Elian awoke not to morning light, but to dim twilight filtered through crimson curtains.
The scents of rosewood, sweat, and lingering arousal filled the air. His body felt both rested and exhausted, as though his soul had traveled a thousand miles while his limbs remained still.
Sitting up, he found a single item beside him: a choker of black velvet, inset with a small, pulsing red crystal.
It bore the insignia of a Flamebearer.
A mark of status. A target. A beacon.
"Do you feel it?" the Matron's voice coiled through the air, soft as perfume.
She stood at the edge of the chamber, her figure silhouetted against the candlelit wall. Today, she wore no glamour, no illusion. Only a sheer silken robe that left nothing to imagination and eyes that shimmered with knowing hunger.
"I feel everything," Elian admitted. "Too much, maybe."
She smiled faintly. "Good. Then your Flame is awake. You stand now at the first threshold of power."
She crossed the room and sat beside him, her presence both soothing and arousing.
"There are seven tiers in the Lust System," she began, voice low. "Each one closer to truth, each one more dangerous."
She raised a finger.
"One: Aroused Initiate. Those who've awakened to Lust but cannot yet shape it. You were there, once."
A second finger.
"Two: Flamebearer. Where you are now. You can absorb, release, and direct arousal energies. Enough to heal wounds, seduce minds, or fuel lust-fueled combat."
A third.
"Three: Seducer's Hand. An elite among Flamebearers. You will learn to bind others through Lust Contracts—pacts of power and submission."
Fourth.
"Four: Pleasurebrand. Masters of mind and body. Their auras alone can bring men and women to climax. They command the battlefield of desire."
Fifth.
"Five: Temptation Warden. Manipulators of cities, of sects, of entire Lust Orders. Their presence shifts entire courts."
Sixth.
"Six: Ecstasy Sovereign. Rare. Mythic. Said to control the full spectrum of lust magic—from pain to pleasure, desire to despair."
And then she touched his chest, just above his heart.
"Seventh: The Ascendant Flame. A being said to burn with the source of Lust itself. Only one has ever been rumored to reach this stage… and she was slain before her reign could begin."
Elian took a deep breath. "What tier are you?"
She chuckled. "Pleasurebrand. I could have climbed higher… but the higher you go, the more dangerous the fall."
He nodded, eyes narrowing with thought. "So how do I climb?"
She reached into a drawer and pulled out a scroll sealed with purple wax.
"There's a tournament held once every cycle. Invitation-only. Each participant fights not with swords, but with seduction, domination, influence."
She handed him the scroll.
"You've been invited."
Elian broke the seal. The parchment shimmered with heat as he read:
To the Flamebearer of Velvet Veil,
You are cordially invited to the Moonlit Court, where the bodies and wills of warriors are tested. Present yourself before the Lust Gate within three days. Refusal is not advised.
—Signed, The Crimson Circle
His Flame pulsed as he read the name.
The Crimson Circle—an independent Lust Order known for their brutal erotic trials. Rumors said their champions could make you beg to be broken.
"You're not ready," the Matron said simply.
"But if I survive—"
"You'll rise."
She met his gaze.
"Or you'll be used. Burned out. Broken."
Something in Elian's core responded. Not fear. Not doubt. But hunger.
"I'll go."
Later that night, he left the Veil for the first time since the Rite, and felt the world change.
Women turned when he passed now. Men flushed. Couples paused in their pleasure to glance his way.
His aura was leaking—subtly, seductively—calling to the latent desires of everyone around him.
He passed a tavern where moans echoed from open windows. A Lust House—public and accessible to those without power, yet drawn to it.
He lingered outside, curious.
And from the shadows, she emerged.
"Flamebearer," came the mocking voice.
She was tall, leather-clad, with a riding crop at her hip and hair like liquid gold. Her aura crackled with blue flame—lust mixed with control.
"Elian of Arden," she said. "I've been watching."
He backed a step. "Who are you?"
"Your first lesson in pain."
Before he could react, her crop snapped forward, not touching him—striking his aura.
Pain and pleasure surged through his body like lightning. His knees buckled, vision hazed, and heat flooded his groin and spine.
She stalked toward him.
"I'm Silvara, Seducer's Hand of the Crimson Circle. And you're a boy playing at power."
He gritted his teeth, his Flame coiling to defend.
She grinned. "Good. Show me."
Their auras collided.
It wasn't battle as most understood it—no swords or spells. It was a duel of desire, a test of will.
She pressed a fantasy into his mind: his limbs bound, his body at her mercy, begging for release. It struck hard.
He responded with one of his own: her kneeling, flushed, moaning as his power flooded her.
She laughed.
"You're better than I expected."
Then she pressed closer. Their auras locked.
And Elian did the unthinkable.
He absorbed her energy.
Her eyes widened.
"You—!"
A burst of his Flame surged, and she staggered back, panting, nipples hard beneath her leather.
"You fed from me," she hissed.
He nodded. "I'm not playing anymore."
Silvara licked her lips, hunger igniting in her eyes.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
And then she was gone—vanished into the night.
Elian stood trembling, sweat-soaked, but victorious.
His Flame crackled with new power.
And deep in the distance, the Lust Gate pulsed open.