Atlas and Luminaria sat across from one another, the heavy stillness of the office broken only by the faint hum of the celestial sheet resting upon the table between them. Its parchment shimmered like woven starlight, the words of the pact etched in silver fire that pulsed faintly, as though alive.
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Luminaria's Conditions:
Luminaria is to teach Atlas new spells every month.
Whenever requested, Luminaria is to allow Atlas to perform his restoration arts on her —by whatever means he deems necessary. She is forbidden to decline or attempt resistance.
Luminaria is forbidden to peer into the fundamentals of Atlas's restoration arts.
Atlas's Condition:
Atlas is forbidden to descend onto the mortal realm until the duration of this soul pact.
Punishment: Should either act against this pact, the offender shall eternally drown in soul-pain, and their divine power shall be granted to the other party.
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Atlas's lips curled into a faint grin as his eyes scanned the radiant script. There it was —the perfect little gap, a flaw hidden in the wording that no one but him would think to exploit. He said nothing, of course, only leaned back in his chair with a quiet satisfaction.
Across from him, Luminaria's face remained composed, though her shoulders betrayed the faintest tension. She did not question, did not waver. Instead, she pricked her finger, a drop of divine ichor welling at the tip like liquid dawn. Atlas mirrored her with his own, crimson meeting gold as the droplets fell upon the sheet.
The celestial parchment hissed as though alive, glowing brighter and brighter until the script ignited in a silent blaze, disintegrating into ash that vanished into the ether.
Atlas exhaled as the shift within him tightened his chest —the sudden weight of invisible chains threading into his soul. He felt them slither outward, connecting to Luminaria. Their essences entwined in a lock neither could deny, a binding of fates now sealed.
Luminaria closed her eyes briefly, sensing the tether. Atlas, however, smirked in quiet triumph.
"Finally, that's done with." He rose from his chair, his tone smooth but carrying the sharpness of command. "Now then, Luminaria… how about our first session of testing my restoration art on you?"
He extended his hand, palm open and waiting. His smile sharpened ever so slightly.
"I'm going to need physical touch for the spell to be enhanced. I trust you won't mind that," he said, the words dressed in courtesy yet dripping with concealed amusement —as though he cared one bit for her consent.
Luminaria hesitated only a fraction, then placed her hand into his.
Atlas closed his fingers around her delicate hand, tightening with a suspicious intimacy. He held her firmly, yet his touch was deceptively gentle, as though there was tenderness hidden within his grip. In truth, there was nothing tender about it. Intimacy magnifies the current, he thought. And the current is corruption.
He allowed the restoration spell to take form, the surface of it no different from any other —soft, glowing, imbued with healing warmth. But beneath that warmth lurked a hidden current, a slow and careful erosion.
The technique was insidious: a blend of restoration and subtle hypnotism, a spell that soothed while quietly dismantling.
The glow seeped from his palm into hers, sliding up her wrist like strands of golden thread. Luminaria's lips parted slightly, a faint exhale leaving her as her shoulders relaxed. Her eyes softened, the sharpness dimmed. She did not resist —she could not. The pact forbade it.
Atlas leaned closer, his crimson eyes narrowing, the predator cloaked behind the mask of healer. Even in this state she's dangerous, he reminded himself. I don't have long. The seed must be small, but precise.
His voice softened, dropping into a tone that sounded almost sorrowful, as if sharing in her pain rather than exploiting it.
"You still carry it, don't you… the weight of what you did to me," he whispered. "The blood on your hands, the life you ended. You call yourself the Goddess of Life, but you destroyed what you were meant to protect."
The words slipped into her like daggers wrapped in silk, yet her hypnotized state left her vulnerable to them. Atlas's thumb brushed lightly against the back of her hand —a subtle gesture that reinforced the intimacy, strengthening the corruption threading through her spirit.
"It's all right to carry that guilt, Luminaria," he continued, his tone carefully laced with false reassurance. "In fact, you should. It proves you've sinned, and sins are not so easily washed away. No matter what you do for me… no matter how much you guide me… you'll never truly undo what you've done."
The suggestion was planted —not an order, but a seed. A seed that would take root in her heart and deepen the guilt she already bore, forcing her to cling to it, to revisit it again and again. Subtle. Potent.
Atlas released her hand slowly, his expression masked in neutrality. Inwardly, though, his mind burned with triumph. One suggestion today, another tomorrow. Piece by piece, I'll carve her down.
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Focus Shift: Luminaria's POV
Luminaria sat in her office, the heavy oak desk before her stacked with scrolls and celestial reports, her quill moving steadily across a sheet of parchment. Her body was present, her duties attended to with the diligence expected of the Goddess of Life, but her mind… her mind was a fractured storm.
It had been this way for a week now, ever since the Soul Pact with Atlas. At first, she thought it was only the weight of the tether —a new bond always pulled strangely at the soul. But no… this was different.
Her thoughts circled endlessly, tormenting her with questions she had no answers for. How do I right my wrongs? she wondered.
Can a mistake so grave ever be undone? She thought of Atlas's broken life, of his venomous words when first they met, and the dagger that was truth in them. Could she truly still call herself the Goddess of Life when she had stolen one?
Her hand tightened around the quill until the nib cracked, splattering ink across the parchment. She set it down with trembling fingers.
The hatred surfaced again —not directed outward, but inward. Hatred toward herself, searing, undeniable.
Every time Atlas left after his "restoration sessions," she felt it rise sharper, heavier, as though her own soul accused her. She had tried to dismiss it, to wave it away as imagination, as fatigue. Yet each time it returned stronger than before, growing like rot within her.
The sound of a door opening startled her. She hadn't heard the knock because there hadn't been one. Atlas entered her office without pause, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the lamplight.
"Luminaria," he said smoothly, his voice both casual and commanding. "I came for my daily cup." His gaze fell on her weary expression, the slump in her shoulders. "But… it seems I arrived at a better time."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his lips curving in a subtle smile that was neither warm nor cruel, but something far more dangerous: patient. "You look… burdened. Shall we have a session as well? Two birds, one stone."
Luminaria hesitated, but only briefly. The Pact left her little choice —and beyond that, a small part of her longed for his restoration, for the fleeting relief it seemed to bring, even if it left behind shadows she didn't understand.
She gave a faint nod.
Atlas extended his hand, palm upward. Without speaking, she placed hers in his, and the spell began.
This time, however, the flow was different. The familiar warmth that threaded into her veins carried a depth it hadn't before. The connection was richer, the hypnotic undertone weaving deeper, threading itself around the cracks in her soul. She exhaled slowly, her body relaxing against the back of her chair, her eyelids heavy.
Atlas leaned closer, his voice velvet soft, each word dripping with calculated care.
"You suffer because of your guilt, don't you, Luminaria? It eats at you, festers in you, makes you question your worth, your title, your very divinity."
Her lips parted, as though to deny it, but no words came. His spell held her still, and her silence was answer enough.
"But guilt cannot be erased. It lingers, always. What you need is not absolution… but release. A way to manage the pain, if only for a while." His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, firm and grounding.
"My blood carries such release. You've felt it before, even if you did not name it. When you drink of me, the turmoil quiets, the burden lightens. You feel… calm."
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she did not pull away.
Atlas's smile widened, though his voice remained a gentle whisper. "So if the weight ever becomes too much, if your emotions threaten to drown you… remember, I will be here. You need only drink, and the calm will be yours."
The suggestion slipped into her soul like a hook sinking into water, unnoticed but impossible to pull free.
And then he layered another, so faint, so seamless it was almost indistinguishable from the first.
"Each time you drink my blood, the calm will last for one hour —no more. For that hour, your guilt will be gone, forgotten. A mercy. A reprieve."
Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, her eyes half-lidded. The suggestion rooted itself, binding to her as naturally as breath.
Atlas rose from his chair, the glow of victory hidden behind a composed expression. Slowly, deliberately, he rolled up his sleeve, exposing his forearm. Without hesitation, he sank his teeth deep into his flesh —hard enough to tear skin and rip away a strip of meat.
The sound was wet, visceral. Blood gushed freely, hot and scarlet. Yet Atlas didn't so much as flinch. He had grown accustomed to pain; it no longer registered as suffering, but as necessity. He willed his divine power to slow the natural regeneration, controlling the flow so the wound remained open.
He stepped forward, holding his bleeding forearm above Luminaria's lips. Crimson drops fell onto her mouth, and instinctively, in her hypnotized haze, she parted her lips. The blood slid down her tongue, rich and warm, and her body shivered as the promised calm surged through her.
Atlas lowered his arm closer, pressing it to her lips so the stream flowed directly. His voice was low, commanding yet gentle:
"Drink, Luminaria. Feel the release I spoke of. Let it wash away your torment. For this hour, your guilt does not exist."
Her eyes fluttered, half-closed, the lines of anguish on her brow smoothing as serenity flooded her soul. She swallowed eagerly, her breaths shallow but steady.
Atlas tilted his head, watching her drink with a calculating satisfaction. "Good… You see now? My blood is your salvation. Every drop you take frees you from the shackles you've wrapped around yourself."
For a long while, she remained like that, hypnotized, lips sealed around his wound, taking in more than she should.
And then —she stirred. Her awareness began to rise, her consciousness breaking through the haze of his suggestion. Luminaria blinked, realizing what she was doing, her lips still wet with crimson. Her eyes widened in shock.
"You—" she whispered, muffled against his arm. "Atlas… what are you…?"
Yet she did not push him away. The calm was too sweet, too encompassing. Her hands even moved faintly, as though to steady his forearm so she could drink more.
Atlas gave a quiet chuckle, sharp and knowing. "What's wrong, Goddess of Life? Surprised by the peace you feel?"
Her cheeks flushed faintly, though whether from shame or the intoxication of his blood, she could not tell. She sucked harder, greedily, the way one does when unwilling to relinquish relief once found.
When Atlas finally pulled his arm back, her lips lingered, reluctant, her eyes betraying a flicker of want. She swallowed the last of his blood, her breathing uneven.
He smirked at the sight. "Careful, Luminaria… You almost look like you didn't want me to stop."
Her voice came quiet, trembling, though not with anger. "…It's… calm. So calm." She touched her lips, disbelief in her gaze. "I haven't felt this feeling in a long time."
Atlas's smile widened. He let his wound close, flexing his fingers as the regeneration finally knit flesh and skin back together. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her.
"And you'll feel it again, whenever you wish. All you have to do… is drink."
Luminaria turned her face away, ashamed, but her silence was answer enough.
Inside, Atlas's thoughts hissed with triumph. Yes… good. Let the calm addict you. Soon, you'll come to me of your own will, begging. Not for duty. Not for teaching. But for relief.