Azar had always been the quiet one.
She kept to herself, spending her days lounging near the edge of town, half-dozing in the sun or sharpening sticks like she was waiting for something to happen but had long since stopped expecting it. She rarely spoke, rarely smiled—watching from the periphery with sharp golden eyes and an unreadable stillness.
Kujo had noticed.
He just hadn't pushed.
But today, she approached him on her own.
It was near dusk. He was walking through one of the newer housing lanes, checking on lumber distribution, when she landed behind him in a soft thump.
"Azar?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly, "Can we talk?"
They walked to the edge of town. A hill overlooking the new crop fields. She sat first, curling her legs up under her, arms hugging her knees.
"I've been thinking," she said. "About everything."
Kujo sat beside her.
"I was raised to stay hidden. My mom was a dragon. My dad was just a farmer. After she died, we stopped talking about her. It was too dangerous."
Her voice shook slightly. "The adventurers who killed her said she was a threat. But she never attacked anyone. She just existed."
Kujo remained silent, letting her speak.
"I never learned how to transform properly. Never trained. My powers were… locked up. Like they'd hurt people if I let them out."
She looked at him.
"But then you gave me a place. And I started thinking—what if I do belong somewhere? What if I'm not just broken?"
Kujo's chest tightened. "You're not broken."
She smiled faintly. "I wanted to believe that."
Then her nose twitched.
A scent.
A ripple of air.
She turned, and her eyes widened. "We're not alone."
Before he could ask what she meant, she leapt from the hill, claws flashing.
A squad of assassins—six of them—had snuck past the warding runes, slipping through the forest near the south wall.
Azar hit the first one like a meteor, claws shredding through his armor before he could draw his blade.
The others scattered and engaged—but something was wrong.
Her breathing grew harsh. Her claws lengthened. Her body began to glow.
Kujo arrived just in time to see her eyes shift—slitted pupils narrowing as her skin began to darken and her scales shimmered with unnatural fire.
"Azar—!"
She roared.
Not screamed.
Roared.
Flames erupted from her mouth. Her muscles bulked out, her wings burst open—too large, too jagged—and her form became monstrous, raw, unchained.
She wasn't controlling it.
She was berserking.
One of the assassins tried to flee. She struck him with her tail, smashing him into a tree with a bone-crushing snap.
Kujo summoned his shadow wings and took off, flying directly into her path.
She turned on him, eyes glowing with animal instinct.
He didn't attack.
He didn't raise a hand.
He let her tackle him, sending them both crashing into the dirt—hard.
She pinned him down, claws shaking.
"Azar," he whispered, staring into her eyes. "It's me."
She growled, trembling, muscles twitching.
"You're safe. You're home," he said again. "Come back to me."
Her body shuddered.
"Azar," he whispered one more time, "come back."
She stopped.
Her claws receded.
Her wings drooped.
And then, just like that, she collapsed into his arms—sobbing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking. "I didn't mean to— I—"
He held her tightly, stroking her hair. "You came back. That's what matters."
She kissed him.
Suddenly. Fiercely. Desperately.
It wasn't lust. It wasn't need.
It was gratitude. Relief. Surrender.
"Thank you," she whispered against his lips, still crying. "Thank you for saving me."
That night, she moved into the house next to his.
Then, the next day, somehow… she ended up in his.
And by morning—
Kujo stirred beneath the soft weight of a familiar body.
Golden hair tickled his chin.
His arm was wrapped around something smooth and warm.
Azar.
She lay draped across his chest, her tail curled lazily over his legs, snoring faintly with a smile on her face.
Her top was gone.
Gone.
Kujo blinked.
Her eyes fluttered open moments later. She looked up at him, blinking in the morning light.
Then glanced down.
"…Oh."
She didn't move.
Instead, she smirked.
"Huh. Guess I got comfortable."
Kujo groaned and buried his face in his pillow.
She nestled into his side again and muttered, "Not that I'm complaining."
Kyrie moved like a ghost through the rooftops, her wings tucked tight against her back, her breathing silent. The night above the village was calm—stars bright, air cool—but her senses told her something was wrong.
She had spotted it two hours earlier. A cloaked figure slipping past the northward watch line, avoiding patrol paths like they were reading from a map.
A professional.
Now she tracked them through alleyways and rooftops, keeping her distance. Eventually, she gave a subtle signal—a reflective flick of her wing—toward the opposite side of the district.
Fiore was already there.
The two locked eyes only once, then melted into the shadows again like wolves on the hunt.
Their prey entered a storage barn near the archive outpost. Kyrie landed silently on the roof as Fiore came from the trees.
Fiore gave the signal—strike.
With no sound but a shift in air, she dropped into the barn behind the intruder and in a single fluid motion, wrapped her arm around their throat and drew her dagger to the base of their skull.
"Don't move."
The cloaked figure froze, stunned.
Kyrie stepped through the rafters and dropped to the floor. "We're very particular about visitors."
Fiore removed the hood.
Beneath it was a thin, sharp-faced man in demon noble garb poorly hidden under travel leathers. His eyes darted left and right, searching for escape.
"You're from the royal house," Kyrie said, her tone neutral. "Kujo's family."
The man growled. "He abandoned his bloodline. He's raising a rebellion with monsters and concubines."
"Concubines?" Fiore twisted the knife tip in warning. "Try that word again."
"I came to leak intel. Nothing more," he muttered. "The noble houses won't allow him to grow. The longer this town thrives, the more dangerous he becomes."
"And you were going to sabotage it from within," Kyrie said flatly.
Fiore delivered a precise strike to the side of his head.
The man collapsed.
When Kujo heard the report, he stood in silence for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"It's time."
Kyrie tilted her head. "Time for what?"
"We can't keep pretending this is just a refuge," Kujo said. "We've built something real. If they see it as rebellion, so be it. But this village deserves a name. A charter. An identity."
Fiore folded her arms. "You'll be putting a target on all our backs."
"They already painted one," he replied.
That afternoon, the courtyard was filled with leaders—Maros of the vampires, Zafira of the dark elves, Wordric of the wolves, and a silent nod from Azar. Kujo stood before them all, declaring what would become law:
The settlement was now a sovereign territory, free from demonic noble rule. Independent. Self-governed. Recognized or not.
Setara took it upon herself to make it official.
She sat in Kujo's study from dusk until nearly midnight—scrolls open, ink running dry, legal spellbooks cracked and stacked around her like barricades. She drafted charters, diplomatic statements, coded declarations, and defense agreements.
She didn't eat.
She barely blinked.
By the time Kujo returned from the evening border briefing, he found her curled on his bed, ink still on her fingers, a half-written document pressed against her chest.
She wore nothing but a deep violet robe, half-loose from one shoulder. Her leg stuck out beneath the blankets, long and smooth.
He stepped closer, gently removing the page from her hand.
"…Kujo," she murmured.
He froze.
Still asleep, she reached out and grabbed his arm, dragging him downward.
"Don't move," she muttered, snuggling into his chest like a sleepy cat.
Then—
A soft grind of her hips against his thigh.
"…mmm… stability protocols…" she moaned softly.
Kujo's face turned crimson.
Setara, still sound asleep, wrapped her arms around his waist and adjusted her leg around his own, pressing her body fully against him.
"…royal structure… alignment schedules…"
He exhaled slowly, patting her head as she shifted closer.
It was going to be a very long night.