Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 771: Nightmares

Darkness came first.

Not as an absence of light—but as a weight.

Nhyara smelled before she saw anything: damp leaves, living earth, fresh resin. The distant sound of water running between stones. The air heavy with natural mana, soft, pulsating, familiar.

She was standing.

Her feet touched the ground of the ancient forest, the soft ground covered in moss. The trees rose tall, dark trunks, dense canopies filtering the sunlight in golden beams. The forest sang softly, as it always had.

"Don’t stray," said a voice behind her.

Nhyara turned.

Yunara was there, bow in hand, her hair neatly tied back, her eyes attentive but calm. There was a small smile on her lips, the one that always appeared when they were hunting together.

"I know," Nhyara replied, feeling the lightness in her own voice. "You always say that."

Further ahead, Hinnara crouched near a bush, analyzing footprints. She was the quietest of the three, but also the most perceptive. She raised two fingers, signaling recent movement.

"Deer," she murmured. "Not long ago."

Nhyara felt her heart race with anticipation.

This was how it should be.

They moved as part of the forest, not intruders. Each step was calculated, each breath synchronized with the environment. There was no fear there. Only concentration, complicity.

Sisters.

Nhyara raised her spear slowly, feeling the perfect balance of the weapon in her hands. The world seemed right. Whole.

Then... something changed.

The song of the forest faltered.

It was subtle at first. A wrong silence. Not the natural stillness before an attack—but a sudden interruption, as if something had been ripped from the air.

Hinnara was the first to react.

"Wait," she whispered, raising her hand.

Yunara frowned.

"What is it?"

Nhyara felt a shiver run down her spine.

The smell.

Metal. Sweat. Faint smoke.

"Humans," she said, before she even realized she had spoken.

The world exploded.

The first scream wasn’t from one of them.

An arrow pierced the air, narrowly missing Yunara and plunging into a tree trunk with brutal force. The impact echoed like thunder.

"RUN!" Yunara screamed.

It was too late.

Men emerged from the trees like a plague. Many. Heavy. Armed. Nets were thrown, iron balls held by chains spun through the air.

Nhyara tried to react.

She tried to invoke magic.

Nothing.

A violent impact struck her back. She fell, the air escaping her lungs. Before she could stand, something heavy fell on her—a thick net, impregnated with burnt runes that gnawed at her mana.

"We got one!" someone shouted.

She struggled, screaming her sisters’ names.

"YUNARA! HINNARA!"

She saw Yunara fall soon after, three men on top of her, a mace blow striking her head with enough force to stop her from moving.

"NO!"

Hinnara tried to escape.

Tried.

She ran through the trees with speed impossible for ordinary humans.

A burst of white light struck her from behind.

She fell.

She didn’t get up.

Hynara screamed until her throat burned.

A hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.

"This one’s pretty," said a deep, satisfied male voice. "She’ll be worth a lot."

She tried to bite. She tried to scratch.

A punch landed on her face.

The world spun.

Darkness.

She woke up cold.

Very cold.

The floor was hard, stone. Her back ached. Her wrists burned.

Chains.

Thick. Too tight. Every movement made the metal dig into her skin.

She tried to sit up.

A piercing pain shot through her side.

"Ah... you’re awake," someone said.

She looked up with difficulty.

Bars.

A cell.

Torches illuminated the space with a dirty, unstable light. The air smelled of mold, dried blood, and something acidic.

"Where are my sisters?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

The laugh that answered was cruel.

"The others?" the man tilted his head. "One died. The other... sold well." The world seemed to shatter.

"Lies..." she whispered. "You’re lying."

He approached the bars.

"Want to bet?"

Something was thrown into the cell.

A necklace.

Carved wood.

Hinnara’s.

Hinnara felt a sound escape her that she didn’t recognize as human.

She crawled to the object, hugging it to her chest, her body trembling.

"Please..." she whispered. "Please..."

The answer came in the form of a kick.

The impact struck her ribs. She screamed. The air escaped her lungs again.

"Shut up," the man said. "Or you’ll go hungry again."

Hunger.

The word didn’t do justice to what she felt.

Her stomach ached constantly, an emptiness that burned from within. Sometimes days passed with nothing but dirty water. Other times, they threw scraps on the floor, and she had to decide whether to eat or maintain a minimum of dignity.

The cold never went away.

Even when the fire was lit, she shivered. Her clothes were taken away on the first day, replaced by damp rags.

The night was worse.

Always worse.

The chains didn’t allow her to lie down properly. The floor stole the warmth from her body. And the sounds...

Screams from other prisoners.

Laughter.

Footsteps approaching.

The door opening.

"Get up," they said. "It’s your turn."

She learned not to resist.

Resisting hurt more.

Each blow taught her that.

Each time she begged and no one listened.

Every time she closed her eyes and saw Yunara lying motionless, her dark blood mingling with the forest earth.

She lost count of the days.

Or weeks.

Or months.

Time ceased to have form.

Her body weakened. Her magic almost completely disappeared, drained by burnt seals on her skin. Each summoning attempt resulted in excruciating pain, as if something were tearing her veins from within.

"You are nothing," they said. "You are merchandise."

She began to believe it.

She began to automatically shrink when someone approached. To lower her gaze. To anticipate the pain.

Her name ceased to matter.

She was an "elf."

"Thing."

"Product."

One night, after a particularly cold one, she dreamed she was back in the forest.

That Yunara was laughing.

That Hinnara was calling her name.

She woke up crying. She was punished for it.

The nightmare accelerated.

Images overlapped.

Her being pulled by chains.

Falling.

Being forcibly lifted.

The sound of bones cracking.

The hunger that darkened her vision.

The cold that never went away.

Until, amidst the absolute darkness, a phrase echoed.

"You decide."

She frowned in the dream.

"Lies..." she whispered.

But something different happened.

The chains began to crack.

The metal creaked, fissures spreading like cobwebs.

A soft light seeped through the cracks in the darkness.

Warmth.

Not the heat of cruel fire.

But something constant. Steady.

The sound of the forest tried to return.

The nightmare resisted.

The voices screamed.

"DON’T WAKE UP!"

"YOU ARE OURS!"

"COME BACK!"

But the light grew.

And then—

Nhyara truly woke up.

The scream tore through the room.

It wasn’t loud at first—it was raw. Broken. A sound ripped from the depths of her chest before Nhyara was even aware of where she was. Her body arched in bed as if still bound by chains, her fingers clenching tightly in the void, her nails digging into the sheet itself.

"No!" she gasped. "No, please—"

The air wasn’t going in properly.

Her chest rose and fell too quickly, as if she had forgotten how to breathe. The cold of the nightmare was still in her, clinging to her bones, even though the room was warm. Her legs trembled. Her shoulders shook in involuntary spasms.

She brought her hands to her head, shielding herself from something that was no longer there.

"Yunara... Hinnara..." the sisters’ names escaped in a broken whisper, heavy with guilt and dread.

The vision took a while to adjust.

The ceiling wasn’t stone. There were no bars. No dirty torches or musty smell. There was low, soft light, filtered through thick curtains. The sheet beneath her fingers was soft. Clean.

Safe.

But her body didn’t believe it.

She tried to move away from the edge of the bed—an instinctive movement—and almost fell. A violent sob escaped her throat as the memory of the nightmare collided with the present.

"Don’t touch..." she murmured to nothing, her voice faltering. "Please, don’t—"

It was then that she felt arms around her.

Firm.

Warm.

Real.

Nhyara stiffened immediately, a sudden panic taking over every muscle. His body reacted before his mind: he tried to break free, pushing with what little strength he had, his heart racing as if he were back in his cell.

"NO!" she screamed, her voice breaking completely. "Don’t touch me!"

But his arms didn’t tighten.

They didn’t immobilize her.

They didn’t hurt.

They just... stayed.

"It’s alright," said a low voice, too close, but strangely calm. "You’re safe."

The voice pierced the chaos like a thread of stability.

Nhyara froze.

She knew that voice.

"Strax...?" the name came out almost like a childish, disbelieving question.

"I’m here," he replied immediately. "I’m here with you."

She felt his hand slide carefully to her back, not pressing, just supporting. A calculated, conscious gesture. As if he knew exactly how far he could go without breaking her.

"It was a nightmare," he continued, in a steady tone. "You’re in the mansion. In the room. Nobody’s going to hurt you."

She began to tremble harder.

The tears came without warning.

Not a restrained cry—but a deep, uneven one, the kind that shakes the whole body. She clung to his shirt as if it were the only solid thing in the world, her fingers clenching desperately into the dark fabric.

"I... I saw..." she tried to say, but the sentence died in the middle. "I couldn’t save them..."

Strax pulled her a little closer, with absolute care, as if he were handling something too fragile to withstand force.

"Shh..." he murmured. "You don’t need to explain now."

She cried uncontrollably.

Her whole body trembled. The sobs came in waves, each carrying echoes of the nightmare: the cold, the hunger, the metal digging into her skin, the voices telling her she was nothing.

Strax kept one hand firmly on her back and the other on her shoulders, creating a safe, defined space. He didn’t hold her. He didn’t dominate her.

He was simply there.

"Breathe with me," he said softly. "That’s all. Nothing more."

She tried.

She failed.

The air came in too quickly, too shallowly.

"Look at me," he asked, with gentle firmness.

Nhyara slowly lifted her face.

Her eyes were red, wide, full of ancient fear. Something was broken there—something that didn’t just come from that dream.

Strax held her gaze without looking away.

Without pity.

Without judgment.

"You’re here," he repeated. "Now. With me."

He inhaled deliberately, slowly.

She imitated him without realizing it.

Once.

Twice.

On the third try, the air finally reached her lungs.

The crying lessened in intensity, turning into spaced sobs. The trembling was still there, but less violent.

She rested her forehead against his chest, exhausted. "I thought..." she murmured. "I thought it would never end."

His hand made a slight movement on her back. Not an exaggerated caress—just a repetitive, constant gesture, anchoring her in the present.

"I know," he replied. "These dreams don’t ask permission."

She was silent for a few seconds, just breathing.

"You..." her voice came out weakly. "You were here before?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

He thought for a moment before answering.

"Long enough to know you would wake up like this."

She pulled back slightly, surprised, looking at him.

"You... knew?"

Strax tilted his head slightly.

"People who have been through what you’ve been through don’t sleep peacefully at first," he said simply. "Especially after a day when the body starts to recover. The mind tries to keep up."

Nhyara swallowed hard. "I screamed..."

"You’re alive," he replied. "Screaming is part of it."

She lowered her gaze, ashamed.

"I didn’t mean to... bother you."

Something in his gaze became more serious.

"You’re not a bother," he said with restrained firmness. "You never were."

She bit her lower lip, her eyes welling up again—but this time, the tears didn’t return violently. It was different. More silent.

"When I woke up..." she confessed, "I thought it was still there. That all of this was a lie."

"It’s not," Strax replied immediately. "And I won’t let it be again."

He stepped back just enough to grab an extra blanket and wrap her carefully, as if protecting her from the cold that only existed in her memory.

"You’re warm," he said. "Fed. And you’re not alone."

Nhyara closed her eyes for a moment.

His body still trembled slightly, but now there was something different.

Presence.

"Can you stay...?" she asked, almost inaudibly. "Just until I... can fall asleep again?"

Strax didn’t hesitate.

"Yes." He sat beside the bed, keeping one hand visible, accessible, but without invading her space.

A silent promise that he would be there if she needed him.

Nhyara took another deep breath.

Strax just looked, ’Am I worrying too much...?’ He wondered... ’This slavery thing makes me nervous for some reason.’