The Chief's final, terrified scream was abruptly cut short, leaving a chilling silence in its wake. The only sounds were the heavy breathing of the combatants and the low, hungry growls from the chasm below.
The remaining hunters, a dozen or so men who had been circling the edge of the arena, stared at the chasm, then at the blood-soaked prince standing over it, and then at the whirlwind of destruction their fellow fighters had become. Their morale, already fragile, shattered. One by one, they dropped their weapons—swords, axes, and spears clattering to the dirt. The fight was over.
For a moment, no one moved. Then, a single sob broke the silence.
It was Rina. She had run back from the side gate the moment the Chief fell. Now she stood, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling violently.
And then they all ran.
It was a chaotic, desperate rush. Lyra, Talia, and Seraphine, freed from their chains, sprinted across the arena. They descended on Aiden in a flurry of white dresses and tear-streaked faces, a collective, overwhelming hug that nearly sent him toppling over. He was surrounded by the scent of sweat, blood, and relief.
He hugged them back, his sword arm hanging limp at his side, his body screaming in protest. He felt Rina's small frame press against his back, her quiet sobs muffled against his tunic.
"Aiden," Lyra said, her voice frantic as she pulled back just enough to scan him from head to toe. Her hands roamed over his arms and chest, looking for wounds. "Are you hurt? Are you bleeding? Let me see! Where does it hurt? Tell me where you're hurt!"
"I'm fine, Lyra," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm okay."
But she wasn't listening. "Your arm! It's cut! And your back! He hit you! I'll kill them all again, I swear it—"
"Lyra," he said, a little more firmly, taking her hands in his. "I'm fine. We're fine."
Then he noticed Talia. The fierce dragon rider, the unflappable warrior, was crying. Not loud, dramatic sobs, but silent, hot tears that traced paths through the dirt on her cheeks. She was trying to hide it, turning her head away, but he saw.
"Talia?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, not looking at him. "It's nothing. Just... the dust." She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just... for a second there, when that orc hit you... I thought..." Her voice cracked, and the confession tumbled out before she could stop it. "I was scared I was going to lose you, you idiot!"
Her face went a brilliant shade of red the moment the words were out. She looked utterly horrified with herself. "I—I mean! I was scared we'd lose our ticket out of here! It's a strategic loss!" she stammered, turning her back on him completely. "Forget it!"
Aiden couldn't help but let out a small, weary chuckle.
Suddenly, Eira stumbled, her legs giving out from under her. Aiden caught her before she could fall. She felt light and fragile in his arms.
"My mana is depleted," she stated, her voice calm but strained. "The spell to break the enchantments on the chains and to free Nimbus... it required everything. I cannot walk."
She looked up at him, her pale green eyes clear and direct. "You will have to carry me."
Aiden was too tired to even be surprised. He just sighed, shifted his weight, and scooped her up bridal style. She was surprisingly light.
And then, Seraphine was there. The frantic energy had faded, replaced by her usual, unnerving calm. But there was a new tension in her posture, a slight paleness to her skin that even the arena's dirt couldn't hide.
"Well, that was exhilarating," she said, her voice a silken purr. She stepped closer, her violet eyes fixed on the pulse point in his neck. "All that excitement has made me... thirsty."
Aiden groaned. "Seraphine, not now."
"I'm serious," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Rina's blood was a... delightful appetizer. But I require a main course. And your blood, Aiden, has a certain... sarcastic zest that I find quite refreshing."
He stood there, exhausted, injured, with one girl crying into his back, another refusing to look at him, a third in his arms, a fourth eyeing his neck like a piece of meat, and a fifth still sobbing quietly into his tunic.
The fight was over.
The fight was over. The real chaos had just begun.
Aiden stood in the center of the arena, a weary, bloody statue surrounded by his five maids. He gently set Eira down, leaning her against a rock. "We're leaving. Now," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"But the other dragons..." Lyra whispered, her gaze fixed on the chasm where the Chief had fallen, and the other pens that lined the arena walls.
Aiden looked at Eira. She was pale, her eyes closed, but she nodded. "One last spell," she murmured. She raised a trembling hand, and a wave of soft, golden light emanated from her, flowing towards the heavy locks on the dragon pens. With a series of echoing clicks, they all sprang open.
One by one, dragons emerged from their prisons. They were not the majestic beasts of the royal rookery. They were thin, scarred, their eyes dull with pain and despair. But as they stepped into the sunlight, a change came over them. They lifted their heads, sniffed the air, and a low, rumbling sound began to build—not of aggression, but of profound, unadulterated freedom.
Nimbus reared up and let out a roar that was answered by every dragon in the arena. It was a chorus of liberation. The freed dragons turned their intelligent eyes towards Aiden and his small group. There was no sound, but the message was clear: Thank you.
With another series of guttural commands from Nimbus, the dragons took to the sky. Aiden and his squadron, with a now-awake but still groggy Rina, climbed onto Nimbus's back. As they rose into the air, the other dragons formed a protective circle around them, a squadron of grateful beasts escorting their saviors home.
The flight was majestic. They flew through the canyons and over the peaks of the Dragonspin Mountains, not as intruders, but as a parade. The sun shone down, and for the first time in days, Aiden felt a sense of peace. He was injured, exhausted, and surrounded by the most complicated group of women he could ever imagine, but he was alive. They were all alive.
At the border of the kingdom, the dragon escort broke away, each one dipping its head in a final, silent salute before turning back towards their liberated home.
It was just the six of them on Nimbus again, flying towards the castle that now felt less like a prison and more like a sanctuary.
Their landing in the main courtyard was anything but subtle. The sight of a black dragon with five young women in tattered white dresses and a battered prince on its back sent the castle staff into a frenzy.
And then, the main doors burst open.
It wasn't the King who came out first. It was Queen Isolde, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated panic. Her regal composure was gone, replaced by the raw, fierce fear of a mother for her child.
"AIDEN DRAVENHEART!" she shrieked, her voice echoing across the courtyard as she ran towards them, her skirts gathered in her hands. "What in the seven hells have you done to yourself?! Look at you! You're bleeding! Your arm! Your face! I told you this was a terrible idea! I am going to lock you in the highest tower until you're a hundred years old! Do you hear me?! A hundred years!"
She reached them just as Aiden slid off Nimbus's back, his legs nearly giving out. She grabbed his face, her hands trembling as she checked his injuries, her torrent of words a frantic, loving, and utterly overwhelming lecture.
Behind her, the King appeared, his calm presence a stark contrast to the Queen's chaos. He took in the scene—his exhausted, wounded son, and the five disheveled but defiant young women who had returned with him. A slow, proud smile spread across his face.
He stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his wife's shoulder to quiet her. He looked at the five maids, his gaze filled with a father's gratitude.
"You brought my son home," he said, his voice deep and sincere, carrying the weight of a king. "You have the eternal gratitude of this crown. You are no longer servants. You are heroes of this realm."
As the King's words settled over them, Aiden looked at his "squadron." He saw Rina, still trembling but now safe. He saw Lyra, her protective gaze finally softening. He saw Talia, her face still red but her eyes shining with unshed pride. He saw Eira, who gave him a weak but knowing nod. And he saw Seraphine, who simply raised a perfect eyebrow, as if to say, It was about time.
The immediate danger was over. But Aiden knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that this was not an end. It was a beginning.
The story of his harem would continue, woven with mysteries he was now honor-bound to solve. There was Talia's past, hidden behind a lie and a tattoo. There was the girl from his dreams, the half-dragon he now knew was real. There was Rina's grandmother, trapped in a sleeping sickness. There was Eira's quest to free her people. And there was Seraphine, a vampire noble hiding from a past that was surely as dark and dangerous as she was.
He looked at them, no longer a collection of misfits, but his partners. His friends. His responsibility.
And for the first time, that responsibility didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a purpose.