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

I turn to the Callin Girl, letting a bit of warmth into my voice.

“Why are you in this cage?”

Her long ears twitch nervously at the question. Small hands clutch the bars for a moment, then loosen as she takes a shaky breath. Her voice is soft, almost musical, but threaded with a sadness that cuts through the noise of the tent.

“Because I couldn’t run fast enough… I thought… I thought I could heal my village. They were sick—something in the water. I… I used everything I had. I prayed, I begged the spirits for strength… but it wasn’t enough.”

Her eyes glisten, and her voice trembles as she continues.

“They came when I was weak—slavers. Took me before I could even bury the last of them. They said a healer fetches a high price.”

She lowers her gaze, cheeks flushing against her pale skin.

“I’m not strong like you… but I’ll try. If you choose me, I’ll never let you fall.”

There’s a tremble in her voice—but beneath it, something steadier. Small. Real.

At my side, Kit softens, tilting her head with a faint smile. Raka folds her arms, golden eyes fixed on the Callin Girl, something protective settling in her posture.

“She’s raw… but that heart?” Kit murmurs quietly. “That’s real.”

Perri looks up at me, eyes wide.

“Please… take me with you.”

She doesn’t look away.

I lower myself, kneeling in front of the cage until I’m level. My voice catches—just slightly.

“What …do you see in us?” I ask.

She glances at Kit first, then at Raka, ears twitching as her voice drops to barely above a whisper.

“I see… strength… but not the kind that scares me. The kind that makes me feel… safe.”

Her gaze lingers on Kit, a small, uncertain smile forming.

“She’s… clever. Sharp. The way she stands close to you… I think she’d never let anyone hurt what’s hers.”

Then her eyes drift up—to Raka. Her breath catches slightly, and she grips her knees as she continues.

“And her… she’s like a storm… but warm inside. Like a big wolf keeping the fire safe in the snow.”

She swallows, cheeks flushed.

“When I look at them, I don’t feel like a slave anymore. I feel like… if I belonged there, between them… maybe I’d matter again.”

Kit’s expression softens further, her eyes warming. Behind her, Raka’s tail flicks once—subtle, but deliberate. Her gaze doesn’t waver.

The bond stirs faintly inside me, quiet but certain.

“Well said,” I manage.

I turn to the Elf without rising, my voice thinner now.

“What do you see?”

She shifts slightly, hands coming to grip the bars, chains clinking against her slender wrists as her eyes meet mine. When she speaks, her voice is soft—but it carries a calm, melodic weight.

“I see devotion… a rare thing in this world.”

Her gaze moves over Kit and Raka with measured grace before returning to me.

“They don’t stand behind you… they stand with you. That means something. It means you’re not lying about what this bond is.”

A faint glow traced her cheekbones, like moonlight clinging to her skin.

“More importantly… I see that you’ve already made your choice.”

The Elf’s fingers loosen on the bars.

“…and she needs you more than I do. I’ll be…”

“—fine.”

She almost smiles—exhaling, something in her finally easing.

Her fingers slip from the bars. Not forced, not rushed—just… released.

And with it, she lets herself …fall away.

For a second, I can’t move.

The tent goes quiet around me, incense thick in the air, chains whispering softly somewhere beyond the platform. Kit and Raka feel it immediately through the bond—not indecision, not doubt. Something deeper. A tearing pressure in my chest, sharp and sudden, like the whole moment has found the one place in me that still isn’t armored.

Because the truth is already there.

It has been.

Perri.

Small. Shaking. Trying so hard not to ask for too much.

And everything in me is flooding toward the same instinct.

Get her out.

Now.

But right behind that, tangled up with it, is the part that makes my throat tighten.

Because I know what the bond is.

I know what it does.

If she says yes, it won’t stay only this.

Not only rescue.

Not only safety.

Not only warmth.

The bond will pull her closer. Toward us. Toward me. Toward everything that comes with being mine and being ours.

And that hits like a blade under the ribs, because she still looks so soft standing there. So wrecked. So heartbreakingly open.

I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until Kit’s hand brushes my arm.

She catches it through the bond before I can hide any of it.

Protection. Guilt. Tenderness so fierce it almost turns painful.

Raka answers first. Steady. Certain.

“She’s small. Not a child.”

“I know that.”

The system wouldn’t allow this if she wasn’t.

Kit feels the rest of it a heartbeat later, all the strain underneath.

“She’s stronger than she looks. Or she will be, if we help her.”

I know.

I do.

But knowing it and feeling it are two different battles.

I can’t leave her here.

But I know what taking her with me means, and for one raw, miserable second, I hate both options just as much.

And underneath all of it, one thought keeps hammering at me:

Are they with me in this… or is the bond making it easier for them to be?

The doubt grinds against everything else moving through the bond, sharp enough to tear at my heart.

I can’t…

Perri looks between us, ears trembling, like she can feel the shape of it even if she can’t name it.

Then, slowly, she reaches through the bars.

It’s barely anything. Just a small hand, hesitant but willing, touching mine like I might vanish if she doesn’t do it now.

“I trust you,” she whispers.

And that nearly breaks me.

Not because it’s dramatic. Because she says it like a healer.

This shattered, soft-hearted girl is looking at me like I might be the first safe thing she’s seen since her whole world died.

Yet somehow, she’s already healing us.

My eyes burn. My throat closes hard enough to hurt.

Kit feels that too and goes still, all conflict gone. Raka’s presence presses in stronger at my back, not pushing, just there. Holding the line while I fail to keep mine. Kit’s determination turns fierce.

Perri’s fingers tighten around my hand.

I rise too fast, breath rough, and turn before my composure can finish collapsing.

“Trader,” I snap, voice harsher than I mean it to be. “Get back in here.”

The words crack across the tent like a whip.

I don’t take my hand from hers.

For the first time since we walked into this place, I stop trying to weigh futures.

I stop trying to make the smart choice.

I already know what I’m going to do.

The trader comes hurrying back, all rings and grease and false cheer, but I barely hear the first half of whatever he says.

“…thought for sure you’d spend real coin today,” he’s saying, eyeing Perri with a dismissive little smile. “Someone with polish. Presence. Worth.”

That hits me wrong enough that the answer leaves before I can smooth it.

“Open the damn cage.”

His eye twitches. Just once.

For a second, I think I pushed too far.

Then the smile slides back into place, thinner now. Meaner.

“Careful, Master Locke,” he says lightly. “Moments like this can get emotional.” His rings glint as he reaches for the keys. “I’d hate to lose a valued customer like yourself.”

He pauses, gaze flicking from me to Kit, to Raka, then back again.

“And we both know you’ll be back.”

Already I’m watching his thick fingers fumble for the keys while Perri still clings to my hand through the bars, like letting go now might wake her from whatever impossible mercy she’s standing in. The lock gives with a rusty snap, and the door creaks open, but she doesn’t move at first. She just stares at the opening like she doesn’t trust it, like the space in front of her might vanish if she blinks too hard. Then she looks at me. Not at the trader. Not at the guards. At me.

I hold out my hand. “Come on,” I say, quieter this time, rougher. “You’re coming with us.”

Her breath catches. For one fragile second, I think she might cry and freeze at the same time. Then she steps forward, small and careful, bare feet crossing the threshold of the cage like each inch matters. The moment she clears it, something in the whole tent changes for me. Not the smell. Not the heat. Not the rot of the place. Just her. She is no longer in it.

Perri looks up at me, eyes huge and wet, silver ears trembling so hard I can see the motion in the lanternlight. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I… I won’t let you down.”

Kit moves first. Her smirk is softer than usual, tail curling once behind her as she lowers herself to Perri’s height.

“You’re safe now,” she says, voice light but gentle. “And trust me… life with us is a whole lot better than this cage.”

Perri gives the smallest, shakiest laugh I’ve ever heard, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with that kindness.

Raka comes in slower, lowering one broad hand and brushing her knuckles against Perri’s shoulder with a care that shouldn’t be possible on someone built like her.

“You’re pack now, little one.”

Perri makes a sound at that. Not quite a sob. Not quite a gasp.

Something smaller.

Relief.

Her hand goes to her mouth too late to catch it, tears spilling down her cheeks as her whole body starts to shake with the force of it.

“I…” Her voice breaks. She tries again. “I won’t be alone anymore.”

Kit’s grin turns bright and real.

“Nope,” she says. “You really, really won’t.”

Raka’s gaze softens just a fraction, but enough to change the whole shape of her face.

“Never again,” she says simply.

Behind us, the trader clears his throat—impatient.

I snap him a sharp look.

Whatever he sees in my face kills the next slick little comment before it can leave his mouth. Greed wins out instead.

“Well,” he says, smoothing his robes with a ring-heavy hand, “if we’re all done with the touching moment…”

His smile slithers back into place.

“The bond still has to be done.”

Of course it does.

The reminder drags the weight of the place back over us—the cages, the heat, the smell of old fear worked into canvas and wood. Perri feels it too. Her fingers tighten in my shirt, and when I look down, her ears have drooped again. The trader gestures with one thick hand toward the rear of the tent.

“This way, Master… Locke.”

I hate that I go.

I hate more that I have to.

The slaver draws the circle on the tent floor with salt, ink, and powdered pearl. Perri stands at first, staring at it, small hands clenched tight at her sides. I step in close.

“Easy,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Look at me.”

She does.

Barely.

But she does.

“Be brave, little rabbit,” Raka says softly. “This is the last cage you’ll ever know.”

Something in her trembles at that. Then, slowly, she nods and kneels at the center of the circle, one hand over her heart, eyes locked on mine. I kneel opposite her.

The trader pricks both our thumbs—just a drop of blood each—and stirs it into silver-thread ink. He smears the mixture onto a strip of cloth and wraps it around both our wrists. Perri flinches at the touch. Kit shifts closer on one side, Raka on the other.

“You’re safe,” Kit says quietly.

“Always,” Raka rumbles.

The slaver glances at me. “Speak her name,” he says. “Let the bond be made in magic and will.”

I don’t look away from her.

I speak clear and steady, even with my throat still tight.

“I am Vincent Locke—Harem-Master and Sorcerer. I claim Perri as my bonded companion, freely given and cherished.”

The cloth catches fire, but the flames don’t burn. The bond doesn’t just hum—it erupts like a current through my chest, racing down my veins, burning hot and bright. Perri gasps as it takes hold, and for one suspended second I feel everything that is her at once: her heartbeat, tiny and frantic, fear and hope tangled so tightly they almost feel the same, the ache in her for safety, for belonging, for someone to tell her she can stop bracing for the world to take the last thing she has left. It floods into me like spring sunlight after a storm.

Wonder. Innocence. Gratitude.

So pure it steals the breath right out of me.

It isn’t one-way. She feels me too—my strength, my promise, my need to protect her so fierce it borders on violence, the tangled threads of tenderness and responsibility, and everything else I’ve been trying so hard not to name too soon.

Behind me, Kit gasps, her hand catching my arm as the surge rolls through her too.

“Gods…” she breathes, half-laughing through the shock. “She feels… so light. Like dancing wind.”

Raka shudders as it hits her, claws curling against her palms.

“Sweet moon…” she murmurs. “She’s… pure. Like fire and snow inside me.”

Perri cries out softly as her knees give.

I catch her before she can fall.

She folds into my arms, fingers clutching my shirt with desperate strength as the wave crests through all four of us, then softens into something deeper. When the light fades, the bond is still there, alive and pulsing inside me like a second heartbeat.

“I…” Her voice cracks. “I feel you.”

The words come out like a confession.

“All of you. Like… stars inside me.”

Kit’s smirk curves slow, gentler than usual, as she brushes a fingertip along Perri’s damp cheek.

“Welcome home, little rabbit.”

The trader chuckles somewhere behind us, jingling coin, but his voice barely reaches me. I gather Perri closer and rise, lifting her easily. She weighs almost nothing in my arms, all trembling limbs and soft breath. Behind us, the tent flaps rustle as we move, and when we step out into the street, sunlight hits hard after the dim gloom inside. Kit falls into step on my right. Raka takes the left, broad and watchful.

“So warm,” she whispers. “All of you… it’s inside me. Like I could run forever.”

Behind us, the slave tent falls shut.

Kit reaches up and brushes a finger along one of Perri’s long ears. Raka snorts once, but there’s no bite in it. Only pride.

“We guard her with our lives.”

And for a long moment, I just stand there in the golden light.

Four heartbeats.

One bond.