The scent of the garden flowers, earth, and distant, exotic spices hung faint in the cooling night air, a familiar symphony that tugged at Draco's senses.
He stood a fair distance from the manor door, remaining motionless for a few more seconds.
His senses, however, were not idle.
From scattered whispers carried on the wind...muffled by distance and the thick stone walls but amplified by his keen hearing.....he'd pieced together fragments of information.
His familia knew.
They already knew he was back in Orario.
And they were planning a surprise.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
He imagined the scene: his boisterous familia, likely gathered in the grand foyer, feigning casual conversation while their internal excitement simmered, ready to erupt the moment he stepped through the door.
But, he planned to reverse the script.
Suppressing his presence, Draco moved.
Like a phantom, he melted into the shadows of the estate grounds, his large frame, becoming as insubstantial as smoke.
Each step was a whisper, a mere suggestion of contact with the earth.
He was a hunter approaching his unwitting prey, the stakes not of survival, but of gleeful one-upmanship.
He approached the massive door of the manor, his internal clock ticking off the seconds. Normally, by now, someone would have noticed.
The Bahamut Familia boasted a diverse roster, including several beast-type members whose senses were sharper than any hawk's eye or hound's nose.
Yet, no reaction.
Perhaps it was their exhaustion from their recent dungeon expedition.
Or perhaps their heated "discussion"...no doubt about him...had consumed their attention entirely.
Whatever the reason, Draco revelled in the perceived victory.
No one had noticed him.
He was sure of it.
His hand closed around the cold, ornate handle.
He twisted it slowly, carefully, the mechanism giving a nearly imperceptible click.
Then, with a fluid motion, he swung the heavy door wide.
Light from the foyer spilled out, illuminating his silhouette against the deepening twilight.
His arms spread wide, a theatrical flourish.
He drew a deep breath, ready to unleash a triumphant, booming "SURPRISE!"
The word, however, died on his lips, choked, suffocated, and utterly obliterated.
In the microsecond the door fully opened, before his vocal cords could even fully engage, an object…..no, a person…..launched itself at him with the force of, as his mind belatedly registered, possibly ten horses galloping at full speed.
It was a blur, a streaking projectile of flesh, and it impacted his face and chest with bone-jarring force.
The sheer, instantaneous velocity of the collision was such that Draco, despite his immense strength, his large frame, and the added support of his powerful tail, felt his knees buckle.
The air was knocked from his lungs in a violent expulsion, leaving him gasping, struggling to reclaim the breath stolen from him.
His face, specifically, was being mercilessly squeezed by something incredibly soft yet firm, something marshmallow-like that molded itself around his nose, making speech impossible, even if he had the breath for it.
The culprit's legs were straddled tightly around his waist, pinning him, while her arms, surprisingly strong, were wrapped so fiercely around his neck that he felt his throat constricting. She squeezed, her entire body pressing against his, as if she were trying to merge them into a single entity.
Above her buttocks, a tiger-spotted tail swished vigorously in a blur, indicating delight.
From deep within her throat, a soft, rumbling purr vibrated against his chest, a sound of contentment that momentarily overrode the ringing in his ears.
"Draco," she whispered, her voice muffled against his neck, a sound so utterly saturated with longing and relief that it pierced through his shock.
It was Clair.
Of course, it was Clair.
In the foyer, the other nineteen members of the Bahamut familia remained frozen, a tableau of bewildered expressions.
Their faces, momentarily slack with exhaustion and the lingering tension of their "heated discussion," now morphed into a collective mosaic of confusion, then dawning realization.
"Ah… Clair got ahead of us!" Vasiliki shrieked, her voice cutting through the stunned silence like a sharp blade.
Her long white hair, usually neat, flared comically around her head, and her eyes, initially wide with surprise, narrowed into a competitive glare.
Without another thought, she surged forward, intent on prying the tenacious tigress from their returning captain.
Clair, sensing the imminent intervention, the thundering approach of her rivals, lightened her grip just enough for Draco to gasp a shallow breath.
She pushed herself up slightly, her legs still locked around his waist, bringing their faces only inches apart.
Her predatory round amber eyes, were alight with an intense, almost feral joy as they stared into his own.
In their depths, Draco saw his own shocked, confused reflection, and mirrored within it, Clair's chillingly joyful smile.
In that instant, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.
The clamor of the foyer, Vasiliki's nearing footsteps, the murmurs of the others...it all faded into a distant hum.
For Clair, it was as if five years of suppressed yearning, of unspoken desire, had coalesced into this singular, explosive moment.
And without a flicker of hesitation, without a single thought for propriety or the gaping audience, she bridged the remaining distance, bringing their lips together.
It was a kiss that devoured.
Passionate, deep, and utterly unyielding.
It stunned everyone, not least Draco, who was still reeling from the unexpected assault, his mind struggling to process the sudden shift.
Even Vasiliki, now only inches away, skidded to an abrupt halt, her outstretched hands hovering uselessly, her mouth agape in stupefied disbelief.
Everyone knew Clair was somewhat bold.
But this?
This was a level of audacity no one had anticipated, certainly not in front of the entire familia.
The kiss lasted only a few milliseconds, a fleeting eternity that seared itself into the collective memory of everyone.
When Clair finally drew back, a soft, contented sigh escaped her lips.
She licked them slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the taste of a truly exquisite treat, her amber eyes sparkling with triumph.
"W-w-what the hell did you just do… I thought we had an agreement!" Vasiliki finally sputtered, her voice trembling with indignation.
The frosty chill of her magic began to emanate visibly from her body, swirling like a miniature blizzard around her.
Her white hair, indeed, seemed to rise, accentuating her outrage.
Vasiliki wasn't the only one seething.
Scattered around the foyer, several other girls, members who harbored their own romantic interest in Draco, exchanged furious glances, their expressions mirroring Vasiliki's wrath.
"What do you mean?" Clair retorted, her triumph battling with a sudden, uncertainty.
"I merely welcomed the man I love back home. What's wrong with that?"
Her voice, initially defiant, now held a tremor.
In that moment of unbridled passion, the presence of the others, their unspoken competition, had vanished from her mind.
It had been a pure, raw expression.
But now, confronted by Vasiliki's fury and the collective disapproval, the bold strength she had momentarily forged began to crumble.
She had acted purely on instinct, a dam that had burst, and now, the consequences loomed.
With a final, lingering look at Draco, a silent plea for understanding, she reluctantly released her vice-like grip.
Draco, still stunned, felt a strange lightness as her weight lifted.
Clair turned to face Vasiliki, who was clearly on the verge of erupting, her magic crackling ominously.
As Vasiliki and Clair became completely engrossed in their furious, hissing exchange, their attention fully diverted, and as the other members of the familia remained in various states of shock and recovery, another figure moved.
Kaguya.
Her approach was subtle, almost predatory in its casualness.
She glided across the floor, her steps as silent as fallen snow.
She wore a loose-fitting kimono of midnight silk, its fabric a stark contrast to her pale skin, outlining the graceful curves of her body with every movement.
Her long, raven-black hair, usually neatly styled, cascaded down her back like a waterfall.
By the time anyone registered her intent, she was already standing beside Draco, her presence a sudden, cool breeze against his still-reeling senses.
And then, to the utter shock of every single person in the foyer, she acted.
With a delicate, almost feline flick of her head, she tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. Then, rising onto the tips of her toes, she reached up, her slender fingers closing around one of Draco's magnificent horns.
With a strained, yet determined tug, she pulled his head down to her level.
Draco, still disoriented and physically off-balance from Clair's impact, offered no resistance. And without preamble, Kaguya's lips met his.
It was a kiss as intense as Clair's, perhaps even more so in its cold, calculated passion.
Her lips ravaged his, a silent claim staked amidst the chaos.
When they finally separated, a slow, knowing smile spread across her face.
Her eyes, dark and intelligent, swept across the stunned faces of the other girls in the distance. Then, with a single finger, she beckoned them, a clear, brazen taunt.
Are you bold enough to do what we did?
The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, a gauntlet thrown.
Draco, meanwhile, was paralyzed.
Stunned for a myriad of reasons, but the most prominent was his complete lack of resistance to these two forced kisses.
Only a few hours ago, he had confessed his feelings to Hephaestus, a confession that had felt both sudden and liberating.
And now, here he was, thrust into another relationship dilemma, one far more public and chaotic than anything he could have anticipated.
He felt a deep sense of helplessness, his mind churning, desperately trying to construct a coherent response.
If anything, the wild action Clair and Kaguya had just displayed, their raw, uninhibited passion, had… aroused him.
It was a fact he was too ashamed to admit, even to himself, hence his awkwardly tilted posture, his body stiff and unyielding.
He prayed internally, vehemently, that no one, especially not those new members, would notice the distinct tent beginning to form at his crotch.
To be misunderstood as some sort of philandering gigolo by the new recruits who had joined the familia in his five-year absence would be supremely shameful, a stain on his reputation as their captain.
And his fears were already manifesting.
Cecil, Iselina, Schau, and Ulanda, the youngest female members, were now glaring at him with gazes filled with an unsettling mixture of embarrassment and disdain.
It was as if this public display had just confirmed every circulating rumor about their captain... about his alleged womanizing, his casual liaisons....validating their preconceived notions.
Their youthful faces, once expectant, now hardened with a judgmental disapproval that stung more than any blow.
Emboldened by Kaguya's cutting taunt, by the shared indignation, and by the passion that now charged the air, the other girls felt an undeniable surge.
Some, who genuinely harbored deep romantic feelings for Draco, saw Kaguya's gesture as a challenge they couldn't ignore.
Others, perhaps simply swept away by the increasingly frenzied atmosphere, overstimulation, or simply wanted to get involved in the juicy piece of drama, felt an irresistible urge to join the fray.
Rushing forward, a wave of determined women surged towards Draco.
But Draco, having been caught off guard twice already, drew a firm line.
Enough was enough.
He wasn't going to make things that easy.
And that was when the foyer truly erupted.
Clair, still hissing at Vasiliki, suddenly noticed Kaguya's arrogant smirk and the approaching throng.
Vasiliki, already vibrating with frosty rage, saw Kaguya's brazenness as a direct affront to her claim, and the approaching girls as a free-for-all she was determined to win.
Kaguya, for her part, simply revelled in the chaos she had instigated, her smile widening as the storm broke.
Fists began to fly.
Not necessarily at Draco, who expertly dodged and weaved, but at each other.
Their attacks at each other were done with heavy self restraint....if they were really serious, the mansion would have already seized to exist.
Clair launched herself at Kaguya.
Vasiliki, intercepted Clair.
Other girls, caught between their desire for Draco and their competitive instincts, were pulled into the vortex.
Some tried to stop the fight, only to get dragged in themselves.
Others, seeing an opportunity, tried to bypass the brawling trio to reach Draco, only to find themselves blocked or tangled in the melee.
The grand foyer, transformed into a maelstrom of flailing limbs, snapping tails, sizzling magic, and indignant shouts.
Vases teetered, tapestries billowed from displaced air, and the sound of frantic yelps mixed with angry growls and frustrated yells.
Using the utter pandemonium as his unlikely cover, Draco executed a flawless tactical retreat.
He slipped away from the epicentre of the brawl, his movements fluid and silent, a phantom amidst the chaos he had inadvertently caused.
He made his way to the bottom of the grand staircase, where three figures sat, perfectly still, an island of calm in the storm.
His younger brothers.
Michalis, Nikolaos, and Vasileios.
They were perched on the lowest steps, their chins propped on their hands, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and amusement as they watched the spectacle unfold.
Their faces, though showing clear signs of sleepiness, were lit with an almost theatrical fascination.
Whatever spark of surprise they might have felt at seeing their elder brother again had been utterly eclipsed by the sheer ridiculousness of the reunion.
Draco slid onto the step beside Nikolaos, releasing a long, weary sigh, removing his armour and dropping his new dungeon bag.
"Not how you were expecting our reunion to go, huh?" Nikolaos teased, a faint smile playing on his lips.
His voice was a calm, almost detached observation in the midst of the tempest.
Draco simply grunted in response, running a hand over his face.
He glanced down at his crotch, discreetly checking.
The tent was still there.
He sighed again, a deeper, more defeated sound.
This was going to be a very long night...or so he thought.