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

The remains of dinner stretched across the table like the aftermath of a particularly successful military campaign.

Half-empty bowls, gravy stains, torn bread, abandoned utensils, and enough dirty plates to suggest we had personally offended the kitchen.

The glazed caribou had been magnificent. Thick slices of roasted meat lacquered in a dark wine reduction that practically surrendered beneath a knife. Bowls of mashed root vegetables had arrived swimming in rich gravy. Fresh bread appeared in impossible quantities. Butter flowed with an enthusiasm that made me question the economic stability of the northern kingdoms.

Honeycakes had somehow arrived both before and after dinner. I suspected Kit had negotiated this arrangement with the Hostess while the rest of us were distracted.

They arrived with whipped cream, berry preserves, and enough powdered sugar to convince Kit that perhaps the city deserved a second chance after all. Perri looked genuinely overwhelmed by the selection. Raka regarded the entire experience with deep suspicion before deciding it was acceptable. Enora claimed she wasn't interested, then stole one from Kit's plate the moment she thought nobody was looking.

Kit noticed.

There was a brief incident.

No one was injured.

Regardless, only crumbs remained.

We had done our best.

The kitchen had done better.

The five of us sat around the table in varying stages of defeat.

Perri looked moments away from falling asleep where she sat, ears drooping slightly as she fought a losing battle against warmth, food, and exhaustion. A smudge of root gravy remained stubbornly painted across her cheek, entirely ignored by both her and the napkin resting in her lap.

Raka had sunk comfortably into the booth, her expression carrying the contentment of a predator that had successfully hunted something much larger than itself. She continued eyeing the remaining hunks of glazed meat with visible regret, trapped in the terrible realization that she could no longer physically force herself to eat them.

Kit had surrendered all dignity and was slouched sideways against me, one hand resting on her stomach. Powdered sugar from the honeycakes seemed to have migrated onto her clothes, her hair, and somehow several places that should have been physically impossible. Some of it had settled like powdered snow across the generously revealed geography below her neckline.

I smirked.

Kit rolled her eyes without even opening them, then tilted her head back against my shoulder slightly.

She knew.

Warm, fed, pampered, and thoroughly pleased with herself, she seemed content to let herself be adored.

Every so often a small sound of approval drifted through the bond.

"Worth every coin."

A tiny pleased noise followed.

"Mmm."

Perri immediately echoed the sentiment.

"Mmm."

Raka considered this exchange for a moment before contributing her own thoughtful analysis.

"Good meat."

That was apparently the extent of her review.

I wasn't doing much better myself.

Enora sat with us beneath the brim of her hat, a half-finished glass of wine resting near one hand. She wasn't participating in the bond chatter, couldn't hear the lazy conversation drifting between us, yet somehow still echoed the sentiment with her own quiet sounds of approval. At some point she'd ordered a slice of wine-soaked chocolate cake. Then a second. Both had been decisively defeated. The faint crooked smile she'd offered beneath the brim of her hat afterward was worth seeing. It was good to see some of the tension she'd carried since Marrowpine had finally loosened. Not gone. Not healed. Just... quieter. Warmer than I'd seen her in weeks.

For the first few minutes after the battle-feast conversation simply ceased to exist. Not because nobody wanted to talk. Because we were busy.

Perri made a small sound after her latest declaration that she was finished eating and immediately covered her mouth as if she'd committed some terrible social crime. Raka simply nodded at the remaining meat as if paying her respects. It was good. Kit announced she was going to take more honeycakes up to our room… eventually when she could move.

Even Enora eventually surrendered, her hat dipping low enough to hide that she could have been asleep.

The common room around us faded into warm lanternlight and distant conversation. Somewhere a fire crackled. Somewhere else glasses clinked. The cold that had followed us through the city had been obliterated in luxury.

For the first time since arriving in Thronstadt, I felt something close to relaxed.

The Feisty Dwarf had been loud.

Emberwell was refined.

The Feisty Dwarf had been home.

Emberwell was trying very hard to become one.

With the girls' imagined starvation finally defeated and my own only slightly less dramatic version right beside it, I found myself looking around the Emberwell Dining Hall.

Large plush booths filled most of the room, upholstered in deep reds and dark woods polished to a soft shine. Even Raka fit comfortably within one without needing to angle herself awkwardly, which felt like a minor architectural miracle.

The lighting was subdued without ever feeling dim. Hearths burned in each corner of the room, their firelight dancing across dark stone walls and rich carpets that swallowed footsteps before they could disturb a conversation. Lanterns hung overhead, but mostly seemed to exist in support of the fireplaces.

The layout itself felt intentional. Tables and booths were positioned so patrons could easily see one another across the room. Conversations drifted naturally between neighboring tables. Merchants shared drinks with adventurers. Travelers traded stories with strangers. Deals were being discussed. Friendships were being formed.

A few even noticed us as newcomers and tipped glasses of deep crimson wine in our direction. Not invitations. Not recruitment pitches. Just simple greetings from people who had probably sat exactly where we were sitting once upon a time.

The entire room seemed designed around the idea that people should actually enjoy being around one another and, if not, at least do it out of the cold.

Half of them looked exhausted and battle-worn. Adventurers. The rest arrived stiff from the wind, shoulders hunched against the cold and boots dusted with frost. Merchants.

Within ten minutes they were laughing, drinking, and ordering second rounds.

The Hostess was running a highly sophisticated scam built entirely on urgently needed comforts.

She took cold, miserable people and convinced them to hand over money in exchange for warmth, food, baths, and happiness.

I was deeply impressed by it.

And, considering the state of our table, clearly one of her newest victims.

The Hostess appeared beside our table a few minutes later, somehow managing to do so without interrupting anyone despite the fact that none of us were actually doing anything. We had reached that strange stage of post-meal existence where moving felt optional and conversation required planning.

"Is there anything else I can have the kitchen bring you?" she asked pleasantly.

The collective groan from our table was immediate.

She nodded as if that answered every question she had. "Very well. You had mentioned some interest in our hot springs earlier?"

More groaning followed.

Not because we didn't want to go.

We desperately wanted to go.

The problem was that somewhere between the glazed caribou, the honeycakes, and what I was fairly certain had been a criminal amount of gravy, the simple act of standing had become an obstacle.

Kit winced dramatically and slid a little farther down against my shoulder. "Make her stop, Master."

"You were the one demanding baths an hour ago."

"That was before dinner."

"Dinner was forty minutes ago."

"A different lifetime."

Raka nodded in solemn agreement from across the table. Perri made a sleepy sound that somehow also sounded supportive. Even Enora lifted her wine glass slightly in what I chose to interpret as a vote.

I raised a hand toward the Hostess like a soldier signaling surrender.

"Rooms, please. A small suite. Large beds."

The Hostess caught that last part immediately, adding it to Kit's comment a moment earlier. One eyebrow rose just enough to let me know she had connected the dots.

"Very good, Master...?"

I regretted answering before I even opened my mouth.

"Locke."

She nodded once, confirming something she had apparently suspected all along.

"I'll have a suite prepared for you, Master Locke and your companions."

I winced.

The woman was exceptionally good at this.

The Hostess returned a few minutes later carrying a polished brass key and a neatly folded bill.

I unfolded it with the cautious respect one normally reserved for venomous snakes.

Then blinked.

The meal hadn't been cheap by any reasonable standard. Neither had the suite. Yet the total remained comfortably in silver rather than gold. Expensive enough to feel luxurious. Not expensive enough to hurt.

The Briar Witch's hoard remained largely intact.

The food was worth it. The beds would be worth it. The hot springs were probably worth it too.

But comfort wasn't why we'd come to Thronstadt.

Warmer clothing, better gear, and upgrades were going to cost us significant coin.

Fortunately, we still had plenty of it.

For now.

I tucked the pouch away and pushed myself upright, immediately regretting the decision as dinner settled several inches lower inside me.

Around me the others began the slow process of standing as well. It looked less like a group of victorious adventurers leaving a feast and more like survivors escaping the aftermath of one.

The suite turned out to occupy a corner of the third floor.

The Hostess unlocked the door, handed over the key, wished us a pleasant evening, and departed before we could discover whatever additional comforts she was undoubtedly planning to charge us for.

Then we stepped inside.

The common room alone was larger than our entire apartment back in Marrowpine.

Plush couches surrounded a low table positioned before a broad stone hearth. A writing desk occupied one corner beneath a brass lamp, while a pair of polished armoires stood against the far wall waiting to swallow armor, weapons, clothing, and whatever else adventurers inevitably accumulated. Thick carpets covered most of the floor, soft enough that even our exhausted footsteps barely made a sound.

Two bedrooms branched off from the common room.

Each contained a single bed.

A single enormous bed.

The sort of bed apparently designed for a wealthy merchant, a minor noble, or an unusually affectionate ogre.

By any reasonable measure they were impressive.

Each room also possessed its own hearth, already lit and crackling warmly against the northern chill.

A set of glass doors occupied the far wall of the common room, curtains drawn over them against the night. They likely led to a balcony overlooking part of the city.

None of us were brave enough to investigate.

The cold had spent the entire day trying to kill us.

We had finally won.

There was no reason to tempt fate.

Perri was nearly asleep by the time we finished exploring the suite.

Getting her to bed proved easier than expected. She barely protested as Raka and I helped her out of her outer layers and down to the simple underclothes she slept in. The bunny-girl was already drifting somewhere between waking and dreaming, soft curves wrapped in white linen and exhaustion.

The moment her head touched the pillow, she surrendered completely.

Raka wasn't far behind.

Armor, leathers, boots, belts, and weapons hit the floor one piece at a time until only the fur nature had already provided remained. Strong shoulders. Powerful legs. Familiar curves.

Beautiful.

She climbed into the enormous bed beside Perri with a contented sigh.

Neither girl objected to the arrangement.

In fact, Perri immediately rolled toward the warmth Raka offered without ever fully waking, nestling closer beneath the blankets.

Raka's tail gave a single contented thump against the mattress.

I felt the pull of the bed myself.

Not just because both women were undeniably attractive.

Though they absolutely were.

But because the scene carried something deeper.

Belonging.

Kit and I watched them settle in.

The sight tugged at something familiar.

Home.

The bond stirred quietly between us as we stood in the doorway. Warm room. Safe walls. Full stomachs. People we cared about sleeping peacefully under the same roof.

The sort of thing that made the Harem Bed feel less like furniture and more like a destination.

My eyes drifted toward the common room, where Enora stood beneath the brim of her hat, watching us. For just a moment, before she realized I had noticed, I caught something in her expression that was not curiosity and not quite envy. Her gaze lingered on the bed, on Perri already asleep against Raka’s side, on Kit standing beside me, and on the warmth gathering between all of us like something she could see but not yet touch.

There was longing there. Not for the room, or the comfort, or even the bed.

For the belonging.

Then she realized I was looking, and the brim of her hat lowered just enough to hide the moment. She paced once through the common room, slow and thoughtful, one hand resting near the Crystal Skull of the Spectral Choir before she set it carefully on the table beside the hearth. Her eyes followed the mingled glow of firelight and pale crystal as it spilled across the polished floor, then drifted to the second bedroom, then back toward us. Considering. Measuring. Wanting, maybe, but not ready to want where we could see it.

Finally, she let out an exaggerated yawn from beneath the shadow of her hat. “I’ll take the other room tonight.”

I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to. That she wasn’t alone. That she already belonged here more than she seemed willing to believe. But I knew better. Trust was not something you dragged into bed because there was space under the blankets.

Kit’s hand settled quietly on my shoulder.

She had seen it too.

“Not yet.”

I nodded.

Not yet.

Enora’s bedroom door clicked shut softly behind her, and for a moment the suite settled around us like the long day had finally exhaled. Perri and Raka were tucked away in one room, Enora had chosen the other, a room close enough to us without forcing herself into a warmth she was not ready to claim, and Kit and I were left in the common room with the hearth, the couch, and the pale glow of the Crystal Skull of the Spectral Choir resting on the table beside the fire. Its facets caught the orange light and bent it strangely, turning warmth into something colder and older as faint voices murmured somewhere deep inside the crystal.

My thoughts lingered on Enora longer than I meant them to.

Kit felt it, of course.

She always did.

Her hand slid into mine before I could say anything, small and warm and familiar in a way that cut through the weight in my chest. One of those quiet moments passed between us through the bond, old and deep by now, reminding her without words that no matter how large the family became, no matter how many doors opened or how many hearts found their way into ours, she was still First.

Not first in rank.

Not first in claim.

First in the way fire is first when you are freezing.

I led her toward the couch before the hearth, because it looked criminally comfortable and because standing had once again become a questionable life choice. I sank into it with a groan, stretched my legs out toward the fire, and opened my arm in invitation.

Kit smirked.

Then she sauntered over with the lazy certainty of someone who knew perfectly well she had never needed an invitation in the first place.

Kit curled against me on the couch with the lazy confidence of knowing she belonged. One leg tucked beneath her, one hand resting against my chest, her tail draped comfortably across my lap like it had paid rent. I settled an arm around her and let my head rest back against the cushions, watching firelight and skull-light mix across the polished floor.

“So,” she murmured, voice thick with food, warmth, and exhaustion. “First impressions?”

“Of Thronstadt?”

“No, Master. Of the terrifying soup cult with the hot springs.” Her eyes stayed closed, but her mouth curved faintly. “Yes, Thronstadt.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Cold. Expensive. Organized. Too many guild banners.”

“And rude,” Kit added.

“Some of them.”

“The important ones.”

“Firebeard wasn’t rude.”

Kit cracked one eye open. “Firebeard? Is that what we’re calling him?”

The bond answered before I could.

“He offered warmth.”

She considered that, then shifted slightly against me. “That makes him tolerable.”

That earned another laugh out of me, softer this time. The sound faded into the hearth crackle and the distant murmur of the inn below us. Somewhere beneath the floor, water moved through stone, the promised hot springs waiting like another expensive comfort the Hostess had already convinced us we needed.

Kit went quiet for a little while. Not asleep yet, but close enough that her thoughts brushed warm and unfocused against the bond. I felt her contentment first. Then the little hook beneath it.

Homesick.

Not sharply. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to know.

“You miss Marrowpine,” I said.

“I miss our apartment,” she corrected. “Marrowpine can keep its mud, slimes, kobolds, and emotionally aggressive shrubbery.”

“That apartment was ours.”

“It was.” Her fingers curled lightly in my shirt. “Small. Warm. Safe. Earned.”

The word settled between us.

Earned.

I looked toward the closed bedroom doors. Toward Raka and Perri in one room. Toward Enora in the other. Toward the skull glowing beside the hearth, casting pale crystal light through firelight like two different memories arguing over the same floorboards.

“That’s why we’re here,” I said quietly.

Kit opened one eye. “For expensive beds?”

“Growth.”

She didn’t answer right away.

The bond tightened faintly between us, not from fear this time, but recognition. That word had weight now. More than levels. More than gear. More than city walls and guild halls and whatever waited in the Frost Warrens. Growth was what we had promised each other after the Briar Witch. Growth was what we had promised Enora when she looked like a person half-dug out of the ruins of herself. Growth was the only answer I had when the world kept asking us whether love was enough to survive.

Kit’s eye closed again.

“Growth sounds exhausting,” she murmured.

“It usually is.”

“Does it come with more honeycakes?”

“If the Hostess has anything to say about it, probably.”

“Then I approve.”

Her voice softened after that, drifting closer to sleep. I felt her sink against me, warm and heavy and familiar, her breathing evening out as the bond settled into that quiet rhythm that had been mine before any of this became complicated. Before guilds. Before Thronstadt. Before Enora’s silence and Perri’s fear and Raka’s shield and Ed’s roses.

Before Harem Guildmaster had appeared in my HUD and made me realize I had no idea what came next.

My gaze drifted back to the skull on the table.

Firelight moved through its pale facets.

For one strange second, the glow looked almost like the light from the Briar Witch’s grove, filtered through crystal and memory.

Kit slept against my shoulder.

The room was warm.

The city was quiet beyond the walls.

And I remembered the moment everything changed.

Two weeks earlier, the Briar Witch was dead.

And the HUD told me what I had already become.

The hearthlight bent through the crystal, and the last two weeks came back to me in pieces.

How we left Marrowpine.

How Enora came with us.

How Harem Master became something worse.

Or maybe something better.