Demonic Dragon: Harem System

Strax took the last step down the staircase, his heels echoing dully on the ancient stone floor. The hall that opened before him was immense—a space that seemed to have been carved out of the belly of the mountain, as if the world outside had forgotten its existence.

Before him, rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched as far as the eye could see, some bent under the weight of ancient volumes. The dark wooden towers were covered in a thick layer of dust that looked like dead snow. There were books piled on the floor, stacked in corners, and even open on tables covered in cobwebs, as if someone had left them unfinished centuries ago.

The air was heavy, smelling of damp paper, aged leather, and the faint trace of mold. Each breath seemed to pull ancient memories into the lungs. Above, rusty chandeliers hung from creaking chains, swaying slightly with the cold draft blowing from the depths of the room, causing shadows to dance on the walls like curious specters.

In the center of the library, a larger table—more ornate, with legs carved in the shape of the claws of some forgotten creature—stood out under a soot-stained stained-glass window. On it lay a single book, its yellowed pages still resisting time, as if waiting for this very visitor.

Strax took a few hesitant steps, his eyes wide. This place was not just a repository of knowledge—it was a graveyard of thoughts. He could almost hear the whispers coming from the shelves, as if the words, suffocated by centuries of silence, were struggling to be read again.

With slow, cautious steps, Strax advanced through the silent hall, his eyes scanning the shadows between the shelves. There was no sound, not even the creaking of wood—just that thick silence, which seemed to grow as he walked. It was like being inside the very emptiness of the world's memory.

He reached out and ran his fingers along a shelf to his right. The dust gave way under his touch, revealing the rough texture of the wood and the aged leather of the spines. No runes glowed, no enchantment whispered his name. Only dust. And time.

But there was something.

It wasn't a presence, exactly. Strax didn't feel eyes on him, nor did he sense hostility. There was no heat, no cold. It was like being under the gaze of something very old—indifferent, perhaps. A strange aura permeated the hall, difficult to describe. Not threatening, but... out of place. As if the space were not completely aligned with the rest of the world.

He stopped in front of a table covered with scattered papers, some of them dissolved by time, some too intact to make sense. A map, perhaps, or diagrams of constellations — but the lines were incomplete, as if the hands that drew them had forgotten where they were.

Strax inhaled slowly. The air here had a subtle metallic taste. And although his senses were on alert, there was no active magical energy, no traps, no hidden enchantments.

It was just that feeling—like being inside a thought that wasn't his own.

He turned on his heels, observing the tall pillars that supported the arched ceiling. There were inscriptions on them, but they were too worn to be read. Even so, there was a pattern to the architecture — symmetrical, almost ritualistic. This place had not been built just to store books. It had a purpose.

But what?

Strax approached the large central table. The open book there seemed no more threatening than any other, but even from a distance, he felt... something. Not a call, nor a warning — just the certainty that this was no coincidence.

He stopped in front of the book, but did not touch it. The strange aura seemed to vibrate subtly here, as if that volume were a knot of tension within the space.

For now, Strax just watched, waiting.

Strax slowly moved away from the central table, his eyes still fixed on the open book, but curiosity drove him to explore more of this place. His footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor as he moved between the bookshelves, which seemed to stretch endlessly to the sides and upwards.

In the far corner of the hall, between shadows and worn beams, he spotted a door. It was heavy, made of dark wood and reinforced with thick rusted hardware. The surface was covered with faded carvings, symbols that seemed ancient—and familiar, in an enigmatic way. The strange aura of the hall seemed to concentrate there as well.

Strax reached out and, with a firm push, the door creaked open. On the other side, he was met with a scene completely opposite to the dusty chaos of the library.

It was a bedroom.

Luxurious and strangely untouched, as if time had decided not to pass through there. The walls were covered with dark wood paneling, polished to a soft sheen. Soft carpets covered the floor, muffling any sound from his footsteps. In the center, a huge king-size bed dominated the space, its bedding made of the finest, heaviest fabrics in shades of cream and gold.

Around the bed, thick cloths were meticulously arranged, almost like a curtain, hiding something—but what?

Strax felt the strange aura intensify there, a sense of guarded secrecy, an unspoken promise. The air in the room was warmer, almost inviting, but it still carried that subtle metallic touch, as if the space itself were divided between comfort and mystery.

He took a step closer, his eyes fixed on the cloths surrounding the bed. The silence was deep, almost reverent, and the feeling that something was about to be revealed tightened Strax's chest.

Carefully, he reached out to pull back one of the fabrics, ready to discover what was hidden there.

Strax delicately pulled back the thick fabric surrounding the bed, his hands almost reverent in the silence that filled the room. Beneath the cloths, a woman slept, enveloped in a deep and peaceful slumber, as if isolated from time and the world.

Her long, wavy silver hair cascaded over the pillow, shining softly in the dim light of the room. They were strands of pure sophistication, each lock curling with natural grace. But what caught the eye most were the two dark horns that emerged elegantly from her head, curving slightly backward—a detail that gave her an air that was both mystical and imposing.

Her eyes, though closed, had an intensity that Strax could almost feel even so — red, deep, and expressive, as if they held a whole world of seriousness and determination, ready to awaken at any moment and face anyone who dared to disturb her rest.

The contrast between the delicacy of her silver hair and the strength of her dark horns created a unique aura, a rare combination of elegance and power. She seemed, at that moment, a living enigma, a presence that belonged as much to the dream as to the reality of that strange place.

Strax hesitated, watching her, aware that this encounter was not accidental. The air around her seemed to pulsate with a silent energy, charged with mystery—and perhaps some closely guarded secret.

The silence in the room was broken by a slight movement — a soft sigh that seemed to pull the woman out of her deep sleep. Her fingers slowly intertwined in the sheets as her red eyes began to open, revealing an intense and vivid glow, like embers about to reignite.

She blinked once, twice, adjusting to her surroundings, and then her eyes fixed on Strax, who was still standing beside the bed, motionless and cautious. Her gaze was neither frightened nor surprised. It was calm, steady, almost as if she had been waiting for him.

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. The strange aura of the room vibrated subtly, as if the woman's presence awakened an ancient and powerful energy.

She raised a hand with graceful movements, her fingers long and delicate, and made a slow gesture, almost like an invitation for him to approach—or perhaps a silent warning to keep his distance.

Strax felt the weight of that penetrating gaze, capable of unraveling secrets and intentions. The woman then opened her lips, her voice low and melodious, laden with authority and mystery:

"Finally... you have arrived."