Tensions had begun to simmer beneath the peaceful surface of Kujo's town.
It started with whispers.
Then discontent.
Mostly among unaffiliated male residents—those who had joined the town for safety, for resources, or for shelter… but who now found themselves bristling at Kujo's harem. Some saw it as unfair. Others, as favoritism. A few whispered accusations of manipulation, of favoritism, of weakness hidden behind pretty faces and plush thighs.
By the third day, Kujo had heard enough.
He called for a town assembly.
The courtyard was filled by dusk. Werewolves, dark elves, vampires, exiles, mixed-bloods, beastfolk, and more gathered. Some stood in quiet respect. Others crossed arms or grumbled. A few eyes burned with jealousy.
Kujo stood at the center of it all, silent as he scanned the crowd. His coat billowed in the breeze, shadow trailing faintly behind his boots.
But before he could speak—Zafira stepped forward.
She raised her voice, rich and clear. "You question his leadership? Then question his results."
She gestured wide. "No noble saved you. No army protected you. He did. This town stands because of him. The only reason you sleep safely is because Kujo fought for every wall, every law, and every one of you."
Setara followed. "Do you think his women weakened him?" she asked, eyes sharp. "Then you know nothing. We stand with him because he earned us—through action, through integrity. We'd follow him into the abyss."
Kyrie landed lightly next to them. "And if you think it's just about romance," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "remember I've killed for him. I'll do it again."
Fiore stepped up last, armor gleaming in the lanternlight. "He didn't ask for our loyalty. We gave it. If you can't see the strength in what we've built, then you don't deserve to be part of it."
Then came Dimara.
She slithered out from the edge of the crowd, dozens of shadowy green-and-black tendrils coiling behind her like a living cloak.
She stood in front of Kujo, arms crossed, her red-orange eyes glowing.
"This man is our husband," she growled.
Gasps scattered through the audience.
"If you insult him," she continued, voice thick with venom, "mock him, undermine him… I will devour you. Slowly. Happily. In pieces. And I won't spit out the bones."
The square went dead silent.
No one moved.
Kujo hadn't even said a word.
He didn't need to.
The message had been delivered—in every tone, voice, and vow.
That night, the unrest vanished like smoke on wind.
Later, Kujo was checking supply inventory near the west barracks—alone, for once—when the storage room door slammed shut behind him.
Tendrils wrapped around his chest and legs in an instant, hoisting him off his feet with zero warning.
"Dimara—!?"
The chimera girl emerged from the darkness with a gleeful hum, wrapping two arms and a dozen tendrils around him as he dangled in the warm lamplight.
"You were so brave today," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his. "Letting us speak. Letting us protect you."
She tightened her grip, coiling his limbs gently but firmly.
"Everyone saw how amazing you are."
Kujo squirmed a little. "I really appreciate it, but—"
Her tongue flicked over his neck.
He shivered.
"T-That's not necessary right now—"
"Oh, but it is," she cooed. "This is your reward~"
She pulled him into her chest, tendrils brushing his sides, curling up his thighs, coiling gently around his wrists like velvet snakes.
"Soft, isn't it?" she whispered in his ear.
He gasped, arching slightly as more tendrils slithered around his lower back, teasing, pressing, holding.
"I'm gonna hold you so tight," she giggled. "Until your brain turns to mush~"
He groaned, struggling slightly—but she knew exactly how to pin his joints, how to trap him without pain, how to press her heat into his body until he was breathless.
She nuzzled his throat, moaning softly. "Mmmm… Kujo…"
His knees buckled in her hold, and he managed to choke out, "D-Dimara… s-stop—"
"Say please~"
He bit his lip.
She kissed it.
"Say it, Master~"
"…P-Please…"
She finally eased up.
Only a little.
"You're cute when you beg," she whispered, licking his jaw. "But next time, maybe I won't stop~"
She let him down slowly, only partially unwrapping him.
And then kissed his forehead.
"Sleep tight, husband~"
He stood there against the wall, red-faced, panting, and only barely in one piece.
The request came quietly, respectfully—just like Zafira always was.
At breakfast, as the others squabbled over who got to sit closest to Kujo, she simply approached him with a scroll in hand and a calm look in her eyes. He noticed the faint tension in her voice before she even spoke.
"The moonflower is in bloom," she said softly.
He blinked. "That's a good thing, right?"
"It is. But we only have until the next rain. The bloom fades by sunrise."
She explained that the moonflower—a rare, glowing white blossom with silvery petals—was crucial for a dark elf seasonal rite, one performed only once per decade. It ensured spiritual clarity for the tribe and helped bond them to their land. Without it, the new generation would lack the blessing of their ancestors.
"I can go myself," she added. "But if I had someone to assist in the mana-binding... the ceremony would be stronger."
He didn't hesitate.
"I'll go with you."
By twilight, the rain had already begun.
A thin curtain of silver mist fell from the sky, soaking the leaves and painting the world in glimmering droplets. Zafira met him at the outer edge of the dark elf district, waiting beneath a tall canopy of moss-covered stone. She carried the sacred bowl in one hand and wore nothing but sheer ceremonial cloth wrapped around her figure in loose strips. Her dark skin shimmered with golden body paint—elvish runes running along her collarbone, down her thighs, across the curve of her chest.
She was silent.
So was he.
He tried not to stare.
He failed.
The two of them walked to the ritual site in the rain. A small grove surrounded by jagged black stones, where moonflowers bloomed in glowing clusters around the base of a pool. Mist hovered just above the water.
Zafira knelt and began the chant. Her voice, low and musical, resonated through the grove. The words weren't spoken—they were sung in rhythm with the rain.
She motioned for Kujo to kneel behind her.
"Place your hands on my back. Let your mana link with mine. Just follow my breath."
He did.
Her skin was warm beneath his palms. The rain made every inch of her slick, the body paint glowing softly under the moonlight.
Then the link began.
He felt her thoughts—calm, deep, ancient. Memories flowed through the connection like shared dreams: her childhood in caves, her time in exile, her pain, her hopes, and finally… the moment she saw him for the first time.
The bond grew tighter. More intimate.
Her breath hitched.
So did his.
Their hearts synced, their pulses racing. The mana between them flared with heat—magic too intense for ritual alone. It rippled through them like lightning, every wave of energy causing their bodies to twitch and arch slightly in place.
It was overwhelming.
It was beautiful.
It was nearly too much.
Zafira cried out softly as the final chant left her lips and the moonflowers pulsed with radiant silver light, soaking the grove in ethereal bloom. The magic peaked.
Then, silence.
Only the rain remained.
She collapsed backward into his arms, soaked and trembling.
Without a word, she turned around and threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into the wet grass. She kissed him hard, hungrily, without hesitation. Her body melted into his, the rain pouring over them both as she devoured his mouth like she had waited ten years to do it.
"Thank you," she whispered against his lips, eyes glowing faintly. "You didn't just help the rite. You helped me feel whole again."
He didn't know what to say.
So he held her.
They didn't move from that grove. Not for hours. Not even when thunder rolled. She stayed wrapped around him, curled against his chest, her cheek on his shoulder, her legs draped over his lap. His arms around her waist.
Neither spoke.
They didn't have to.
When dawn finally rose, the first sliver of orange light cutting through the clouds, Zafira opened her eyes and whispered, "I will never forget this night."
And Kujo—wet, tired, heart pounding—smiled and kissed her forehead.