Home Was in Their Arms
The Silver City had burned.
Yet in that sacred moment—under a sky painted in crimson dusk, with cinders falling like snow—time just... paused. Held its breath.
Leon didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to move.
They were already running—sprinting straight for him—his wives. His companions. The women who’d kept his soul from falling apart.
They hit him like a wave slamming into the shore—fast, hard, unstoppable. Arms wrapped around his waist. Fingers clung to his chest. Another pair looped tight around his neck.
All at once together, they dragged him down with them—back to the scorched, blackened earth.
Tears were pouring. Cries broke loose. Laughter slipped through the sobs.
They pressed their faces into him like lost children clutching their mother. Hands roamed his skin—burned, battered—touching his chest, his jaw, his shoulders, just needing to feel he was real.
And Leon, half-naked, bleeding, shaking where he lay in the dirt, held them all close.
A low groan escaped him, pain stitched into every breath, but even then... he smiled. Fragile. Stubborn. Still here.
"...Told you," his voice come rasped, shredded and raw, "I’d come back."
They didn’t care how filthy he was. They didn’t even blink when the chakra core shimmered one last time behind him before gently sinking back into his chest.
The world around them was ashes and ruin.
And that was everything.
Behind them, the sky still burned.
But for just this one fragile instant...
The world stood still.
Then came the wave of emotion that hit harder than any explosion.
Rias clutched his shoulder tightly, her crimson eyes overflowing. She shook with rage and love, then slammed her small fist against his body.
"You idiot, Daddy!" she choked out, her voice cracking. "You bastard! You said you’d come back... but you looked like a corpse!"
Aria stood near his neck, her violet hair clinging to wet cheeks. Always the regal one, her calm was cracked with emotion. She gently poked his cheek.
"You could’ve been ash, Leon... next time, you listen to me."
Syra followed, her green hair sticking to her face. Her tone, usually full of mischief, was soaked in grief.
"Why didn’t you let us come with you?! We could’ve fought beside you. We could’ve escaped together!"
Cynthia placed her palm over his chest, where the burns were still raw. Her hand trembled, though her voice stayed calm—barely.
"You always fight for us... but when will you let us protect you?"
Mira glared at him through tears; frustration layered with affection.
"I’m going to slap you if you ever pull that stunt again!"
Kyra stood silently beside her, voice quiet but cutting.
"We need you. Not this reckless drama."
Rias leaned her whole body into him again, trembling.
"D–Daddy... you scared me so much. Please don’t ever do that again."
Tsubaki wrapped her arm tightly around his, her braid sliding over his shoulder as she did. Her voice was solid steel.
"I’m not letting go. You fight so I can breathe—don’t vanish on us again."
Lira, her silver-white hair tousled and tangled, pressed against him without a word at first. Then came her voice—soft, shaken.
"We almost lost our anchor."
Tsubaki’s grip tightened as she dug her fingers into his other shoulder, knuckles white.
"How dare you run off without a word! If something had happened—" Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t finish.
Lira’s usual calm shattered as tears spilled freely.
"You scared us more than any monster ever could. Do you have any idea what we felt when your aura disappeared?"
Cynthia brushed her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, speaking slowly, her usual grace holding on by a thread.
"No warning. No signal. Just pain. You’re everything to us, Leon... but you’re also our heart. Don’t ever forget that."
Aria said nothing at first. She simply leaned in, wrapped both arms around his neck, and pressed her lips gently to his temple in a kiss that lingered.
Then came her whisper, low and absolute:
"You’re never allowed to die, Leon. Not without taking all of us with you."
Kyra, still kneeling beside him, finally lifted her face. Her green eyes shimmered.
"You selfish man... even falling apart, you kept smiling like nothing mattered."
Even Lilyn, the gentle and composed head maid, stepped forward—eyes swollen from crying, her voice low yet firm.
"My Lord... how could you make all of us cry ? Even if you are our Duke... you are everything to us."
And then came Chloe. Sweet, timid Chloe. She knelt by his side with her hands trembling, fresh tears staining her flushed cheeks.
"You protected everyone... but who protected you...?"
One after another, they came closer—Fey, Rui, Mona, Lena, Mira—followed by every remaining maid in the estate. Each of them bore their pain in different ways, but their voices all carried the same ache.
"You didn’t even send word—!"
"We almost lost our anchor!"
"What if you didn’t come back this time?!"
"Don’t do this to us..."
It wasn’t about duty anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.
This wasn’t devotion born of rank or responsibility.
This was love. Family.
And Leon, seated upon the scorched soil with their hands clutching him—fingers tangled in his torn clothes, arms wrapped tight around him—offered no excuses. No words.
He simply smiled. Calm. Content.
Even when Rias smacked his shoulder hard and growled, "Stop smiling like that!"
he just grinned wider—
a flicker of mischief breaking through the quiet storm still swirling in his chest.
"Arghhh!" Syra let out this strangled groan, caught somewhere between wanting to strangle him and never letting him go again.
"I’m glad you’re alive," Mia finally murmured, her arms still wrapped tight around his waist. Her voice was soft, fragile. "But don’t do it again..."
The moment held—warm, heavy—until the sharp, steady sound of boots echoed across the cracked stone.
Metal on stone. Slow. Deliberate.
Vice-Captain Johny was the first to step into view—jaw locked, sweat streaking down the side of his face.
Behind him, Captain Black came next, followed by Ronan, and a full squad of elite soldiers.
Nobles, guards, civilians drifted in behind them, drawn by the noise, the smoke, the aftermath.
Every eye froze at the same sight:
Leon, standing—barely—bruised and dirtied, surrounded by women who held onto him like he was the only thing left holding the world together.
Black’s lips twitched. His voice was low, dry. "My Lord... I’m glad to see you breathing. Though—"
his eyes flicked down, from Leon’s disheveled hair to the mess of emotional women gripping him, "—I’m not sure if I should salute you or scold you."
Johny didn’t waste time on wit. He crossed his arms, his stare sharp, but something soft flickered behind it—equal parts grief and relief.
"Looks like the ladies already took care of that part."
Ronan let out a dry chuckle, but the tension in his face didn’t go anywhere. "You’re lucky you’re still breathing, Lord. Otherwise, I’d have had a few choice words."
Among the ranks, soft murmurs passed like a breeze.
Some eyes turned red.
Others let out shaky laughs, the kind that come after holding your breath too long.
Leon looked at all of them.
And let out a slow, steady breath.
With effort, he pushed himself upright. The women eased up, just enough to help him stand, their hands gentle but firm.
His ribs screamed, the pain sharp and deep, but something else filled his chest now—
"I’m sorry," he said quietly. Not loud. Not grand. Just... honest. "For making all of you worry."
They didn’t need more than that.
They nodded. One by one.
No scolding. No speeches. Just silent, heavy acceptance.
The kind of love that only exists after your heart breaks and someone helps piece it back together.
Black stepped closer, his voice softer now, words coated with something thick—grief, maybe. Relief. Love.
"We almost lost you... our lord, our anchor, our leader. Please don’t do that again."
Leon shut his eyes, exhaling slowly.
Not just the city. Not just the air.
It was in their voices.
In the arms still wrapped around his waist, his shoulders, his chest.
And in the wall of soldiers around them, unmoving—
guarding not a man, but everything he meant.
Even through the smoke, the weight, the tears—
Leon still managed to joke:
"At least now you all get a true view of what a ’burning embrace’ is."
Ridiculous. Inappropriate.
Exactly what they needed.
A few laughed—real, wheezing laughs that broke like glass against the tension.
Some coughed through the ash in their throats, but the fever in their chests started to lift.
Even Cynthia, always composed, let out a sigh. "He never stops."
"Shameless till the end," Rias mumbled, half-smiling, lashes still wet.
warmth crept back in, even if only for a breath.
Rias’s face shifted. Her smile faded. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaned in a little, and when she spoke, her voice wasn’t teasing anymore.
It came low yet heavy.