HAREM: WARLOCK OF THE SOUTH

Ryon woke to the hush of night and the scent of smoldering herbs. The canvas roof of the southern war camp's healer's tent sagged low above him, flickering lamplight stretching shadows into long fingers across its fabric. Pain stitched his body in ragged patterns, but it was dulled, muffled, as though the world had decided not to crush him all at once.

He shifted, a hiss leaving his throat.

"Don't," a soft voice murmured.

Lyria sat at his side, her silver hair catching the dim light, her hands clasped tightly together as if she feared he might dissolve before her eyes. She looked exhausted, eyes rimmed in red, lips pressed thin. Yet her gaze softened the moment it met his, and for an instant, he felt younger again, as though they were children leaning on one another against the world's cruelty.

"Brother…" she whispered the word like a curse, like a tether she hated yet could not sever. "You should not have risen so quickly. The healers said—"

"—that I should rest." Ryon forced a half-smile, though every muscle screamed. "I've done enough lying still."

Her hand trembled as it reached toward him, then withdrew. She wanted to touch him—he saw it in the twitch of her fingers, in the hunger she buried beneath layers of fear.

Before he could speak, the System stirred.

> [Bond Thread Detected: Lyria Zareth]

[Stability: 41% — Critical Fracture Risk]

[Action Required: Deepen the bond OR risk collapse.]

[Timeframe: Imminent.]

The letters carved themselves in his vision, glowing faintly before burning away into his skull. Ryon's breath caught, but he kept his expression even.

Collapse? Of what—her heart? His? Or something worse?

He reached out, his fingers grazing hers, and she froze. Their hands met between them, trembling, forbidden.

"Lyria," he said lowly, his voice scraping with both exhaustion and something rawer. "You've been here the whole time?"

Her lips parted. "Where else would I be? You throw yourself into hell and think I'll stay behind?" She finally let her fingers curl against his palm, and for a moment, the world shrank to that single point of contact.

She closed her eyes briefly, and her voice cracked. "Every strike you take feels like it carves into me. Do you know that? Do you know how I watch you bleed and think I can't breathe until you stand again?"

The words fell heavy, heavier than the bandages binding his chest.

"Lyria…"

But the intimacy shattered when the tent flap opened.

Mira stepped in like a storm given flesh, her armor still streaked with blood, her braid undone and her jaw set hard. Her eyes flicked to their joined hands.

"So this is what keeps you alive," she muttered, her voice sharp as a blade.

Lyria snatched her hand back, guilt and fire flashing in equal measure. Mira strode closer, dropping heavily to a stool at Ryon's other side. She leaned forward, her calloused fingers gripping his wrist with fierce possession.

"You nearly killed yourself out there. Again," she growled, though her eyes softened against her will. "If you weren't breathing now, I would've carved my way into the grave after you."

Ryon tried to answer, but the System's whisper returned, colder this time.

> [Bond Thread Detected: Mira Selvan]

[Stability: 67% — Growing. Jealousy detected.]

[Warning: Overlap between Mira and Lyria threads.]

[Outcome: Strengthen or Sever. Delay leads to entropy.]

Entropy. The word curled through him like rot.

"I didn't fall to die," Ryon rasped finally, locking eyes with Mira. "I fell to make sure you had ground to stand on when dawn came."

Her breath caught, her hand sliding higher, brushing the veins of his wrist. "Then don't ever do it again. I fight better with you beside me, not broken in a bed."

Silence pooled between the three of them, thick with tension that was less about war and more about all the words left unsaid.

Ryon's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Every heartbeat seemed to strike against the invisible threads the System insisted bound him to them. He felt their weight—Lyria's trembling devotion, Mira's fierce loyalty, the hunger neither dared to fully confess.

And then Elira appeared, quiet as a shadow. She carried a basin of fresh water, her cleric's robes torn at the hem, golden hair escaping her braids. Her eyes lingered on him with the weight of prayer and something more dangerous—devotion edged with desire.

"You're awake," she said softly, setting the basin down. "Thank the Light. I thought we had lost you."

She dipped a cloth, wrung it, and pressed it to his brow, her touch reverent. But beneath her calm was a fire, and Ryon felt it burn against his skin more fiercely than the fever.

Mira scowled faintly. "You should be resting, Elira. He needs space."

But Elira's eyes never left Ryon. "No. He needs care. He always has."

Her fingers brushed down the side of his cheek, a gesture that lingered too long, that said too much.

The System flared again, its letters etching over Elira's face.

> [Bond Thread Detected: Elira Veyne]

[Stability: 54% — Potential unlocked.]

[Classification: Blessed Bond — Forbidden Faith.]

[Warning: Confession imminent.]

Elira's lips parted as though to speak—something that would change everything.

Lyria stiffened. Mira's hand tightened on his wrist. The three women stood like planets in orbit around him, their gravity threatening to tear him apart.

"Ryon," Elira whispered, her eyes shimmering. "I—"

The words were drowned by a horn blaring outside, sharp and long. The remnants of battle still echoed in the distance. The camp stirred, soldiers rushing, the world refusing to wait.

Elira's confession died on her tongue, but her eyes said it all.

Ryon closed his own, torn between the pull of three women, the cryptic commands of the System, and the ache of his own heart.

For the first time, the war outside felt simpler than the storm within.

And the System whispered one last line, curling like smoke into his mind:

> [Choice Approaches.]

[Intimacy is not indulgence. It is survival.]