The woods beyond Arden were quiet at dawn, but not silent. Birds sang tentative morning notes, and the breeze rustled the branches with a language older than speech. A narrow trail cut through the thickets, and on it walked two figures—one old and measured, the other young and restless.
Elian followed Deren deeper into the forest, past the known trails and hunting paths, beyond where villagers dared to wander. His legs ached, and his mind churned with questions he hadn't had time to voice. The events of the fair felt like a dream half-remembered—a burning pendant, the stranger's eyes, the crowd's heat inside his blood.
"Where are we going?" Elian asked at last, dodging a low branch.
"Somewhere we won't be interrupted," Deren replied. "You need answers. And training."
"Training in what exactly?" Elian said, exasperated. "Magic? Desire? You keep talking in riddles."
Deren stopped, turned, and met his eyes. "I speak in care, Elian. The Lust System is not like other magics. It isn't shaped by words or wands, but by will, instinct, and… temptation. Misuse it, and you risk more than injury. You risk becoming something hollow."
They emerged into a clearing. Sunlight broke through the canopy in golden shafts, illuminating a ring of ancient stones etched with faded sigils.
"What is this place?" Elian whispered.
"A sanctum," Deren said. "Long forgotten. But once, it was a place of awakening. Here, Lust Mages came to bind themselves to the System. To test their limits. Some never returned."
Elian frowned. "And I'm supposed to start here?"
Deren stepped into the center and sat cross-legged. "Yes. Sit. Listen."
Elian obeyed, folding his legs opposite Deren. The forest felt different here—denser, charged, as if the air itself waited.
"The Lust System," Deren began, "is the breath of the world's deepest desires. It's not just about sex or longing. Lust is hunger—for beauty, for power, for connection. It lives in every glance, every heartbeat, every unsaid word."
Elian nodded slowly. "And I can feel it?"
"No. You generate it. And you can absorb it. That's your Gift—and your curse. Most people leak desire like steam. You, Elian… you drink it like wine."
He felt the truth of that. Every glance, every touch—it had always made him feel more alive, more alert. Like something unseen feeding on the unspoken.
"But there are rules," Deren continued. "Three, in particular, for those like you.
First: Never take what is not freely given. The System responds best to consensual flow. Force it, and it warps you.
Second: Balance the intake and the burn. The more you take, the more it changes you. Too much, and you become… addicted. Hollow. A 'Wight.'
Third: Anchor yourself. Or be lost."
Elian fingered the pendant at his chest. "Like this?"
"Yes. A Fetter. An artifact that grounds your energy and keeps your emotions from spiraling."
"Emotions?"
Deren nodded. "The System isn't fueled by technique. It's fueled by feeling. Passion, longing, sorrow—even rage. These emotions shape the kind of energy you produce and attract. To control the System, you must first control yourself."
Elian exhaled slowly. "So how do I start?"
Deren's expression turned grim. "We begin with your first tether: The Arousal Flame. Close your eyes."
Elian did.
"Now breathe. Slow. Listen to your body. To your heartbeat. To your desire."
Elian's mind wandered. He thought of Mara—her flushed face, the tremble in her lips. He thought of the crowd yesterday, of the eyes on him, the heat rising in his chest, in theirs.
He felt it—rising like smoke from an ember within. A spark. A pulse.
"There," Deren said quietly. "You've found it. The first Flame."
A shiver passed through Elian's body. His skin tingled, and the air around him thickened. The pendant pulsed against his chest, as if responding.
"It wants to grow," Elian whispered.
"Yes," Deren said. "But not yet. You must learn to hold the Flame before you feed it."
Elian opened his eyes. A faint aura shimmered around him, pale gold with hints of crimson. He stared at his hands—his fingertips glowed faintly.
Deren gave a nod of approval. "You're already attuned. Faster than most. But raw."
Elian stood, but his legs were weak. "It's like… it wants to take over."
"It always does." Deren rose too. "Now, let's see if you can use it."
He drew a small dagger from his belt and tossed it toward Elian. Instinct took over. The Flame surged—just a flicker—and time seemed to slow. Elian twisted, caught the dagger mid-air, and landed in a low crouch.
Then promptly fell on his back.
"Too much power," Deren muttered, walking over. "You're siphoning energy without channeling it. Like a child gorging on sugar."
"Not a bad feeling," Elian wheezed.
"It will be. Eventually, the body cannot contain what the soul absorbs."
Elian sat up, eyes narrowed. "So how do I learn to control it?"
"We train. Every day. In meditation. In emotional control. In channeling and grounding. And when you're ready, I'll teach you the forms—the expressions of Lust Magic: Charm, Bind, Infuse, and Transmute."
"Those are…?"
"The Four Paths of Lust."
Deren began drawing diagrams in the dirt:
Charm – The art of attraction and influence. The ability to stir emotions, suggest desires, and bind hearts.
Bind – The locking of energy—either to oneself or another. Used in rituals, compacts, and enchantments.
Infuse – The charging of objects or people with Lust Energy. Healing, enhancing, or disrupting.
Transmute – The rarest form—turning Lust Energy into raw magic or physical force.
"You'll show me all this?" Elian asked.
"If you survive the first step."
Training began in earnest the next day.
Morning meditations. Breathwork to slow the heart, and mantras whispered to anchor the mind.
Deren taught him to sit with his own desire without acting on it—to feel it like fire in the veins and not be consumed.
By the fifth day, Elian could kindle his Arousal Flame at will, let it rise, shape it like smoke in his palms. He learned to walk through the village and listen—not to words, but to the unspoken yearnings. They brushed against his skin like static, drawn to him. He didn't feed on them. Not yet.
But he felt their pull.
By the tenth day, Deren introduced the Emotional Crucible—a test where Elian had to endure exposure to stimuli without losing control. Beautiful courtesans summoned by illusion, whispers of longing in his mind, even memories of moments he'd buried.
Elian stumbled through it. Once, he overloaded—his Flame flared too high, and the forest trembled. Deren had to strike him across the chest with the blunt side of a Lust-Sealing Rod to calm him.
"You must resist the urge to take without discipline!" Deren shouted, furious. "Your power is not a pleasure—it's a responsibility!"
"I didn't mean to," Elian growled. "It's so loud. All the time. The world… everyone… wants something."
"And they always will," Deren said, softer now. "You cannot give it all. Nor take it all. Find your center, or you will be lost."
By the end of the month, Elian was no longer the same boy.
He had learned to call the Flame, suppress it, shape it into threads of energy. He infused a piece of wood with calming desire—it lulled a rabid wolf to sleep.
He whispered a Charm thread to a wounded sparrow—and it flew toward him, resting in his hand, soothed.
Deren began to watch him with caution. Pride, yes—but also fear.
"Elian," he said one evening, as they sat by the fire. "You're growing faster than I expected. Perhaps… faster than anyone ever has."
"Isn't that good?"
"It's dangerous. There are those who would kill for what you have. Or worse—own it."
Elian poked the fire with a stick. "The man at the fair. The Seeker. He knew, didn't he?"
"Yes. And he'll tell others."
Elian clenched his jaw. "Then we need to move. I won't stay hidden forever."
Deren hesitated. Then said, "I've taught you all I can of the foundation. But there's more—deeper places. Greater powers. You'll need to seek out the Temples of Lust. The hidden Orders."
Elian nodded. "Then tell me where to start."
Deren stared into the fire. "The first Temple lies in the city of Velmira. Built atop the ruins of an ancient pleasure court. They say the Seductress Queen herself carved her soul into its walls."
Elian stood.
"I'll go."
"Then take this."
Deren handed him a scroll sealed with wax. "A sigil of neutrality. Some Orders may respect it. Others… not."
Elian tucked it into his satchel, then shouldered his pack. The path before him was uncertain, filled with both allure and peril.
But he was no longer afraid.
He was awake.