen.
Setara walked in after, muttering something about "testing the structural durability of the tiling." She tried to act like it was for inspection, but the robe she wore was half open, and the moment she felt the heat hit her legs, her expression softened and she slid in with a sigh.
Fiore was next—wrapped in a short, dark towel, hair tied back, armored only by her pride. She stepped into the water and leaned against the far wall, eyes half-lidded, watching Kujo with a quiet smirk.
Chusi ran in laughing, already soaked from a dunk in the smaller pool, her towel completely gone by the time she cannonballed next to Kujo and sent a splash cascading across half the bath.
"You girls never planned to share, did you?" Kujo muttered.
Dimara splashed him playfully. "We just happened to all show up~"
"I was here first," Kyrie said sweetly, sliding closer.
Fiore gave a suspicious glare. "Were you all watching him build this?"
Setara mumbled, "I checked the schematics…"
Zafira said nothing. But she drifted until her thigh pressed against Kujo's under the water.
Before he could move, Chusi popped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"Now that we're all here," she whispered in his ear, "let's test relaxation."
What followed was chaos in slow motion.
Dimara pulled Kujo backward into her chest. Kyrie slid onto his lap from the side. Fiore tried to move him away but ended up pressed flush against his front. Setara attempted to restore order, only to trip and land squarely in Kujo's arms, her robe floating open around them. Zafira leaned closer, her hand slipping along Kujo's thigh "by mistake." Chusi slipped underwater and came up between his legs, smirking as she surfaced with her arms around his waist.
The water frothed with splashing, giggling, shifting towels, and more skin than Kujo could process. Elbows bumped, thighs slid, tails swished, and more than one hand found a target it probably shouldn't have.
By the time the splashing settled, Kujo was pinned against the stone wall with six glistening women in various states of cling, half his face buried in Kyrie's soaked cleavage while Chusi's hand slowly crept across his hip under the water.
"We need… a bathing schedule," he gasped.
"That would take the fun out of it," Zafira murmured, nuzzling his neck.
Suddenly, a low voice cut through the steam from beyond the bath entrance.
"Forgive the intrusion."
The harem immediately snapped to attention, water rippling as each girl positioned themselves more modestly—though only just.
A tall, cloaked figure stood beneath the torchlight of the outer walkway. The figure's skin was a dusky bronze, and his eyes glinted like molten sand beneath the cowl.
"I am a messenger from the Scorched Fang tribe of the Crimson Dunes," he said. "My queen requests an audience."
Kujo stood up, dripping and dazed. "Right now?"
"She said it was urgent."
The girls collectively groaned.
Dimara clung to him tighter. "But bath time isn't over…"
Chusi sighed. "We didn't even start the fun yet…"
Fiore stepped between Kujo and the messenger, towel tightened around her. "Give us one hour."
Setara was already drafting a diplomatic response spell in her head.
Zafira whispered, "The Crimson Dunes… they don't reach out lightly."
Kujo nodded, rubbing his temples.
The steam was still thick around him.
So was the affection.
But duty never waited long.
The emissary from the Crimson Dunes stepped into full view beneath the moonlight, armor gleaming like obsidian laced with silver. Her presence was an imposing contrast to the soothing steam of the bath just moments before. She stood tall—silent, still, and focused like a drawn blade waiting to strike.
She removed her helmet.
Short, white-blonde hair tousled as she pulled the helm free. Her eyes were burning violet, expression cool, unwavering. Her skin was bronze-kissed and lightly scarred, the kind that came from years of battle—not abuse, but war-earned respect.
She bowed low, hand over her heart. "My name is Seraka, vanguard of the Crimson Dunes. My queen sent me to determine if your rule is legend or accident."
Kujo stepped forward, cloak still damp, chest still sore from being pressed against six women just minutes earlier. "I take it you don't plan to just ask questions."
"I do not," Seraka said. "I challenge you to a duel. I will not serve under weakness."
Zafira leaned in behind him. "Their tribe doesn't bend the knee through talk. Only through trial."
Kujo sighed. "Fine. Let's do this properly."
The arena was cleared. A makeshift ring had been established in the training grounds under torchlight. Dozens of residents gathered around the perimeter—some curious, others nervous. His harem watched from the sidelines, silent and alert.
Seraka approached him in full armor, her jagged sword nearly as long as she was tall. She said nothing as she readied her stance.
Kujo removed his coat.
Shadow magic pulsed at his fingertips, dark tendrils flickering in and out of reality.
The duel began.
She struck first—fast. Her armor didn't slow her. She moved with the ferocity of a storm, her strikes precise, heavy, relentless. Kujo dodged narrowly, shadow-blinking behind her before launching a counter with his claws, which sparked against her gauntlets as she parried.
They clashed again and again. His speed and unpredictability against her iron defense and raw force. The torches shook with every impact. Dirt kicked up from their feet. Her blade sliced a chunk out of a stone pillar. His claws ripped through her shoulder plating.
Then came the moment.
She faked a downward strike, only to slam her boot into his stomach, knocking him back into the wall.
He rose slowly, panting, shadow wings unfurling behind him.
"I see," she murmured. "You fight like a beast forced to become a man."
"And you fight like a woman who's never been told she can stop."
They charged one last time.
Her blade met his claws midair—and his tail shot forward, sweeping her off her feet in a blur of black smoke. She hit the ground hard.
She didn't get up right away.
He stood over her, breathing heavy, arm still outstretched in case she rose again.
But she didn't.
Instead, she raised a hand.
"I yield," she said plainly. "You are worthy."
Kujo blinked.
"I request asylum for my people," she continued, still lying on her back. "And in exchange, I offer my service."
He stepped back, surprised.
"To serve me personally?"
She nodded. "As knight. As weapon. As shield. As whatever your rule requires."
A murmur swept the crowd.
Zafira smiled faintly.
Setara began updating territory protocol lists in her head.
That night, after the feast welcoming the desert emissary was concluded and most had gone to rest, Seraka remained in his quarters, standing at the foot of his bed.
She was still half-armored, helmet removed, blue scarf now draped over her shoulder.
"I heard you took injuries," she said simply.
"Just bruises."
"I'd like to inspect them."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not a healer."
"I was a knight-commander. I know bodies."
She stepped closer.
Her gauntlets came off. Then the chestplate. Each motion was methodical, ritualistic—silent and intense. She moved behind him, and her fingers, rough and calloused, traced along his spine, shoulder blades, and ribs.
Her touch wasn't gentle.
It was thorough.
"You overextend on counters," she murmured, brushing over his side. "You favor your right leg in all close-range movement. You tighten your left hand when preparing a spell."
"You learning me for future combat?"
"I'm learning you," she said.
Her hands slid lower—still professional, but the tension in the air turned heavy.
She leaned close, her breath warm against the back of his neck.
"You're sturdy," she whispered. "That matters, for a ruler."
He turned slightly to face her.
She didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Just stared up into his eyes like she was waiting for an order she would obey without question.
He didn't give one.
Not yet.
But she stayed.
And so did he.