The golden sun dipped low as Zenjiro and his companions approached the grand gates of Arcbridge.
The city had caught wind of his return.
Word traveled fast — faster than any horse — and the streets were alive with excitement.
Citizens poured out of their homes, lining the cobblestone roads.
Cheers erupted. Hands waved. Flowers rained down from windows.
The gates of Arcbridge opened with thunderous cheers as Zenjiro's carriage rolled through, drawn by majestic steeds and flanked by city guards. Citizens lined the streets, eyes wide with wonder—and surprise. At Zenjiro's side sat Celeste, ever-graceful, and beside her, in royal poise yet visibly shy, was Aria Valeflame. The proud warrior princess had returned not just as a guest, but as Zenjiro's bride.
Whispers surged through the crowd.
"He actually brought her back..."
Banners bearing Zenjiro's crest fluttered proudly.
From the front of the caravan, Zenjiro grinned and waved casually, riding like he was a king without a care in the world.
Whispers chased them down the streets — gasps of surprise and awe:
"Is that really Princess Aria?"
"She's gorgeous!"
"He actually brought her back!"
"The princess of Rosenthal, right?!"
"Only Zenjiro could pull that off!"
The procession didn't stop until they reached the towering Arcbridge mansion — Zenjiro's personal estate.
There, standing atop the stone steps, Zenjiro turned and faced the gathered crowd.
Even Lyra, the flirtatious elven beauty who had first welcomed Zenjiro and Celeste to Arcbridge, stood among the gathering crowd. Her eyes sparkled as she spotted him, leaning forward with a teasing grin. "He actually brought her... impressive."
He threw out his arms with his signature flair.
"My good people of Arcbridge!" he boomed.
"Today, your handsome and mighty lord has returned victorious!"
The crowd laughed and cheered.
"And with me," Zenjiro continued, motioning toward the carriage, "is my new bride — Princess Aria! Brave, beautiful, and now... one of us!"
The crowd erupted in applause, some citizens even whistling and shouting compliments toward the now-blushing Aria.
Celeste leaned closer and whispered teasingly, "Better get used to the attention."
Zenjiro waited for the noise to settle, then grinned wider.
"And since this is such a big deal," he announced, "tonight — a grand party! Music, food, drink — all of Arcbridge is invited! We celebrate not just victory, but the bonds that bring us together!"
Another roar of excitement shook the mansion grounds.
Behind him, Aria smiled softly, touched by the warmth and happiness of these people.
Maybe... just maybe... she could find a new home here too.
The preparations for the greatest celebration Arcbridge had seen in years were officially underway.
***
When evening came, the bedroom of Arcbridge's grand mansion glowed in the warm light of golden lanterns, casting soft shadows on polished stone walls. Aria stood before a tall mirror, her long crimson hair cascading like silk as Celeste helped her tie the final golden ribbon of her attire.
Their gowns shimmered with an ethereal elegance, styled in the fashion of old Arcbridge—draped, flowing fabrics reminiscent of Grecian goddesses. Celeste's was a deep sapphire, cinched just enough to be sultry, while Aria's was fiery red with gold accents, echoing her heritage. Bare shoulders, delicate jewelry, and braided locks gave them the look of legendary figures from a myth.
Aria looked at herself in the mirror, fidgeting slightly. "This… is a lot of skin."
Celeste chuckled softly, adjusting the hem of Aria's dress near her thigh. "It's a celebration, not a funeral. A little allure won't kill you."
Aria gave her a sideways glance. "You wear it like second nature."
Celeste smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's because it is."
There was a pause as Aria examined herself again, then she turned to Celeste more seriously.
"Can I ask you something?"
Celeste nodded. "Of course."
"How did you meet Zenjiro?" Aria's voice was soft but curious. "You… you carry yourself like royalty. Are you a princess too?"
Celeste paused for a moment, her eyes drifting away, a smile both gentle and bittersweet touching her lips.
"No," she said finally. "I was a prisoner."
Aria blinked. "What?"
Celeste met her eyes. "In a place far from here. I was bound, helpless. And then… he came. Zenjiro crashed through like a storm, reckless and loud and full of fire. But he looked at me—not as a burden, or a prize—but as someone worth saving."
Aria sat on the edge of the nearby bench, listening intently.
"He's bold, yes," Celeste continued, "he flirts shamelessly, makes jokes when no one's in the mood, and seems to act like the world bends around him... but when people are in danger? When someone cries out for help? He doesn't hesitate. He throws himself into the fire."
Aria's eyes lowered, thoughtful. "He did that for me. And my father."
Celeste walked over and gently sat beside her. "And he didn't do it because you're a princess. He did it because it's who he is."
Aria nodded slowly, hands clasped in her lap. "He makes me angry sometimes… but I don't think I've ever met someone like him."
Celeste smiled knowingly. "That's how it starts."
Aria gave a small laugh, then sighed. "He asked me to be his bride… but only if I chose it for myself. I thought he was arrogant for saying it. Now… I'm not sure anymore."
Celeste reached out, gently squeezing Aria's hand. "You'll know. In time. But for now…" she stood up, spinning playfully, letting her dress twirl. "Let's go show Arcbridge how stunning we are."
Aria stood too, adjusting her golden bangles. "And let's see how that idiot reacts when he sees me in this."
They both laughed—genuine and warm—as the camera faded to black, transitioning toward the night's celebration.
Outside, the town square of Arcbridge was alive with color and energy. Lanterns floated above the streets, casting warm golden light across a sea of smiling faces. Music blared from a group of bards on a raised wooden stage, and tables lined the roads, overflowing with food and drink. The celebration of Zenjiro's victorious return—and the addition of a new bride—was in full swing.
But the real center of attention stood atop a marble fountain in the square: Zenjiro, arms wide open, basking in the cheers.
"Watch this!" he shouted, grinning wildly. He spun on his heel, clapped his hands together, and summoned a swirling golden orb of flame, twirling it effortlessly between his fingers. Then, with a snap, he launched it into the air, where it exploded into a radiant phoenix-shaped firework, drawing gasps from the crowd.
Children clapped, women swooned, and men raised their mugs in admiration.
"One more!" someone shouted.
Zenjiro chuckled. "Alright, alright, but don't blame me if I accidentally summon a minor deity."
From the crowd, a shrill voice called out, "Now that would be bad for business."
Zenjiro turned just as a short, stout man in a deep green robe and way-too-many necklaces elbowed through the crowd. His cart squeaked behind him, filled with strange trinkets, half-glowing stones, and what looked suspiciously like a feathered bra with tiny gems sewn into it.
"Mako the Merchant, at your service!" the man said with a flourishing bow. "Purveyor of rare goods, forbidden knowledge, and scandalously unnecessary harem accessories."
Zenjiro raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "That sounds both deeply questionable and highly entertaining."
"I knew you'd appreciate a man of culture," Mako said, already flipping open a small case. "Behold! This here is a 'Mood-Sensing Veil'—changes color based on your bride's emotions. Green for envy, pink for love, red for 'you forgot her birthday.'"
Zenjiro laughed. "That sounds like something that'd get me slapped."
Mako leaned closer, whispering, "Then you'll love the 'Instant Apology Sash.' Wrap it around your head, fall to your knees, and the built-in voice enchantment cries out: 'Forgive me, my queen!' Works every time."
The crowd roared with laughter. Zenjiro shook his head, amused. "You're insane."
"No no, I'm profitable," Mako replied, patting his jingling pouch. "But for you, Lord Zenjiro, I'll offer a discount."
Zenjiro smirked. "I'll think about it. Maybe after a few more drinks."
The two shared a laugh before Zenjiro stepped back onto the fountain's edge. He looked out at the crowd, now rowdier and more festive than ever.
"Let the celebration begin!" he declared, to thunderous cheers.
And behind the crowd, the doors of the mansion creaked open. Silhouettes of two stunning women began to descend the stairs—Celeste and Aria, ready to join the party.
***
The town of Arcbridge had never seen a night like this. Every lantern in the town was lit, casting an amber glow across cobblestone streets and white-stone buildings. Streamers fluttered in the night breeze. Tables were lined with roasted meats, grilled vegetables, spiced pastries, and flowing kegs of mead and wine. Music echoed across the city as dancers spun in wild circles, boots stomping in rhythm with the bard's lute and flute.
At the heart of it all was Zenjiro—smiling, laughing, lifting mugs with strangers and friends alike, basking in the revelry as the entire town celebrated not just his return, but his victory.
He stood near a firepit surrounded by drunken townsfolk when a shirtless man challenged him to a strength contest. With a smirk, Zenjiro rolled up his sleeves and effortlessly lifted a full keg over his head—one-handed—drawing wild cheers. The shirtless man laughed, conceded defeat, and handed Zenjiro a roasted turkey leg as tribute.
Children ran around wearing makeshift "Zenjiro headbands," swinging wooden swords and pretending to fly. Women watched from balconies, calling out flirtatiously, though many sighed when they noticed Aria and Celeste close at his side.
Celeste, draped in an elegant, flowing white and gold gown that shimmered like starlight, was dancing with a group of other women. She spun with practiced grace, yet still burst into laughter when one of the elderly bakers accidentally twirled into a barrel of cider.
Aria, wearing a deep crimson and bronze dress that clung like a second skin, moved more cautiously, still adjusting to the freedom and the attention. A few noble women tried to gossip with her, but Aria remained polite and aloof—until a little girl approached her, offering a flower crown. Aria smiled genuinely then, bending down to place it on her head as the child squealed in delight.
From a distance, Lyra, sipping wine with her feet propped up on a railing, watched everything unfold. A few drunk men tried flirting with her; she shooed them away with a sharp smirk. Her eyes lingered on Zenjiro, then on Aria, before she leaned back with a soft, almost amused chuckle.
Nearby, Mako the Merchant was already doing business with eager partygoers. "Yes, yes! A 'Guaranteed Love Letter Scroll'—just write her name and your feelings, and the spell will make your words sound like poetry! Limited stock! No refunds!"
Zenjiro had to laugh as he watched Mako haggle with a confused blacksmith over a glowing pink belt.
The night wore on. There was music and food and dancing. There were challenges, games, and more drinks than Zenjiro could count. At one point, Celeste dragged him into a slow dance under the stars, resting her head gently on his chest. Later, Aria danced with him too, more reserved but undeniably radiant, her eyes never straying from his.
It wasn't until hours later, when the crowds began to quiet and the music softened to gentle string melodies, that Zenjiro found himself alone on a balcony overlooking the city.
He leaned on the railing, a half-empty mug in his hand, and stared at the stars. The night breeze brushed against his face, carrying the scent of roasted spices and summer blossoms.
He took a slow sip… and for the first time in the evening, he allowed himself a moment of stillness.
I never thought I'd live a life like this…
Back in Japan… I was nobody. Just a face in the crowd. Forgotten. Going through the motions, every day the same. I had no future. No purpose. No one waiting for me at home. I always figured I'd die alone. Pathetic, really.
He chuckled bitterly to himself, then sighed.
But now… here I am. In another world. With a house, friends, respect... even love. Celeste, Aria... and all these people. They see me. They celebrate me.
He looked out over the city, where laughter still echoed and lanterns danced like fireflies in the dark.
Maybe... maybe I was meant to end up here. Maybe this is the life I was always meant to live.
From behind him, soft footsteps approached. Celeste, barefoot now, leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. A moment later, Aria joined them too, quietly taking his hand in hers.
Neither said anything. They didn't need to.
Together, the three of them stood under the stars, looking out at the life they were building—chaotic, strange, beautiful.
And Zenjiro smiled.
***
The revelry below the balcony hadn't slowed in the slightest. If anything, it had gotten wilder.
Drunken laughter echoed through the night as mugs were raised and entire tables broke into song. A group of minstrels struck up a faster tune, encouraging even more chaotic dancing.
Among the crowd, Lyra stood near a cider barrel, arms crossed, sipping from her cup with half-lidded eyes. She had turned down no less than five offers to dance in the past hour, but some of the men weren't taking no for an answer.
A pair of heavily inebriated townsmen, sweaty and stumbling, approached her again—these were the same two who had earlier tried to flirt with her and had been laughed off.
"C'mon, pretty elf," one slurred, grabbing at her arm, "you've been standin' here all night, lookin' lonely. We got a cozy little spot up the hill. Real quiet. You'll love it."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Let go."
The other man grinned, eyes glassy. "Aw, don't be like that. Don't need to be all high and mighty. Just a little fun…"
One reached for her waist. "We know how to make a little slut like you feel really good…"
Lyra shoved him off sharply, but her balance shifted, her cup spilled, and voices turned toward the sudden tension.
"Don't touch me again," she hissed.
The moment hung there—until a deep, commanding voice cut through the noise.
"Step away from her."
The air chilled.
Heads turned as Zenjiro appeared out of the crowd, flanked by lantern light and the crackling fire behind him. His eyes were sharp, his jaw tight, his presence immediately cutting through the drunken haze. The music faltered as people noticed him.
The two men froze. All the confidence drained from their faces.
Zenjiro took a single step forward. "If you ever put your hands on a woman again—any woman—I won't just throw you out of the party. I'll throw you out of Arcbridge."
Neither man said a word. One of them tripped backward trying to retreat, muttering an apology. The other followed him, white-faced, as they disappeared into the crowd, leaving only silence in their wake.
Lyra exhaled, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that escalated." She looked up at Zenjiro and smirked faintly. "Thanks for that. Guess that's what I get for sticking around too long."
Zenjiro raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"
"I'm fine. That's just how drunk men act," she said with a shrug. "Flirt a little, drink a lot, lose their sense of decency. Nothing new."
At that moment, Celeste and Aria appeared from the direction of the inner courtyard, both stunning in the evening lights. They moved quickly when they saw the tension in the air.
"What's going on?" Celeste asked, eyeing the dispersing crowd.
"Nothing," Lyra replied smoothly. "Your gallant hero just helped me out a bit. Couple of idiots got too handsy."
Aria frowned, concerned, but Lyra waved it off. "Really, I'm fine. I should probably head home before any more 'fun-loving' drunkards decide to get bold."
She gave Zenjiro a nod. "Thanks again, hero." Then to Celeste and Aria, "Don't let him drink too much tonight. He's still got to impress you both in the morning."
With a casual stride, Lyra turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind the scent of elderflower and mischief.
Celeste watched her go, then leaned close to Zenjiro and whispered, "That girl flirts with danger."
Zenjiro smirked faintly. "Yeah… she does."
Aria took his arm, still glancing around the party, visibly overwhelmed by the chaotic energy.
Celeste, brushing her golden hair back, exhaled with mock exhaustion. "Well, I think we've entertained the town enough for one night. Let the commoners drink themselves into oblivion."
Zenjiro laughed. "Agreed."
With Aria clinging gently to one side and Celeste on the other, Zenjiro turned away from the firelit celebration, guiding his brides through the towering doors of the mansion.
***
The grand double doors closed behind them with a soft thud, sealing off the roar of Arcbridge's wild celebration. The music, the laughter, the flashing lights—all dimmed to a muffled hum behind stone walls.
Inside, the mansion was still and quiet.
Zenjiro walked forward, his hands warm and strong, one clasping Aria's delicate fingers, the other cradled by Celeste's elegant hand. Soft torchlight bathed the hall in a golden glow as they moved toward the master bedroom.
As they entered, the room opened wide before them—lavish, candlelit, with silken sheets and tall windows framing the starry night sky.
Celeste let go first.
She turned toward Aria, her golden hair shimmering. Her voice, calm and warm, carried a gentle finality.
"Aria… since you are now Zenjiro's bride… I think it's only right that you two share this night together."
Aria blinked. "Wait, what…?"
Her cheeks flushed pink instantly, and she looked away, hands nervously fiddling with the folds of her dress. "I-I mean, I don't… I've never…"
Celeste stepped closer and placed a soft hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to be nervous," she said sweetly. "He's yours now. And he's mine too. There's no competition. Only connection."
She gave Zenjiro a playful wink and whispered to him teasingly, "Be gentle, tiger."
Then, she gracefully slipped out of the room, the door closing with a faint click behind her.
A moment of silence lingered in the soft candlelight.
Aria stood near the bed, her fingers brushing the edge of her dress, heart hammering in her chest. She glanced at Zenjiro shyly.
Zenjiro stepped toward her slowly, his tone softer now—earnest, reassuring. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Aria."
She looked up at him—those gentle eyes, so full of strength and warmth. He wasn't just a warrior or a sorcerer. He was her protector… her partner.
"I want to," she said, voice almost a whisper. "I… I'm ready."
Zenjiro reached out, palm up.
"Then come to me."
Aria swallowed, cheeks still flushed, and slowly placed her hand into his.
Their fingers interlaced, and she took a trembling step forward. Another. Her breath caught in her throat as their faces drew closer.
And then—they kissed.
Not a hesitant peck, not a timid brush—but a deep, hungry, passionate kiss. Years of loneliness in Zenjiro's soul crashed into Aria's longing for connection. Their bodies drew together as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She gasped softly against his lips, her hands sliding up his chest.
Their kiss deepened—slowly, sensually—guided by emotion rather than haste. The flames in the room flickered.
Aria felt the weight of his devotion in every touch, every caress—an unspoken promise that she wasn't just a trophy bride… she was his.
The kiss deepened, slow and searching, as Zenjiro's hands traced the curve of Aria's waist. Her breath hitched when his fingers found the delicate laces of her dress, tugging gently until the fabric whispered to the floor in a pool of silk. The candlelight painted her skin in gold, shadows dancing across her collarbone as she trembled beneath his gaze.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, voice rough with reverence. His thumb brushed the pulse at her throat, feeling it flutter like a trapped bird. "Tell me what you need."
Aria's hands shook as she reached for his tunic, fingers fumbling with the leather straps. "I-I don't know how to-"
Zenjiro caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Just let it flow naturally." He guided her hands to his belt, their fingers intertwining as buckles gave way. The quiet rasp of leather sliding free echoed louder than any festival cheer.
When his tunic joined her dress on the floor, Aria's breath caught. She gazed at his ripped chest and couldn't help but place her hand to cop a feel of his amazing abs, her touch was featherlight as she traced them, as if memorizing the stories they told. Zenjiro shuddered at the contact, his restraint palpable in the tension of his jaw.
The bed creaked softly as he guided her backward, their movements syncopated like the distant music below. When her knees met the mattress, he knelt before her, one hand cradling her cheek. "Look at me," he whispered. Her golden eyes met his, wide and trusting, as he lifted her onto the sheets.
Cool linen kissed Aria's back as Zenjiro hovered above her, his shadow swallowing the candlelight. He kissed the hollow beneath her ear, then lower-a trail of fire down her neck, across the rise of her breast. Every touch was a question; every gasp from her lips, an answer.
When her nails dug into his shoulders, he slowed, pressing their foreheads together. "Still with me?" His voice was smoke and embers.
Aria arched beneath him, answering not with words but with action-her legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer until there was no space left for doubt. The world narrowed to shared breath, to trembling hands and whispered promises, to the moment their bodies finally joined in a slow, shuddering union.
Outside, the festival raged on-mugs clashed, minstrels sang off-key-but here, in this room, time bent to their rhythm. Zenjiro moved like the tide, each thrust measured against Aria's gasps, her moans a melody only he could hear. When she tensed, he stilled; when she melted, he poured himself into her-not as conqueror, but as collaborator in this fragile alchemy of trust.
Aria's climax came like dawn breaking-a quiet, radiant unfurling that left her shaking. Zenjiro followed moments later, his groan muffled against her throat as he spilled himself inside her, their sweat-slicked bodies clinging like storm-tossed sailors to driftwood.
Afterward, they lay entwined, Zenjiro's fingers combing through Aria's hair as she traced idle patterns on his chest. The candles had burned low, painting the room in amber and shadow.
"Was it…?" Zenjiro began, but Aria silenced him with a kiss-softer now, but no less urgent.
"It was everything," she whispered. And in her eyes, he saw not just satisfaction, but a door opened-to vulnerability, to partnership, to whatever came next.
***
The stars shimmered above Arcbridge, the music and laughter from the central square still echoing faintly in the distance. The night air was crisp, and the cobblestone path beneath Lyra's feet clicked softly with each step of her heeled boots.
Her head was still spinning a little—not from the wine, but from him.
Zenjiro.
The way he had appeared back there, protective and unwavering, the way those drunkards backed down with just a look from him... it had all left a strange warmth in her chest. She scoffed softly at herself.
"Get a grip, Lyra," she muttered. "You already knew he was taken from the start."
But even as she tried to shake off the thoughts, her mind returned to his gaze, his strength, how easily he made her feel safe.
She turned a corner and reached the modest little stone cottage she called home. Tucked away on the edge of Arcbridge, it was quiet here, with ivy climbing the sides of the walls and a tiny wooden gate leading to her door. She reached into her satchel for the key.
Then she froze.
Someone was sitting on her doorstep, slumped over, shrouded by the shadows.
"What the—?"
She instinctively drew the small dagger strapped to her thigh, heart racing.
As she stepped closer, the moonlight broke through the clouds—and her breath caught.
"Eva?!"
The figure stirred weakly at the sound of her name.
"L-Lyra…"
The dagger clattered to the ground as Lyra rushed forward. "Gods above—Eva, what happened to you?!"
Eva's blonde hair was matted with blood, and there was a long gash along her upper arm. Her once-pristine traveling cloak was torn, dirtied by ash and grime. Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale.
Lyra knelt beside her, her heart pounding. "Come on, stay with me—hold on."
She slipped her arm under Eva's shoulder, straining slightly to help her stand. Eva winced in pain but said nothing as Lyra dragged her inside, kicking the door open.
Inside the small cottage, Lyra laid her on the cushioned bench by the hearth and quickly lit the fire with a flint.
"Don't you dare pass out on me," she whispered urgently, rushing to grab a bowl of water and a cloth.
Eva's eyes fluttered open again. "You're… still here," she said weakly. "I wasn't sure if you would be…"
"Of course I'm here, you idiot," Lyra snapped, but her voice trembled. "Where else would I be?"
She dipped the cloth and began to wipe away the blood carefully, revealing more bruises beneath.
"Don't move too much. You're hurt," Lyra said softly. "Tell me… what happened? Why are you here? Who did this to you?"
Eva took a shallow breath, eyes full of dread. "The village… it was attacked."
Lyra's expression hardened. "What?"
"They came at dusk," Eva said, her voice hoarse. "Dark-robed figures. Creatures made of shadow. Fire that didn't burn with light, but with black smoke and silence… They destroyed the outer watchtowers, corrupted the shrine's wards. The elders tried to hold them off, but—" she shook her head. "I ran. I had to. They're looking for something in the Heartgrove Shrine."
Lyra's heart pounded. "Why come here?"
Eva looked at her with urgency. "There were whispers. Rumors that reached even us through traders and travelers. Of a man—someone from Arcbridge. A stranger who calls himself a god. They say he defeated a dragon."
Lyra's breath caught in her throat.
"They said he radiates power and fire, that he protected a princess and turned the tide of battle with a single blow," Eva continued. "I came here to find him. To beg him for help… before it's too late."
Silence fell in the room like a heavy blanket.
Lyra stood up slowly, eyes wide in realization, pulse quickening.
She didn't need to ask. She already knew who Eva was talking about.
…Zenjiro.