[ Four Years Earlier - Ratiora]
[ Imperial Castle - Grand Arcanum ]
"H-hngh…"
A shaky whimper slipped from Sera as she clamped her knees together against the slow, insistent pressure of her Instructor's thigh. She cursed herself, irritated that she'd given him even an ounce of submission. She clenched her teeth, swallowing the sounds threatening to rise from her throat.
Pinned against the towering mahogany bookshelf, the vast, vaulted space loomed around her, thick with the scent of parchment and incense. Her hands pushed pointlessly against his chest as she stared at the varnished walnut floor; determined not to meet his gaze, determined not to lose.
She knew she had to learn, but she didn't have to like it.
Pride burned hot in her chest. Submission grating against her bones.
Sweat dotted her brow, her heart thumping heavily as she forced down the rising, unwanted anticipation.
His voice droned low in her ear, a deeply velvet and dizzying vibration. Sera struggled to keep her consciousness afloat, her eyes blurring and unfocusing against her will. She loathed losing to him, furious that her body kept betraying her. Stubborn defiance kept her from yielding, even if it felt pathetic.
"Sera…" he murmured, pressing his body closer to hers, "showing someone your magic vessel is like showing yourself naked." His voice vibrated through her skull with a languid ease. "It's a deeply intimate thing to show someone your core and it is a profoundly violating thing to have it revealed without your consent."
She tensed as his palm, which had lifted her shirt and grasped her ribs with a punishingly strong force, slid deliberately down, across her side until it settled right below her navel. His fingers prodded gently as if he was searching for something.
"You have to develop mental barriers to keep the riff raff out," he muttered, the tips of his fingers digging into her skin.
"Guarding your vessel is a form of self-control. And self-control is what will protect you." Finding the spot he was looking for, he pressed his hand deeply against her abdomen, right atop her womb.
He lifted her chin with his other hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His irises, brilliantly golden and unyielding, showed no emotion, no weakness, and Sera felt her heart flip.
She hated how calm he was. She hated how she was undone in front of him and how he seemed so unscathed.
Like an ouroboros, their struggle looped endlessly. Every lesson, every hour of training, every moment of instruction, he pressed and she resisted. She wouldn't give in to him so willingly.
Every morsel she ate and every action she took was under his control, but Sera refused to give him her spirit. It was all she had left.
She stared back defiantly in challenge, refusing to break eye contact.
Her Instructor smirked.
"Do your best to resist, Sera," his eyes crinkled in amusement.
With a sudden, silent aggression, he forced his mana from his palm into her womb and veins.
Sera yelped as the foreign, golden mana coursed through her body like lightning. Its aggressive tendrils hungrily shredded her mental shields like paper. A golden mist lifted like steam from her skin and evaporated lazily into the air; her own mana suppressed into submission as her circuits flooded with her Instructor's invading magic. She bit her lip, trying not to cry out, but the sensation was too strong.
"Nngh-h!"
A sharp gasp tumbled out of her throat as she felt his mana threads root around in her mind, indiscriminately pulling memories here and there and grasping nightmares like pulling up weeds. Desperately, she called at her mana to form new mental barriers, but his own mana ripped through the immature forms with careless ease. They shattered faster than she could rebuild them.
Cold dread pooled like molasses in her chest. It was like he was rummaging through the drawers of her mind with utter disregard for her privacy. A heavy blush descended upon her body as she realized he was finding absolutely everything - peering into her secrets, her thoughts and feelings - invading her way of being with his callous, indifferent precision.
Her skin prickled in indignation. Every moment, from the mundane brushing of her teeth, to her conversations with her peers, and even her feelings about him, were laid bare for him to see.
Her mana couldn't shield her, he was simply stronger.
This is what he wanted her to feel - the helplessness that comes from a lack of control. She despised his methods, teaching without a shred of regard for her dignity.
He let out a low chuckle as she reddened in embarrassment and anger from the ruthless invasion of privacy. Sera glared up at him with tearful eyes, her irises glimmering like wet rubies. Even exposed and vulnerable, she wouldn't give him her pride and she wouldn't show him how afraid she was.
He smiled, relishing the sight.
He liked the way her shoulders flushed and shook, the tempting way her saliva coated her lips as she bit them in frustration, and how her eyebrows furrowed in shame, futilely trying to deny the growing ache in her womb.
His sharp eyes flashed gold in the dim lighting of the library. His gaze lingered, patient and merciless, watching as his apprentice struggled in vain beneath him.
Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a heavy kiss against her ear, his breath hot and close enough for steam to appear on her earring, the condensation flashing across its silver surface like a warning with every breath.
"Your shields are thin and built too slow," he whispered.
Sera gritted her teeth in frustration. His lecture stealing her focus. Every word he murmured scraped raw against her nerves. Every syllable he spoke tickled deeply in her head, echoing in her skull; the aching heat in her core continuously rising. Futilely, she kept calling her mana to build barriers, even if they were rushed and malformed.
His mana arced up and through her veins and arteries, dominating and ruthless. He cleared away her brittle barriers with a simple swat, as if her magic was a parlor trick.
That's what it was.
In the face of his overpowering control, her ungoverned magic felt like smoke and mirrors. Chaotic and unreliable. Explosive and moody. And unable to properly defend herself from his relentless psychic assault.
She swore one day she would beat him at his own game. See him undone while she, instead, was the one unaffected.
His lips brushed against her collarbone first and then lightly planted kisses up her neck. Sera tensed in confusion at the tender touch. He was never this gentle. Her suspicions were confirmed when he suddenly bit down hard against her neck, puncturing her flesh with his fangs and pushing mana through his bite.
Sera flinched at the second surge of dominating force, her hands crumpling the fabric of his shirt. Her fists pressed to his chest, she stifled a whimper, eyes squeezed shut. His tongue lapped at the bitemark he had made.
"That's no good," he drawled, his breath heavy against her neck. He pressed a deep kiss against the wound and let out a small laugh.
"You can't let me in this easily, Sera."
✦ ♡ ✦
[ Ratha Guild - Guide Wing, Floor 2 ]
On the bright side, she could eat a little, Sera told herself.
Resigned to her fate, she clung to whatever small positives she could find, but they did little to quell the gnawing anxiety at the back of her mind: getting involved with an S-rank was a very bad idea. She felt like a condemned prisoner, marching unwillingly toward the guillotine and her inevitable doom.
What could she do now?
Her authority wasn't enough to refuse, and she wasn't about to jeopardize her job, or the meals it guaranteed. Sera exhaled, rolling her shoulders in a futile attempt to ease the tension coiling through her body.
Her gaze drifted to the windows. The sky was a brilliant blue, cumulus clouds drifting lazily across the horizon, a cruel contrast to the uncomfortable knot in her stomach.
Even if his interference was the cause, her duty demanded she guide this Esper; obedience was not optional.
She had to anticipate his next move: his target, his intent. Every step forward was a careful calculation; she didn't yet know what he wanted, and misjudging even slightly could cost her dearly.
Her gaze drifted over Arlen's back as they walked down the hallway, her footsteps falling methodically a few steps behind him on the polished floor.
She could tell he worked out from the way his lean muscles flexed under the dark blue t-shirt, the white techwear jacket slung casually over his shoulder. His form spoke of consistent, disciplined training - a necessary commitment for someone of his caliber.
No wonder he's an S-rank, she thought. While genetics shape a core's potential, effort and sustained practice make up roughly thirty percent of the difference. That alone can determine whether someone rises in rank and most dedicated awakened aiming to rank up spent years honing both their bodies and their magic.
As Sera's eyes scanned his body, she recalled his introduction. From freezing Julia's wrist, he had demonstrated an astonishing precision with his powers. To immobilize someone without causing any physiological harm - and in such a small, precise target area for an ice mage - was remarkable. Explosive power could come from rank alone, but true mastery came from relentless practice.
She couldn't help but feel a twinge of mild jealousy at the control he displayed.
From her analysis, Sera instinctively respected him. She herself wielded immense power, but it was often clumsy, uncontrolled; a raw force without refinement. Arlen, in contrast, moved with precision and restraint; his mana control spoke of years of disciplined training.
It was no small feat, and she could see why he had reached S-rank and stayed there.
Sera kept her guard up.
His skill was genuine, and with her System debuff in play, she wasn't sure whether she could surpass him in raw mana or combat potential. The true limits of his power, unfiltered and unmeasured, were a mystery, and she couldn't afford to underestimate him.
She still didn't know enough about this pre-Filter world or the people in it. It was vastly different from her homeworld.
Accepting the situation, she began preparing herself as they walked. Someone of his rank likely had the ability to perceive vessels, though she couldn't gauge the extent. His eagerness for a guiding session suggested he already knew she wasn't a C-rank and had some inkling of her power.
After all, why else would he interrupt a combat session?
Most Espers, even S-ranks, cared little whether a training match was a one-sided beatdown or a fair fight.
Sera suspected he intended to probe her mana vessel, a bold, intrusive move, but one as strong as him could execute without consequence. After all, accessing someone's core was often the fastest and surest way to uncover their motivations, weaknesses, and overall power, provided you had the strength to do it.
As a precaution, she began weaving her mana slowly and methodically, careful to keep it subtle and avoid drawing his attention.
Layer upon layer, Sera stacked mana barriers on top of her vessel, while compressing it as if wringing water from a sponge. Her hands trembled, clenched tight against the uncomfortable pressure. Hiding her core was something she could do (her Instructor had drilled her in it relentlessly) but it was never easy.
Shrouding her magic felt like suffocating her soul, the air too thin, her chest tight with strain. She could endure it, but she hated every moment, and the longer she held it back, the sharper the pain.
Hopefully this won't take long, she thought, winding another mental chain around her shrinking vessel.
Her defensive strategy was two-fold:
1) add mental barriers for protection, and on the off-chance he broke through them,
2) keep her vessel small and unimpressive, like a C-rank's shouldbe.
A faint, iridescent dust shimmered around her. Fortunately, the walk stirred enough wind to disperse the mist like smoke, leaving her aura almost imperceptible.
Her developing mental shields were thin like threads, and while she could now build them fast, she still hadn't mastered strengthening them individually. Solid, dense shields eluded her; her magic refused to bend into a single, unyielding dome the way others could.
Classic teaching said a mental barrier should be like the rind of a watermelon - the thicker, the stronger - but Sera couldn't focus her mana enough to stabilize a dense form.
Instead, she had learned to compromise with her power. She possessed a prodigious amount of magic, but control had never been her strong suit. What she lacked in precision, she made up for in ingenuity.
Like the skins of an onion, she stacked mental barriers like fishing nets, small and flexible, one after another, until she had one hundred and thirty-five pressed into place. Each alone might have been fragile, but together they formed a dense, protective lattice - an invisible ozone layer of magic, enveloping her with a weighty, impervious resilience that no casual intrusion could pierce.
They weren't solid walls, but an overwhelming number of overlapping filaments that were easy to form, fast to stack, and adaptable to her needs.
She tested each layer subtly as she added it, flexing the barriers, adjusting for weak spots, and probing for gaps where Arlen might try to penetrate.
Her Instructor had trained her well - thoroughly and relentlessly.
She flushed at the memory of her Instructor invading her thoughts, rifling through her core with brazen indifference, as if he were picking trinkets at the flea market. But she couldn't deny it: his lessons had prepared her for this moment. She had learned how to adapt and improvise.
As much as she hated how he taught her (his methods a maddeningly painful exercise in endurance), she was grateful for what she had learned.
Just for safety, she added one more mental shield. One hundred and thirty-six.
Could never be too careful.
She yanked the lattice tight like pulling the laces of a corset, and it snapped into place around her core, humming softly as if it were alive. Her chest ached, each heartbeat dragging her awareness back to the compressed vessel straining beneath the lattice.
Holding it there was another battle entirely. Her mind strained to keep the lattice intact, the effort suffocating - a relentless tug-of-war between control, endurance, and the gnawing pull of hunger.
As they reached her office, Arlen opened the sliding door. She paused a fraction to catch her breath, as he entered first, her senses still humming from the tension.
Looking back at her, Arlen grinned, "Thanks for having me, Sera."
Sera let out a wry smile, her shoulders relaxing just slightly, though her vigilance stayed heightened. "Of course, Esper Cunning."
She gestured him to the leather sofa and moved to the corner to prepare tea, deliberately keeping her posture straight, her movements measured. The ritual grounded her, a familiar control in contrast to the chaos of her magic.
"Esper Cunning, since this is your first session with me, I will tell you my rules," she said, reaching for the teapot and adding a generous helping of tea leaves.
Her voice stayed calm, clipped, and polite - like a customer service professional maintaining perfect distance - each syllable a careful barrier, a subtle warning that she had no interest in becoming close.
"Every session is fifteen minutes, regardless of sync rate, cleanse rate, or pollution level. Clothes, yours and mine, stay on," she said, pouring boiling water into the pot.
She looked him squarely in the eye. "No sex."
"Clothes on? No sex… only kissing?" Arlen asked lightly, his eyes tracking her every move.
"Kissing and petting. Anything is fine as long as there's no penetration," Sera replied firmly. She set the tea tray on the table, poured him a cup, and slid it over before sitting beside him on the sofa.
"When do you allow that?"
"Immediately."
"Right off the bat?" Arlen tilted his head.
"Yes," Sera said succinctly.
"Usually the first session just extends to holding hands," he countered.
"Those are my rules."
At that moment, Arlen understood the rumors swirling about her - that Sera was the resident whore. She allowed any Esper to receive Stage 2 Guiding, regardless of rapport or how long they'd known her.
It was essentially saying she'd let any esper get halfway into her pants. Or that every esper got one try, no matter the compatibility.
That, combined with her larger-than-average esper list, made it easy to see how the rumor had taken root. Arlen personally didn't see the issue - awakened folks were generally a sexually active bunch, and he himself was far from restrained. Most, however, maintained a thin veneer of propriety, usually reporting only hand-holding during the first session, even if things went further.
It was the hypocrisy of human nature, condensed and amplified among espers and guides: they framed guiding espers as a noble, professional duty, when at its core it was simply the intimate exchange of breath, touch, and skin pressed together.
Mana transfer - the foundation of guiding - was most potent when souls (see, cores) were close, and the closest humans could get to that was through bodies pressed in proximity.
Judging by Sera's direct demeanor, he guessed she hadn't bothered with pretense. She likely reported her guiding honestly, candid and unflinching, ruffling more than a few feathers along the way.
"Fifteen minutes, clothes on, no sex, everything else is fine…hm, interesting," Arlen muttered, pressing his hand against his chin in contemplation. He didn't understand why she allowed fifteen minutes of everything, but sex.
In truth, Sera's rules were purely about her survival. She had long since learned that every session with an esper was a chance - sometimes the only chance - to satisfy her endless hunger. She knew her lack of propriety regarding intimacy would fuel rumors, that whispers of her being overly permissive or "available" would swirl through the guild halls.
But she didn't care.
Every opportunity to eat was worth any gossip. The judgments of others were noise; her own stomach and her own survival were what mattered.
Who cared about the rumor mill when it couldn't even grind wheat for her to eat?
The no-sex rule? That was simple: Sera couldn't control herself.
If things ever went that far, someone would end up dead. Her restraint would crumble, her willpower and sanity dropping right off a cliff. She would consume them completely.
She hesitated, a memory from the past surfacing unbidden.
She would kill them just like she had killed him… back home, back on Ratiora.
And afterward, she would be the one left alone. Again.
She couldn't let that happen.
Arlen took a sip of tea and ran a quick hand through his hair before turning toward her.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer until their hips were pressed together side by side.
"Okay," he said, his icy, blue eyes flicking over her face with a mix of curiosity and amusement, lingering on her expression as if searching for a hint of hesitation. "I agree with those rules."
Sera stared back, her red eyes locking with his, a small fire sparking behind her gaze. She knew, in her heart, she should proceed with caution. But her hunger was gnawing and heavy and, even though it was dangerous, a fancy restaurant (see, S-class) meal had been placed right in front of her.
How much would she be able to eat in fifteen minutes?
How much could he handle?
How much could she take?
Every muscle in her body tensed with anticipation as she leaned in, until she could feel the heat of his breath on her lips.
When their mouths met, she closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts into sharp focus. With a subtle click of her watch against her wrist, she started the timer.