Elian had tasted power—but now, power came knocking.
The summons came at dusk, as crimson shadows fell over the city. A hooded courier arrived at the Velvet Veil, carrying a letter sealed with silver wax. The sigil bore a familiar shape: twin serpents coiled around a blooming flower.
The Council of Pleasure.
Even the Matron raised an eyebrow when she saw the seal.
"You've drawn their attention," she murmured, fingers tracing the edge of the parchment.
Elian's heart beat faster—not in fear, but in a strange thrill. The Council ruled all recognized Lust Orders. For a Flamebearer like him to receive a direct summons meant one of two things:
An opportunity.
Or a trap.
The scroll unfurled with a whisper of magic:
To Elian of the Velvet Veil,
You are hereby commissioned by the Council of Pleasure to investigate and resolve a disruption in the Arousal Nexus located in the Hollow Borough. Disruption class: Anomalous Lust Signature. Dangerous. Seductive. Unknown.
You are authorized to deploy one Lust Contract during this mission. Should you fail to return with a report, your Flame shall be extinguished by decree.
—Signed, Lady Vireth, Pleasurebrand and Adjudicator of Bonds
"A Lust Contract?" Elian asked, confused.
The Matron turned, face suddenly serious.
"You've heard whispers. But now… you'll understand."
She led him into the Inner Sanctum, a chamber forbidden even to most initiates.
Candles lit themselves as they entered, flames flickering in spirals of rose and blue. At the center of the chamber stood a pedestal. Upon it—a single scroll bound in crimson ribbon.
The Matron spoke softly, as if the walls themselves could betray them.
"Lust Contracts are ancient. Forbidden in most courts, except under Council decree. They bind one soul to another… through desire, devotion, and surrender. Not slavery. Not compulsion. A sacred bond of shared lust—and power."
Elian approached the scroll, feeling its pulse echo his own.
"Once you form the bond," she warned, "you will feel them in your soul. Their hunger. Their pain. Their need. And they will feel yours."
He swallowed. "Can it be undone?"
She met his eyes. "Only in death. Or betrayal."
The Hollow Borough was unlike the polished decadence of the Velvet Veil. It was filthier, darker—its pleasures born from desperation, not luxury.
Elian walked alone through alleys that reeked of sweat and broken dreams. A haze of red light filtered through the mist, drawn from overworked pleasure dens and alleyway temples to minor lust gods.
The Nexus pulsed faintly beneath the city—an invisible leyline where arousal energy converged, meant to be stable. But here, something was wrong.
People were too aroused.
A man leaned against a wall, panting, clawing at his chest.
A woman moaned softly, whispering names of lovers she didn't have.
Elian reached out with his Flame—and felt it.
A surge of lust magic, unnatural and swollen, like a river being choked at its source.
And at its heart, a beacon.
Someone—or something—was feeding off the Nexus.
He followed the pull deeper into the belly of the borough… and found the source.
The Sanctuary of Glass
It was an abandoned church of the pleasure cults, once devoted to the minor goddess Volessia. The windows were stained with scenes of ecstasy, now warped by time and corruption.
At the altar stood a woman.
Naked.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Her skin shimmered with arousal magic. Her eyes glowed crimson. And chained to the columns around her were dozens of men and women—moaning, writhing, feeding her with their lust, even as they withered.
She turned when he entered, lips parting in a cruel smile.
"Another moth?"
Elian flared his aura in warning. "You're the anomaly. Stand down."
She tilted her head. "I am Neressa. Once a courtesan. Now… the vessel of desire itself."
He reached into the scroll case. "I am Elian of the Velvet Veil, Flamebearer by right. I am authorized to bind a Lust Contract to stop this breach."
Her laughter was like silk and venom. "Then come. Bind me… if you dare."
The Battle
Neressa launched first—a wave of psychic arousal crashing against him. His vision filled with images: himself, bound to her bed, whimpering for touch, weeping in release. Her voice flooded his mind.
"You want to serve me. Worship me. Lose yourself in me…"
He staggered—until his Flame surged.
"No," he snarled.
His aura snapped back—a flood of his own desire: her, kneeling, panting, her power absorbed into his.
They circled, lust flaring with each step.
She wasn't feeding just on him—she was draining the chained victims, siphoning arousal from their very life force.
If he didn't act fast, they'd die.
He reached for the Contract scroll.
Magic pulsed into the chamber like a heartbeat.
To bind a Lust Contract, one must not conquer… but connect.
He had to reach her.
Not dominate her.
Not destroy her.
Understand her.
The Binding
He stepped into her storm of lust.
She gasped—surprised—as he offered himself. Not as prey. Not as predator. But as equal.
"I see you," he whispered.
"I feel your hunger. Your pain. What made you this?"
Her glamour cracked.
Beneath the beauty was a woman broken—once loved, once abandoned, once cast out by a Lust Order for daring to love too deeply. She had come to the Nexus to die.
Instead, she had become something more.
"Let me help you," Elian whispered, holding the Contract.
She trembled.
Then, with a sob, she pressed her lips to his.
The scroll ignited.
The Lust Contract formed.
Chains of light wrapped them both. Symbols burned into their skin. Their Flames interlocked.
Her power surged into him—and his into her. Balance.
The chained victims gasped, freed.
Neressa collapsed into his arms, her aura dimmed, but… calm.
"You didn't break me," she whispered.
"I didn't have to."
Aftermath
Back at the Velvet Veil, the Matron examined the glowing bond rune now etched over Elian's heart.
"You formed a Contract with a near-corrupted Arousal Eater," she said flatly.
"She's not corrupted anymore."
"Foolish. Dangerous. Inspired." She handed him a glass of spiced wine. "You're going to shake the world, Elian."
That night, Elian sat in silence while Neressa—now recovered and sleeping in a guest chamber—tossed and turned in dream-ridden rest.
Through the bond, he could feel her.
Her gratitude.
Her longing.
Her loneliness.
He had power now. Real power.
But for the first time, he understood what it cost.
And what it could heal.