The dawn after the twin moon alignment cast an ethereal glow over the kingdom. A rare stillness settled over the castle—like the world was holding its breath before a coming storm.
Arin stirred beside Freya, the frost queen wrapped gently around him, her skin cool to the touch but her embrace undeniably warm. He traced a finger along her collarbone, admiring the contrast between her icy elegance and the fire she stirred in his heart.
Just then, Celestia entered silently, her golden robe glowing faintly with morning light. She glanced at them in bed, then smirked. "Hope you left some energy for our sparring match later."
Arin chuckled, rubbing his temples. "Between you and Freya, I'll need divine blessings just to walk straight."
Freya stretched lazily. "You'll manage. You're mine now, after all."
Before they could continue, a powerful pulse of magic radiated through the castle walls.
Seraphina burst through the door. "Arin. We have a visitor. She… claims she's your future wife."
Arin blinked. "What?"
They rushed to the throne hall.
There, standing at the center, was a woman unlike any they'd seen before—wrapped in crimson silk, eyes glowing like rubies, and long raven-black hair cascading down her back. A veil covered half her face, but her presence was overwhelming—dangerous, alluring, timeless.
"I am Lyra," she said, bowing low. "The Crimson Oracle. I come from the Temple of Time… where I saw visions of your fate, Arin."
"Visions?" Evelyn asked, narrowing her eyes.
Lyra looked directly at Arin. "In every thread of time, you are mine."
Lilith growled, stepping forward. "You can't just walk in here and say that!"
"I didn't say it," Lyra replied calmly. "The gods did."
Arin stepped forward slowly, his heart pounding—not with fear, but with something deeper… something drawn to her.
"What do you want from me?"
Lyra removed her veil.
A delicate scar traced the side of her cheek—beautiful yet haunting. "I came to join you… not as a servant, not as a weapon, but as your guide. Your next battle isn't one of blade or magic—but of destiny itself."
And then, she walked up to him and placed a kiss—light as wind—on his forehead.
In that moment, a flash of futures struck Arin's mind—possible timelines, wars, victories… and Lyra, always by his side in each of them.
That night, Arin sat beside her in the Oracle's chamber, where incense swirled like memories. As he leaned close, their lips met—deliberate, slow, knowing. Unlike Freya's icy spark or Celestia's radiant fire, Lyra's kiss felt like time itself pausing to breathe.
And when he held her that night, it wasn't just passion—it was prophecy made flesh.
In the shadows outside, Selene watched silently, her eyes narrowing.
"The harem of fate grows," she whispered. "But how many hearts can he bear before one breaks?"
[TO BE CONTINUED…]