“Of course I picked the Harem-Master subclass. …Yeah. I know how that sounds.”

The trader clasps his greasy hands together, grin shark-bright.

“So, Master Locke… which little treasure catches your eye?”

I don’t answer right away.

Instead, I let the silence stretch just long enough to remind him who’s holding the coin.

“I need a moment,” I say evenly. “Alone.”

His smirk twitches—just a fraction—but the memory of my last purchase smooths it back into place. He gives a shallow, mocking bow, rings glinting in the low light.

“Of course, of course. Delicate decisions… require delicate space.”

He waddles off, muttering under his breath about buyers and their rituals. Two guards remain nearby, watchful, but far enough that their ears won’t catch much unless voices rise.

The air shifts the moment he’s gone. Not cleaner—but quieter. Less… greasy.

I step forward, letting my gaze move across the three cages again. Not as stock this time—but with something more restrained. Not softness. Not yet.

But not nothing, either.

“You’re all healers?” I ask, voice steady—controlled, but not without warmth.

The Callin Girl

She’s slight—swallowed by a ragged tunic that hangs to her knees, the fabric loose on a frame worn thin by neglect, not youth. Her soft silver ears tremble faintly, jade-green eyes flicking between me and the two at my sides. Her hands clutch the chain at her wrists, knuckles pale from the effort.

“M-Master… sir… I can make… um… poultices. I’m quick at foraging herbs. I… I’ll learn anything you want if—if you just…”

Her voice wavers, soft but not childish—strained, like something pressed down too long and only now finding the air again.

When her gaze drops, I catch it—a faint shimmer in the space around her. Healing magic. Raw. Unshaped. Like something that’s never been given the chance to become what it could be.

Kit leans in just enough that her voice brushes the edge of my ear.

“…Gods, look at her. She’s barely holding together. If you pick her, you’re basically taking responsibility for her.”

On my other side, Raka doesn’t smile. Her hackles lift for a second—at the tent, the chains, the man who put her here—then settle as her focus returns to the Callin Girl.

“She smells of fear… and flowers,” she murmurs, low and certain.

The Tiefling Woman

The Tiefling Woman steps forward with sinuous grace, chains clinking like jewelry. Her skin is dusk-red, her horns arching back like polished obsidian crescents. Crimson eyes glimmer with something both dangerous and knowing, and faint rune-scars etch across her collarbones.

“My Lord,” she purrs, her voice like velvet dragged across steel. “I am a warlock—and was an adventurer, like yourself, I’d wager… before betrayal chained me here. My incantations still have power—enough to mend wounds… or shatter souls. Which would you prefer?”

Her lips curl into a knowing smile that makes Kit roll her eyes and Raka bare a fang in warning.

Kit mutters under her breath, “Oh great. This one’s going to call you Lord in bed.”

Raka snorts softly, her gaze never leaving the Tiefling Woman. “She’s strong… but smells like secrets.”

The Elf

She moves last, and the air seems to brighten as she does. A faint halo of pale gold light shimmers around her braided honey hair, catching in the strands like something sacred that hasn’t quite faded. Her eyes hold the color of sunrise through crystal, but there’s a hollowness in them, like glass dulled by grief rather than broken.

Her voice is steady, if quiet.

“I was a shield-maiden of the Dawnspire. My oaths remain, even in chains… if you’d have me. I can heal. I can fight. Just… give me a reason to rise again.”

The scars across her forearms speak of battles lost, not weakness. She’s breathtaking, radiant even in rags, but her presence carries weight—faith still there, buried deep under something heavy and unresolved.

I feel it more than see it, the shape of her resolve sitting beneath the surface, waiting for a reason to matter again.

At my side, Kit lets out a low whistle. “Damn… okay, I kinda want her.”

Raka’s eyes narrow slightly, studying the Elf with quiet intensity. “She is… worthy,” she says at last, voice low and certain. “But not broken.”

The three candidates—the Callin Girl, the Tiefling Woman, and the Elf—stand before me in a loose crescent, wrists shackled low. Caged.

I straighten, my voice calm but firm. “My name is Vincent Locke.”

I gesture to my left. “This is Kit—rogue, sharp as her daggers.” Kit gives a small two-finger salute, her smirk slow, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“And this is Raka—warrior, my shield and strength.” Raka stands like carved silver stone, golden eyes hard, that protective presence rolling off her like a storm held just short of breaking.

I step closer, letting my gaze move across them, meeting each of theirs in turn. “We’re not here to own,” I say, steady. “We’re here to choose someone who wants to fight, to live, to win.”

The words settle into the space between us, heavier than the chains. “So I’m going to ask you questions. Answer honestly.”

I turn to the Callin Girl’s cage.

She flinches when my shadow falls over her, then gathers herself, jade-green eyes wide and hopeful.

“Why should I take you out of that cage?” I ask.

She stammers immediately, ears twitching so fast they blur. “Because I… I’ll try harder than anyone else! I can heal cuts with herbs, I can cook roots, I—I know which berries won’t kill you, and—and I can… learn spells if someone teaches me!”

She swallows, cheeks flushing as the words spill out faster, thinner, more desperate.

“And I’ll never run. Ever. Rabbits don’t leave the warren… I’ll stay. I will.”

At my side, Kit’s sharp expression softens despite herself. Raka exhales a low, quiet sound—not anger, something deeper. Instinct. Protective.

I let that sit, then move on.

The Tiefling Woman doesn’t flinch when I approach. She leans into her chains like they’re silk, crimson eyes tracking every movement, every shift in light.

“What do you want from me?” I ask.

Her smile curves, eyes drifting down and then back to meet my gaze, sharp as a blade. “A purpose. Chains bore me. I want motion, blood, the hum of danger in my veins again.” Her voice dips, smooth and deliberate, sliding along the edges of the space between us. “And in return… you’ll have a woman whose heat can stitch flesh—or unmake it.”

She tilts her head slightly, gaze never leaving mine.

“A shadow at your back… and maybe at your throat, if you’re lucky.”

Kit exhales through her teeth. “She’s danger wrapped in leather. …and not like me.”

The Tiefling Woman doesn’t even glance her way. She just keeps looking at me, steady, expectant—like a challenge waiting to be accepted.

I step to the last cage.

The Elf meets me halfway, even in chains, chin lifted, posture unbroken. The faint gold shimmer around her pushes back the gloom just enough to notice.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

Her breath catches—not from fear, but memory.

“Because I failed.”

The words land heavy, clean.

She steadies herself, shoulders setting as something harder settles into place.

“I swore to shield my sisters. I lived. They didn’t. And so—I was taken.” Her gaze holds mine, unwavering. “But if you want someone who can heal more than wounds… someone who will stand and bleed before she breaks again… then take me and let us leave this… place of horrors.”

The quiet that follows settles across all of us. Even the Tiefling Woman’s smirk fades at the edges. Kit’s jaw tightens, her teeth catching her lower lip. Raka’s tail flicks once, slow and thoughtful.

I take a half step forward, keeping my voice even.

“We’re adventurers. This life—monster hunting, fights, close calls, victories—it’s not easy. It never is. But we do it well.”

I let that sit, then continue, more grounded.

“We eat well. We sleep warm. We’ve got coin in our pockets and a place to come back to when the day’s done. We’re not scraping by—we’re building something.”

My gaze moves across them, steady through the incense haze.

“We’re offering freedom… with family. The kind you fight for—and keep.”

I pause just long enough to make sure they’re still with me.

“And if we choose each other, understand this. I’m a sorcerer. My subclass is Harem-Master. Our strength comes from each other. We keep each other alive, we keep each other strong, we share power… but the price is trust.”

I don’t dress the last part up.

“The Harem Bond ritual is binding. It’s powerful… and nearly unbreakable.”

The words settle between us, heavy without needing to be forced.

They react—each in their own way.

The Callin Girl

Her jade eyes go wide, ears lifting so high they brush the cage’s upper bars. She stammers, voice thin but earnest.

“Unbreakable? As in… forever-forever?”

She pulls her shackled hands close to her chest, swallowing hard.

“Would it hurt? Or—or take away what I am? Because… because I do want freedom. I want to matter. I just…”

Her voice trails off, ears trembling, the question left unfinished.

The Tiefling Woman

The Tiefling Woman laughs softly, the sound low and edged, like a dagger drawn from its sheath. She steps forward until the chains pull taut, crimson eyes catching the light as they settle on me.

“Unbreakable… delicious word.”

Her smirk deepens as she studies me, measured and deliberate, like she’s testing where the boundary actually is.

“So you bind us, my Lord—and what binds you?”

There’s a challenge in it, but something else beneath, her curiosity sharpened into interest.

“And what exactly does this ritual take from me? My will? My soul… or just my nights?”

She gives a slow, mocking wink.

At my side, Kit goes still, tension snapping tight through the bond like a drawn wire.

The Elf

The Elf says nothing at first, stretching the silence deliberately.

When she speaks, her voice is quiet, but the steel in it carries.

“Unbreakable bonds aren’t necessarily evil. They can be sacred.”

She lifts her chin, the faint shimmer of her heritage catching in the dim light.

“If I agree, it will be because you prove it is a pact of strength, not chains. That it is… chosen and offered. Not taken.”

Her gaze holds mine, unwavering.

“And that you lead as more than just a master.”

“That you lead as a protector.”

The tent feels smaller now, thick with incense and tension.

Kit steps in close at my side, her tail flicking in sharp, controlled movements. Raka folds her arms, golden eyes sweeping the three of them, already weighing outcomes.

What kind of master am I… and what does the bond mean?

I take a slow breath, letting the weight of the questions settle into me—brushing against my own doubts—before my eyes shift to Kit and Raka, standing unshakable beside me. A faint smile touches my lips.

My gaze settles on them.

“They can answer that better than I can.”

Kit arches a brow, then steps forward with easy confidence, her grin slipping into place.

“I wasn’t exactly eager when this started,” she says lightly. “Didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust him.” She flicks me a glance—teasing, but honest. “But the bond? It’s not a leash. It doesn’t take anything from you.”

Her tail flicks once.

“It sharpens you. Makes everything clearer. Faster. Stronger. You feel each other—intent, danger, timing. You don’t lose yourself… you just stop fighting alone.”

Raka steps up beside her, slower, steadier. When she speaks, it’s simple—and absolute.

“It’s survival,” she says. “And more.”

Her gaze moves across the three of them.

“We fight better. We heal faster. We trust deeper. No one gets left behind.”

“No slaves. Only pack.”

She glances at me, something fierce and quiet in her eyes.

“You give yourself to it… but it gives back. Hard.”

I let their words settle before stepping forward again.

“If you choose to join us,” I say, voice even, “then understand this—you’re not just looking for protection or power. You’re choosing belonging.”

My stance softens just slightly as I nod toward them.

“Ask what you will.”

The Callin Girl is the first to move, stepping forward just enough for the chains to pull taut, ears trembling.

“What if I’m scared?” she asks, voice small but steady enough to hold. “What if I don’t know if I can trust? How do I know this won’t just be like before?”

The Tiefling Woman folds her arms, watching me with that same sharp, measuring look, like she’s weighing the chains she wears against the one I’m offering.

“How does this affect my will? Can I leave if I want? What happens if things go wrong?” A faint, manipulative smirk touches her lips. “And what happens if things go right?”

The Elf speaks last, calm but searching.

“What does it feel like to be bound this way? Is it pain… or something else entirely? Will I remain myself?”

I let the questions sit for a moment, then answer them clean. At my side, Kit and Raka offer small, steady nods—support without pressure.

“It’s okay to be scared,” I say, looking at the Callin Girl. “Trust your instincts… a little faith, and a lot of bravery. Trust takes time. The bond doesn’t force it—but it makes it real. You’ll feel who we are. And we’ll feel you.”

“You won’t be alone.”

She blinks, swallowing hard, then nods slowly, ears twitching. “Bravery… I think I can find some of that.”

I shift my gaze.

To the Tiefling Woman:

“You’re free with us. You belong—but not as property. As part of something that fights together.” I pause just long enough to let it land. “You don’t walk away from the bond… but if it fails, it means something’s gone very wrong.”

I don’t soften it.

“To the point none of us are still standing.”

Then to the Elf:

“It feels like… alignment. Warmth. Clarity. Like everything finally fits.” A faint edge of a smile touches my lips. “Not pain. Not loss. More like… becoming something stronger.”

“And yeah,” I add, quieter, a hint of a smirk slipping in, “it can feel pretty good.”

“You’ll still be yourself,” I add, more direct now. “Just… more.”

She considers all of that in silence.

I turn slightly, lowering my voice so only Kit and Raka can hear.

“Thoughts?”

Kit crosses her arms, eyes flicking between them.

“The Tiefling Woman’s got… control,” she says, though the bond nudges that she meant something a little different. “She’ll be strong fast—but she comes with heat. Not all of it… useful.”

Raka’s gaze lingers on the Elf, then shifts.

“The Elf is steady,” she says. “Strong. Balanced. We need that.”

Her eyes move to the Callin Girl, softening just a fraction.

“The other one…” her voice dips, quieter. “She’ll fight hard once she feels safe. But she’ll need time. A lot of it.”

Kit leans closer, her grin returning.

“No matter who we pick, you’re right—we’ll need to build them up. Gear, levels… bonding.” She tilts her head. “So what do we want? Stability, fire… or potential?”

Through the bond, I hear her clearly.

“…don’t you dare say fire.”

I glance back toward the Tiefling Woman.

“Thank you,” I say evenly. “But this path isn’t yours.”

Her brow arches, lips curling into something between a smirk and a snarl. Her tail flicks sharply behind her as she crosses her arms.

“Too much fire for your little pack?” she asks, voice amused.

She leans forward slightly.

“You’d never have been bored with me.”

Raka shifts, a low rumble building in her chest, but the Tiefling Woman just laughs and steps back in her cage.

“Relax, wolf-girl,” she says. “I don’t bite… unless asked.”

She casts one last look my way, eyes glinting.

“Good luck, Lord Locke.”

Then she turns, chains swaying with the motion.

“Hope your little angels don’t break.”

The tent settles again.

The Callin Girl fidgets, ears twitching.

The Elf stands calm, watching.

At my side, Kit leans in slightly, voice low.

“Drama avoided,” she murmurs. “Probably.”

“So… what’s next?”

I look at them.

The Callin Girl—small, fragile, waiting for someone to say yes.

The Elf—steady, unbroken, already standing like she belongs somewhere better than this.

Two paths.

Two very different kinds of strength.

I already know what I need to do.