Suspicion and silk

The Codex feeds. So do we.

The heavy scent of midnight lilies clung to the air as Raen entered Professor Varra's private sanctum. It wasn't his first time here—the walls, saturated in lust and power, remembered him. The dim candlelight cast red flickers across the obsidian runes carved into the walls, flickers that pulsed in time with the thrum of his corrupted mana.

Varra stood by the arched window, one arm draped loosely around her waist, the other holding a glass of crimson elixir that shimmered like liquid blood. Her long jet-black hair spilled down her back like a velvet curtain. Her green eyes, sharp as razors and cool as spring leaves, turned toward him—calculating, amused, aroused.

"You've been busy," she said, voice like smoke. "Selin's nearly broken. Idris was touched—too soon. And Nymera? She follows you like a loyal hound. You're starting to play the game."

Raen stepped inside, letting the door seal behind him with a low arcane hum. "I didn't come for judgment."

"No," she purred, draining the glass. "You came for something deeper."

Her robe slid off her shoulders as if bewitched, revealing the same spider-laced lingerie she wore during their last encounter. Black silk and dark magic kissed her curves in ways no fabric should. She wore power like a second skin—and that night, she meant to shed it.

Raen didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbed her waist, and pulled her to him. Their lips met—familiar, yet charged anew. Her mouth opened for him with a growl, and her nails dug into his chest through his shirt.

"You're not my student anymore," she whispered as she bit his lip. "You're something far worse."

He pushed her against the stone wall, letting the surge of his mana fill the room. Crimson tendrils pulsed around them, mingling with her green haze. Her moans came low and taunting as he kissed down her neck, his hands firm on her thighs, lifting her as easily as drawing breath.

"You want to see what I've become?" he hissed, voice hot against her ear.

"I've already seen. Now prove it."

Their clothes disappeared under spells woven from lust and hunger. Raen entered her like a force of nature, not the hesitant boy he once was. She welcomed him with gasps and wicked smiles, legs wrapped tight around his waist, back arching as the first thrust knocked a cry loose from her throat.

She clawed down his back. "Harder."

He obliged. Skin against skin. Magic against magic. His corrupted aura wrapped around her like a brand, searing runes into her flesh. Their powers collided and merged, lighting up the chamber in bursts of red and emerald, cracking the sigils on the walls with each thrust.

"You're not afraid of what I'm becoming?" he asked.

"I want it," she moaned, biting his neck. "Feed it. Grow. Break this world with me."

Their rhythm grew frantic, a brutal, spell-fueled symphony. Her body tensed and writhed under him, and he held her still as the climax tore through them both—not just pleasure, but an explosion of arcane resonance that shattered the crystal mirror beside them.

For a moment, they floated in it—mana tangled like lovers, limbs entwined in the aftermath.

He collapsed beside her on the dark velvet cushions. She was slick with sweat, eyes gleaming with madness and satisfaction.

"You're dangerous now," she whispered. "Unpredictable. Delicious."

Raen brushed a lock of damp hair from her cheek. "Then keep tasting."

Varra smirked, chest rising and falling. "But next time, I take control."

He kissed her collarbone. "You can try."