The bell for Beast Theory wouldn't toll for another three hours. Liora declared the interim "orientation," which translated to: follow me or freeze.
The eight freshmen trailed her through the Obsidian Wing like ducklings behind a swan made of knives. The corridors had rearranged again; yesterday's spiral stair was now a ramp of black glass that reflected their legs in distorted funhouse angles. Every surface hummed with latent magic. Arya's brand tingled whenever she passed a rune-etched door, as if the dorm itself were sniffing her levels.
"Pay attention," Liora snapped, heels clicking. "This wing houses forty Takers, levels one through ninety-nine. You're the bottom eight. Act accordingly."
She stopped at a vaulted atrium where the ceiling dripped liquid starlight into a central fountain. The water formed words before evaporating: OBEY OR BLEED.
Cassia snorted. "Subtle."
Liora ignored her. "Floor one: communal baths—already seen. Floor two: refectory. Food is mana-infused; eat your protein or watch your curves deflate." She eyed Arya's chest with clinical disdain. "Floor three: training arenas. Floor four: private suites—earned, never given. Floor five: the Ice Garden."
The ramp spiraled upward. Frost crept along the walls, thickening until their breath plumed. At the top, a pair of doors carved from glacial ice swung inward at Liora's touch. Beyond lay a winter wonderland: crystalline trees heavy with diamond fruit, snow that fell upward, and in the center—a shower stall of living ice, open on all sides, fed by a waterfall frozen mid-cascade.
"This," Liora said, "is where we correct behavior."
Before anyone could blink, chains of frost erupted from the floor. They snapped around Arya's wrists and ankles, yanking her arms overhead and spreading her legs in a perfect X. The ice was warm—some perverse spell—melting just enough to slick her skin without numbing.
[ENVIRONMENTAL EFFECT: FROSTBIND – MOVEMENT 0% | SENSITIVITY +200%]
The other Takers formed a loose circle. Velira whistled low. Sable's shadows curled like excited cats. The twins' tails lashed in sync.
Liora stepped close, breath ghosting over Arya's collarbone. "You kissed Alexander in front of three hundred witnesses. That makes you a threat." She traced a nail along the brand; ice crackled in its wake. "Threats get humbled."
She snapped her fingers. The frozen waterfall shattered into a thousand needle-fine shards. They hung suspended, glinting, then rained.
Each shard kissed Arya's skin and melted on contact—scalding, then freezing, then scalding again. The sensation was a whip of fire and teeth. She arched, a choked sound escaping as the ice traced her ribs, the curve of her waist, the sensitive inner skin of her thighs. The bikini offered no protection; frost laced the fabric, turning it translucent.
Twenty seconds in, her nipples peaked so hard they ached. Thirty seconds, and her knees buckled—only the chains held her upright. Telepathy flooded her with the circle's thoughts:
- Cassia: fuck, she's gorgeous like this.
- Sable: want to taste the meltwater on her throat.
- Mireille: noting decibel levels for future replication.
- Velira: bet I could make her scream louder with a dagger hilt.
Liora leaned in until their lips almost touched. "Beg," she whispered. "Say 'I'm beneath you,' and I'll stop."
Arya's pride flared hotter than the ice. She met Liora's glacier eyes. "Make me."
The shards intensified—now targeting the brand itself. Pleasure-pain exploded behind Arya's eyes. Her back bowed; a moan tore free, raw and desperate. The system pinged like a slot machine.
[TRAIT EVOLUTION: PAIN/PLEASURE CONVERSION → RANK C]
[ARYA → LEVEL 8]
[BEAUTY: 110 → 115 (BIKINI STRAINING)]
The frost chains shattered. Arya dropped to her knees in the snow, panting, skin steaming. The bikini top had surrendered one strap entirely; her left breast spilled free, nipple glistening with melted frost. The circle was silent.
Liora's mask slipped for half a heartbeat—surprise, then something darker. Hunger.
Cassia broke the tension with a laugh that cracked like a whip. "Damn, ice queen. You just gave her a free level. That's gotta sting."
Velira offered Arya a hand up, smirking. "Welcome to the Wing, bookworm. You're officially interesting."
Sable's shadows brushed Arya's cheek, cool and soothing. "I volunteer for aftercare."
Mireille scribbled: Subject L.V. – humiliation backfire probability 87%. Recommend escalation.
The twins spoke in unison: "We want a turn."
Liora regained composure with visible effort. "Tour's over. Clean up. Beast Theory in ninety minutes." She turned on her heel, but not before Arya caught the faint tremor in her fingers.
As the circle dispersed, a private system message flickered across Arya's vision—sender: ALEXANDER NICHOLAS.
[ROOFTOP GARDEN. NOW. BRING THE FROSTBITE.]
Arya touched the brand, still throbbing from Liora's touch, and smiled through chattering teeth.
The Ice Queen had just taught her the first rule of Elyssara:
Pain was just another kind of kiss.